Archive-name: Affairs/heat.mf
Archive-author: James Charles Lynn
Archive-title: Heat, The


                                     1

     On July 11th, the temperature in downtown Willyville topped 94
degrees, a considerable jump from the high of 78 the previous day. The high
pressure area that Bob Katt, the weather forcaster for TV station KNUT, had
been predicting all week had finally arrived. The sun sat hot and brassy in
a sky devoid of clouds. Bob Katt had predicted that the temperature would
only increase for the rest of the week, at least. The heat wave had begun.

     Three days later the temperature broke 100 and everybody knew the heat
was here to stay. The air was hot and heavy. Those unfortunate enough to be
working outside or without benefit of air conditioning groaned and cursed
the sun, giver of all life and bringer of all misery.

     Skin became a much more common sight as uncomfortable humans stripped
down to the bare neccessities, if not farther, in search of some relief. As
clothes fell away, so did inhibitions as the human, the horniest animal on
earth (who was actually capable of becoming sexually aroused at the mere
sight of the uncovered body of a fellow human of the preferred sex! Imagine
that!) began to follow the urges that nature had imbued them and that they
themselves had honed to a fine and wonderous art.

     In other words, once the night cooled off, they started fucking like
rabbits.

     But human nature can be a two edged sword, and while one edge was
sweet, the other was very bitter indeed. Hot weather and its attendant ills
caused tempers to flare where they otherwise would have been held with
discretion. Many great home truths, which had been considerately
unmentioned by friends, lovers, relatives, etc., suddenly came out in full
force with the expected arguments and fights following. Frustration at the
endless discomfort caused human to strike out at fellow human in a futile
substitute for lashing back at the true source of their aggravation, a safe
93 million miles out of reach. The local constabulary spent a great portion
of their time quelling these arguments. Of course, being human and just as
uncomfortable as everybody else, their tempers were somewhat shorter than
they would normally have been, and guess who they took it out on? Quite a
number of offenders made their way to the local lockup by way of the local
emergency room.

     But all of this was simply human nature, and none of it was very
serious, at least not on a grand scale. Civilization had survived much
worse. But on a personal level some of the catastropies were very serious.
Some lives were changed completely. One such person who'd had his life
changed by the heat was Harold Sykes. And here's what happened...



                                    ---

     The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the bedroom with
an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant 75 degrees. Perfect
temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back on the pillow with a satisfied
sigh of pleasure not yet faded to memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed
between her knees, his erection pounding almost painfully against his
belly. The moonlight spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly
eyed her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of her
orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the wiry mass of her
pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent so much time carefully and
artistically bringing her to a powerful climax. Whatever else you could say
about his performance in the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of
the skills he was especially proud of.

     But enough wool-gathering (bad pun intended). Harold leaned forward,
placing his hands on the bed on either side of her. He kissed her fully and
deeply as he gently lowered his weight onto her. For a moment they simply
lay there, as he savored the full body contact, the feel of her naked skin
against his own. Then he raised his hips and she gently guided him into
her.

     For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever compare to
the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust deep, and her hips moved
in response. His excitement towered to new heights, and his balls ached for
release. Take it slow, take it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand
along her side, from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving.

     He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythem, her hips moving with his.
Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her hands moved along his
back. Her breathing became short and rapid, and Harold knew she was
building to another orgasm. With each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a
new height until finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too
soon...


     Too late. He cried out as his seed shot into the warm depths of her
body. Face straining, he pumped again, one last time, trying to squeeze
what last litle bit of feeling might be left after that almost painful
explosion of pleasure. Then he collapsed on top of her, exhausted.

     For an endless time he lay, gathering strength. Finally it soaked into
his sated conciousness that something was wrong. Cindi lay beneath him
wooden, unmoving. He looked down into eyes that stared back with cold fury.
"What- what's the matter?"

     The anger in her eyes flared as she placed her hands on his chest and
pushed him off. Her strength was surprising, and Harold fairly flew against
the wall by the bed. Blinking back stars, he looked at her in confusion.

     "God dammit!" she yelled.

     Frightened now, Harold could only gasp, "What... what..."

     "You didn't even try to make it last!" Hands on hips, her bare breasts
jiggled fetchingly as she shouted. But Harold wasn't exactly fetched at the
moment.

     "I sure did try! It's not my fault-"

     "The fuck it isn't! You don't even TRY!" she yelled, "Two pumps, a
tickle, and a squirt and that's all you're ever good for! I'm sick of it!"

     What the fuck was this? It was hard to believe she had been so
intimate and caring a minute before. Miss Jekyl had just turned into a
raving Miss Hyde and Harold was far too stunned to properly defend himself.
"You mean to say you haven't gotten any enjoyment out of tonight?"

