An Idol for Others (12 page)

“Right here, if we don’t watch out,” he said. He lifted a hand to her breasts and felt the velvet skin with the backs of his fingers.

“I’ll probably want it here some other night,” she said. “For the first time, I suppose we should have all the comforts of home.”

He drew her closer and bent and took a nipple in his mouth. She cried out. “Oh, darling. Is it going to be like this? Your body feels so glorious against mine.”

He straightened and smiled at her. “I have a feeling this is going to be quite a night. We’d better have that swim.”

He put an arm around her waist, and she didn’t relinquish him as they went down to the ocean’s edge. Pride dictated that he should remain erect; he didn’t want her to see him in repose until he had had her. The shock of cold water was daunting, but he counteracted its effect by staying close to her, enclosing her between his legs, brushing her breasts with his arms as they moved to keep afloat. They laughed into each other’s eyes as he thrust himself between her legs.

They staggered and struggled from the sea and went running up the beach hand in hand to clothes and towels.

“What bliss,” she exclaimed as they toweled themselves. Her hair hung in wet strands around her shoulders. She looked very young and defenseless. She put on her robe without bothering to fasten the tie and pushed her hair back. “I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re so magnificent. I won’t ever let you wear clothes.” She was experiencing shock after pleasurable shock, amazed by him. He had caught her attention from the first by the strong feminine streak she had sensed in him. There was nothing effeminate about him, like the apprentice boys, Philip and his type, even David slightly. He moved with manly grace, his gestures were firm and incisive. It was his personality that she found arrestingly feminine, his response to beauty, his intuitions about people, his lack of sexual aggression. He was stubborn like a woman. Men had always humored her and made allowances for her or tried to reason with her as if she were a child. Walter met her head on–man to man or woman to woman, often illogically, but always with understanding.

Suddenly she found herself dissolving in a purely feminine way before his masculinity. His body was superbly compelling, beautiful in a way a woman’s body could be beautiful, but powerful. If, in taking her, he demanded submission, she was prepared to be his woman.

He hopped his way into trousers, trying to fill them with sand, and started to push himself into them.

She stopped him with a hand. “Don’t fasten it in. I want to see it strutting out in front of you when you walk. You can hide it when we get near the house.”

He carried the rest of his clothes and held his pants up, and she stroked him avidly, tantalizingly as they headed for home. He had no difficulty staying erect. They made a dash from dunes to garage, the lights of her apartment guiding them. She closed the door on them, and he dropped his clothes onto a chair and stepped out of his trousers. He scuffed sand off his feet as he went to her. She let her robe fall from her, and he folded her into his arms and took her mouth. When their breathing became difficult, she dropped her head back and looked up at him, her eyes flooded with improbable surrender. It had happened. He had conquered her at last.

“I’m glad we had a little time on the beach to get used to it. This is a pretty important moment for a girl. I feel as if we belong to each other.”

Clara led Walter back to the bedroom. Her virginity proved to be less of a problem than he had been led to expect. Once the problem was disposed of, he took her gently, reveling in release after the strain of his long erection. He gave her an orgasm quite quickly, and he was fairly sure that she came again with him. He took all her body with his hands and mouth. He summoned up his varied experience and taught her things that made her laugh and shout obscenities and call his name. Her eyes were spellbound, and she moved in drugged obedience to the directions of his hands. Her body shuddered with repeated orgasms. They lay side by side for a brief respite and spoke at last.

“Nobody told me it was like this,” she said. “Does everybody do the things we’ve done?”

“I guess so. It’d be pretty difficult to invent something new.”

“I’ve always thought that gentlemen had cocks and stuck them into ladies and fucked them. It isn’t like that at all. It’s utter magic. Have you had dozens of girls?”

“No, only a few. Only one who wasn’t worried about babies, like you. I don’t understand that.”

“It’s quite simple. I have a gadget. I’ll show you tomorrow if you want. It’s not absolutely foolproof, but when you’re inside me I’d be perfectly willing to have a three-headed monster to keep you there. Oh, darling. Has anybody ever told you what it’s like? I know it’s bigger than anybody else’s. Girls have told me things. It’s not at all like what you do to me.”