     "Ha!" She was gathering her clothes and putting them on now. "Hasn't
it ever occurred to you that I might get a little tired of being frigged
and licked every single night? I want a MAN, dammit! Not some little boy
who shoots his wad five seconds after he gets his pants off!"

     He watched, unbelieving, as she stomped around the room. This was the
woman he had been so in lust with the last few weeks? Was he really such a
terrible lover? "Why are you doing this to me?"

     "You did it to yourself." she snapped. She was fully dressed by now.
Shouldering her handbag, she turned to him. "I'm leaving now. Until you
learn how to fuck, don't bother calling me." Her pretty features twisted
into an ugly ironic smile, "Have a nice life."

     And then she left. Harold stared at the door a long time, his stomach
churning along with his mind. Cindi had deliberately set about to hurt him
in the worst way she possibly could. The only thought that kept running
through his head was WHY?

     The sound of a car starting and pulling out floated in through the
bedroom window. Somehow this sound seemed to bring reality back into focus
and his mind started working again. With a snarl he jumped off the bed and
ran to the window, throwing the curtains aside.

     He screamed something out the window, causing lights to come on all
over the neighborhood: "YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

     He ducked back inside before anybody could see him, collapsing back on
the bed. Nothing was resolved, and some painful issues would have to be
dealt with in the near future.

     But he had to admit that, for the moment, he felt a little better.




                                     2

     The days seemed to grow longer, and if possible, hotter. Bob Katt
recieved the usual number of crank letters and calls demanding he do
something about the heat. He even went so far as to run a videotape of an
indian rain dance on his show. No such luck, and the local indian community
inundated KNUT with calls demanding Bob's resignation for broadcasting
racist material. A couple dozen even went so far as to picket the station's
parking lot. It was noted by many that some of the placards bearing the
station's call sign, the N and the U were transposed, though whether this
was accidental or intentional was unclear. Bob was beginning to wonder if
it was time for that long overdue vacation. The station manager wondered
the same thing.

     The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed
somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor's office to temporarily
modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to
pursue their own version of 'personal freedom'. A story about it appeared
in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor's office recieved over a
thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80%
of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no
comment from the mayor's office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he
had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation...


                                    ---

     For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him
without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At
work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in
the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on
the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at
work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private
world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it
as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent
long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they
might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time
now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper
and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.

     The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker
for singing "Zipity-Doo-Da" one morning after announcing his engagement.
After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had
been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid)
vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon.

     Instead he sat at home, watching "Love Boat" reruns and drinking some
horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was
the word of the day here.

     He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a
sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang.

     The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the
fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as
usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why
bother?

     Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone
and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered
the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with.

     "Go fuck yourself."

     There was moment's hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of
the other end. "Harold! How ya doin'?"

     "Hi, Tom." Harold sighed. Tom was Harold's best friend and a devout
hedonist, to boot. "I'm doing fine. Just don't feel like getting out much
in this heat, is all."

     "Yeah, right." Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he
didn't believe a word of it. "Well, shit, man, you need to get out
sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just
the thing..."

     Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he
wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom's 'just the thing' ideas was the
last thing he needed right now. "Uh, look, maybe later-"

     "Later my ass!" The voice on the other end roared. "I know what
happened. Kelly told me." Harold's eyes widened but he really wasn't
surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still
long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front
of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that
sledgehammer.

     Tom continued, "Shit, man, something like that would've killed me.
Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has
a right to do that to somebody else."

     "Yeah, I ain't too happy about it either. But I can't do anything, so
how about I call you later-"

     "I ain't done yet." Tom interrupted firmly. "You've got to get out of
there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer,
you're going to do something stupid." Harold felt a sudden shock. What had
he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the
beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn.

     "Look, Harold, I'm your buddy. It hurts me to see what she's done to
you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There's a
party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel
Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang's gonna be there, along
with a bunch of other people I don't know. Lots of available girls, I hear.
Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble."

     Harold's voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. "I... I don't
know..."

     "Aw, c'mon. I want you there. You don't have to do anything or talk to
anybody if you don't want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I
ain't heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad."

     "Well..."

     "It's settled, then." Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. "I'll
be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don't
drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at
all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?"

     Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit
better. Tom's nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of
the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. "Sure, why not?
Should I bring anything?"

     "Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe."

     They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he
felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be
reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this
depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still
a ways off.

     In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the
collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to
discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded
him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the
bathroom, hand over his mouth.

     He almost made it.




                                     3

     The week wore on and Willyville got even hotter, if such a thing was
possible. It also got weirder, and many had considered that impossible,
too.

     During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as
everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat.
Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city,
beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after
all, you don't even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a
homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the
wall where the family's most cherished appliance once rested and
subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden
brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime
wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped
discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new
tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were "interesting".

     In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for
appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It
seems the building's air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous
night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone
weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling
heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and
up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even
think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank
him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was
finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the
indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was
not fired on the spot.

     Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation...


                                    ---

     Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold
was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn't slept at all the previous
night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop
pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had
never been a party animal, and recent... events... had convinced him that
he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about
it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn't keep Cindi
happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of
girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go?

     Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had
a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.

     Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to
Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a
moody silence, soaking up Tom's words and saying almost something in
return. If Tom noticed, he didn't show it as he kept up a steady monologue
all the way to the house.


     The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair
sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run
by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free
expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house's
budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house's
inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and
most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard
rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty
intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom's
car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over
him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a
mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely.

     The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him
around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people
there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere,
talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good
time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody
serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue.

     Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was
nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom,
then his rational mind took over. What's your problem? it said. You're an
adult, you don't need a keeper.

     So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.

     In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a
team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could
be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of
spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by
one particular member of one team.

     She wasn't tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds
overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more
nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her
face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold's
attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along
the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled
valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced
around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the
crowd.

     His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn't help but
wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair
spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those
magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in
sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful
orgasm...

     Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone
like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn't, why
should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began
to make his way back towards the house.

     Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was
sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the
overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all
the world to see.

     He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles
colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their
soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was
staring directly at him.

     He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he
didn't know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking
the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there,
challenging him with her gaze.

     Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart
was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached
miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets
to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this
instant.

     But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there
was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn't know, but he
somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them.
Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but...

     He felt as if she wanted him, too.






                                     4

     Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began
to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those
who hadn't had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back
yards. They brought TV trays, TV's, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally
prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness.

     All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices,
televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying
themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was
quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the
area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house,
when night fell, the real party began...


                                    ---

     Harold Sykes hadn't left the party like he planned, although he came
awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in
the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was
just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the
extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him.

     Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just
sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing.

     "Better." sighed Harold, "I really feel better."

     Tom gave him a wink. "You may be feeling better than that before the
night's over, old buddy." and sauntered off before Harold could say
anything.

     Now what was that supposed to mean?


     As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning
their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the
house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked
to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold
didn't feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other
day. Drugs didn't hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.

     Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was
alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door.

     The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and
music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around
a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway,
hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins.

     Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner
he recieved the shock of his life.

     The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more
than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty
to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every
kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren't imaginable.

     Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the
moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some
bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another
planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that
Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in
total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the
co-ed sitting on the floor between the man's feet.

     The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.

     He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some
twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large
wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth
alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the
setup.

     His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been
limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too
much. He didn't want any part of this. All he wanted was out.
     Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He
was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn't want to
see.

     There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people
were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips,
moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn't know who the guy was but
he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose
to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and
their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant
glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention
back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her
moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible.

     Her parting words rang in his mind: "I want a man, dammit!" Well,
fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly
towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling
them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going.

     Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors
lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be
rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from
embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And
empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his
thoughts together. If he didn't do it quick, he feared he might lost his
mind. He had to get away, somehow!

     There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He
paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within.
Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness
envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for
who knew how long before he finally calmed down.

     His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total
darkness, that that the room wasn't empty after all. After a long moment,
he finally summoned up a weak voice. "Who's there?"

     There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone
after all, when a soft voice answered "Are you all right?"

     Fuck NO! I ain't all right, you stupid... But Harold controlled
himself before replying, "I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or
so." He hesitated before the next question, "Are you, um, alone?"

     "Yeah." she replied, "I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew
the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have
somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something."

     Harold got up, a little unsteadily "I'm sorry. Sorry I barged in on
you. I'll leave now."

     "Please, don't." she said, "Unless you really need to. I think we
could both use someone to talk to."

     Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. "Sure, why
not?" After a silent moment, he continued, "Would you mind turning on a
light? I'd like to see who I'm talking to."

     "Well," she began doubtfully, "you may feel more comfortable without
the light, but if you insist..." There was a click and a flare of light
exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his
eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day.

     Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball
game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which
lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light,
opening them a moment later.

     "Oh! It's you!"





                                     5

     It took a moment for Harold to recover from his surprise. He swallowed
drylysand said, "So, I guess we meet again."

     She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, seemingly
unconcerned over her partial nudity. She made no attempt to cover herself
at all. "I remember you from the crowd at the vollyball game. When I lost
my top I was embarassed as hell, but I was going to be damned if I'd let
anyone see that. I saw every male in the crowd was drooling, but when I
looked around and saw you... there was something else in your eyes. You
looked so incredibly sad."

     "I didn't know it showed." Harold mumbled. "I was... well... thinking
just about the same thing as everybody else." He turned red and averted his
eyes in shame.