“Tell me what I do to you.”

“Oh, you’re so magnificent. When you put your cock into me, you make me something that belongs to you. I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. I cease to exist except to be filled by you. It’s the bliss of … of giving everything, myself, everything, giving all of myself to you and your magnificent cock taking what belongs to it. I’ve always thought jealousy sounded utterly idiotic. I still do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be jealous. I couldn’t stand you doing this with anybody else. Do you think you’ll want to?”

“Well, I can’t think of anybody offhand, but you never know.” He chuckled.

“Just you try. I want to stay in bed with you for the rest of my life. Would you like that?”

“I’ll say. We’re going to live together. I’ll move in here. We’ll do everything together from now on.” As he spoke, he heard Philip’s voice in his ear. The moment in the car seemed an age ago. He must have been mad to think that sex with a boy could offer the limitless fulfillment of a girl like Clara. He wanted to get rid of the gadget and make children with her. The guilt and secrecy he had been living with for the last few days was replaced by a heady freedom to declare himself openly. He sat up on one elbow and leaned over her impetuously. “Hey, I’ve just thought of something. I’m not going back to college. How could I now? We’ll go to New York together. How about getting married?” He let out a howl of laughter. So much for being damned. He was as normal as he had always known he was.

“You’re beautiful and mad,” Clara said with a dreaming voice of love but with the light of challenge immediately rekindled in her eyes. “We can’t possibly get married–not for years and years. I’ve got to marry a man who is somebody, a man who can handle my family. You have no idea what it’s like.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to be somebody–maybe sooner than you think. What do our families matter, anyway? We’ll be together.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” she intoned hollowly. “Dentist’s son. You have a lot to learn about families. Let’s just talk about being together.”

“You mean, you’ll live with me without being married?”

“Well, maybe not exactly live with you, but it could amount to the same thing. I’ll certainly go to bed with you. Good heavens, yes. Do you really mean you’re going to quit college? Can you? Wouldn’t you have to make a living?”

“Sure, I’ll find something in the theater. Nothing very interesting at first, but I’ll manage. David will help me.”

“Oh, David. I’m sure I know more important people than he does.”

He was counting on that. Her being a Washburn made it much easier for him to think about leaving college. Her being a Washburn meant a great deal to him. He was a child of the Great Depression and dreamed of a world where money was never mentioned. One of the things about Harry that had held him after he had become adept at their sexual practices was the fact that Harry’s family lived on a higher economic level than the Makins. It was a stunning relief from the parsimony of home. Harry introduced him to a world of country clubs and swimming pools and tennis courts. Harry had his own car and a lavish wardrobe. Harry took him to dinner at a restaurant and spent over $6 on the meal; Walter had been trained always to order the $1.50 special when he at out with his parents. Harry showered him with gifts of his own clothing and a gold wristwatch that he insisted was a spare he rarely used. Walter had smashed it, but even as he did so, he was aware of the pleasure of indulging in such wanton extravagance.

The affluence with which Harry had been surrounded confirmed Walter’s already half-formulated determination to escape his background, just as Harry’s casual sexual rebellion helped Walter to see his own rebellion in clearer perspective. There was nothing very wicked about choosing his own career and developing his own talents. Going into the theater might be unconventional, but it was hardly depraved. If Harry had been a revelation, what mightn’t be expected of a Washburn?

“Tell me how we’ll live together if we don’t get married,” Walter demanded, letting his eyes gloat on her and deciding that a naked Washburn was already very much in a naked Makin’s power.

“It’s no problem while we’re here. The people around here who know my family aren’t apt to hear any theater gossip. If you come to New York, you’ll have to have some place to live. I’ll be able to spend the night with you quite often.”

“Yes, I see. Well, we’ll find out. I think we’ll probably have to get married. I’m not going to have any secrets about us, especially with your family. If they mean anything to you, they’re going to know about me.”

“Listen to him.” She hooted with laughter. “I suppose I can’t blame you for getting bossy after the way I’ve been carrying on with you. Anyway, my family doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m much more interested in dentists’ sons who make good. That’s what I’m waiting for.”

“We’ll do it together, Clarry.” He felt her attack still, blunted but a force to be reckoned with. The challenge would always be there, but now he knew how to meet it and win. His hand wandered over her breasts and thighs, and he dropped his head and tasted her lips with his tongue.

She pulled back from him. “Do you suppose we’ll have to go through all the business of being in love?” she asked. “It sounds so boring.”

“Oh, Clarry, lots of people are in love. It doesn’t sound big enough for me. We’re made for each other. Don’t you feel it? Everything fits together so perfectly that there’s no way to say it. We had to find each other. That’s the way it should be.”

“You do say lovely things. You may be right, but we’re both such babies. Parental consent and all that nonsense. You’re even younger than I am. It’s too dreadful. Why couldn’t you be a tycoon going gray at the temples?”

“If I’ve got the biggest cock in the world and it keeps getting hard for you, I don’t think you should ask for more.”

“Now that I know what you look like all hard and enormous and waving about, perhaps I can do without the graying temples. You know what I’d like now? I’d like to take a bath with you. I want to feel new and shiny, if not virginal, and start all over again.”

“Wonderful.”

So much had happened to her that she craved a moment of removal to absorb it. He had taken her but had taken nothing from her; he had given himself in return. He had led them across frontiers of male and female so that she scarcely knew now what the difference was. He had conquered her by making her feel more greatly herself. She needed him as she might need a magnifying mirror to keep these new enlarged dimensions in focus. He seemed to fix the direction of her life. She had never expected it to be with a man. Men, maybe, never one man.

As the night progressed, Walter was beginning to see all around the momentous experiences. Clara was his. It was immense and incredible, but it was only a stone cast into a pool from which the ripples spread to infinity. Sexually she offered him an enthralled submission, an unrestrained participation that hitherto he had associated with his two male lovers. Beyond that, she was an arresting personality who commanded his complete attention. There could never be anything slack between them; she kept him on his toes, keyed to his highest pitch, striving. Now that he could think about the earlier events of the night, he knew that if she hadn’t stopped him he might already be committed to a half-life of secret perversion. She had confirmed in him all that he thought he knew of himself. She had brought him to a place where he could launch himself into the world without limitations on himself. Deep within him was planted a gratitude that bound him to her. If he felt none of the sloppy sentimentality that he associated with being “in love,” he assumed that they were stronger, more clear-headed, better balanced than ordinary mortals.

They didn’t sleep. They bathed and performed new wonders with each other’s bodies. They became absorbed in the smallest discoveries they made about each other. Clara found a mole on his neck.

“Why haven’t I noticed that before? Dear mole.” She kissed it. “I’m so glad I found it. Without it, you’d be perfect. That doesn’t do for a man.”

“I bet I’ll find one on you somewhere.”

“I doubt it, but I don’t want you to stop looking.”

They bathed again and had drinks and gave each other orgasms with their mouths. “How extraordinary,” Clara commented. “I’m really beginning to feel I know you. This way is amazing. You pose rather a problem, but I loved it. I hope I did it nicely.”

“Very.”

The room turned gray. “You’re not sleepy?” Walter asked.

“No. Good-bye, beautiful night. Hello, glorious day. I’d like to ride a horse or sail a boat, making love to you all the time, of course.” She switched off the light and moved him up over her. “I must be old-fashioned. Every now and then I want you pumping away on top of me the way I thought ladies and gentlemen always did. Please. Once more, to make me feel like your wife and not some fancy girl you picked up. Then I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

Walter obliged. When they got out of bed, Clara put on a silk dressing gown. Walter started to wrap a towel around himself, but she pulled it away. “If I’m going to have a man around the house, I want to look at him. I’d look like an awful slut sitting around with nothing on, but you–is it all right to say ‘hard-on’? You look so neat when you haven’t got a hard-on, like the statues little girls weren’t supposed to look at when we were taken to museums. I don’t understand where it all goes.”