     "Oh, I know that." she replied matter-of-factly "I've been getting
looks like that since I was twelve years old. I'm used to getting stared at
and hit on a lot, so I just learned to deal with it without getting mad.
Actually, it does a lot for my ego. I don't know what it was, though, but
you really stood out in that crowd, at least to me. I've always been good
at picking up feelings."

     "And you felt sorry for me." Harold said baldly. He should have known
he had misinterpreted that look. "When our eyes met that time, I almost
thought, well..."

     She smiled and patted a place on the bed next to her. "Why not come
over here and sit down? You can't be too comfortable all curled up in a
ball in the corner."

     Harold sighed and got up painfully. She was right. It wasn't too
comfortable. He sat on the bed about two feet away from her. It took
considerable effort to keep his eyes off her chest. He was surprised to
find his mouth had gone dry and his heart was pounding. "Um, can I ask a
question?"

     "Sure" She answered.

     "If you were so, um, embarassed when you lost your top earlier, why
aren't you wearing it now?"

     "Because it's uncomfortable. The damn string's been digging into my
neck all day and it's sore as hell." she lifted her hair up and showed him
a red weal as the base of her neck. "I should have worn a nice, sensable
tank top. And I was embarassed because I got caught by surprise. Otherwise
I wouldn't have cared. I'm not ashamed of my body at all. Does this bother
you?"

     "No." Harold said quickly. Then he reconsidered. "Well, a little."

     "See?" she smiled, "I told you you might like it better with the light
off."

     "Oh, not at all." Harold said hurredly, "They're definitely worth
looking at." then he winced, realizing what he said. "I mean, YOU'RE
definitely worth-"

     But she was laughing, a very pretty sound indeed. She waved him off,
"I know what you meant. I'm flattered, really. You know, red's your color."
she said, making Harold blush even harder. "But that's nasty of me."

     The talk died off and the silence stretched between them like putty as
they both sat alone with their thoughts. Finally she said, almost shyly,
"You know, I didn't entirely feel sorry for you. You're not that bad
looking." Harold looked at her wonderingly. She moved over until she was
right next to him. "Don't get me wrong, you're no Tom Selleck or anything,
but I decided a long time ago that most of the really good looking guys are
too hung up on themselves to give a woman the attention she wants. You seem
really nice."

     Her shoulder and hip pressed against his warmly. Her weight on the bed
pulling him towards her, her very presence, that oh so luscious body, all
burned in his mind like a red-hot firebrand. Almost without thinking, he
put an arm around her shoulders. "And I think you're very beautiful. What
else can I say?" his other hand came up and froze, uncertainly. Her eyes
locked on his and without a word she reached up placed his hand on her bare
breast.

     "Why say anything?" and she silenced any possible reply with an open
mouthed kiss.

     He massaged her breast tenderly, feeling it's weight, it's smoothness,
running his thumb gently over the rapidly hardening nipple. Her tongue
darted playfully into his mouth, only to retreat. Then it came out again
more slowly and met with his, intertwining in powerful intimacy that made
his head spin. Then she withdrew slowly.

     Ending the kiss, he ran his open mouth gently down along the line of
her jaw, to her ear, which he explored, making her giggle. He moved to her
neck, taking a moment to kiss away the pain of the weal there, before
moving farther down.

     Nor was she idle while he did this. Her hands ran along his sides, up
under his shirt, exploring. Then she reached down and undid his pants,
reaching inside to caress his blossoming erection with a light, tingling
touch.

     He had moved down to her chest now, and he roamed freely with his
tongue, using a feathery touch that made her shiver. Around and around the
curving softness of her breast, finally centering on the fully erect
nipple, which he plunged into his mouth, sucking gently. Again and again he
did this, finally moving over to the other side. His hands explored her
back, her sides, her thighs, moving with smooth surety.

     With a sigh she reclined back onto the bed, grasping the zipper on her
cut-offs and pulling it down slowly. The fabric parted gladly, after
straing all day to hold together, and golden feathery pubic hair poked
through the gap, glimmering faintly in the light from the dresser lamp. She
grasped the sides of the shorts and pulled them down over her long legs,
finally kicking them off onto the floor. Harold was not surprised at all to
see she wore no underwear. With a great sigh she stretched out on the bed,
glorious in her nakedess. Harold could only stare until she looked back at
him and said, "Well...?"

     He hesitated for the slightest of instances. Something deep inside his
mind gibbered. This is just like before, it said. Get out of here now. Get
out before you humiliate yourself again! Now, fool!

     And he almost listened. Almost, until something much older and
stronger took control of his thoughts and squashed the voice completely.
All doubt dissappeared as he stripped off all his clothes, put the light
out, and climbed onto the bed.

     "Why did you turn off the light?" she asked in a breathy voice.
     "Why not? Habit, I guess." he replied, turning his attentions back to
her. Suddenly he stopped, "I just realized, I don't know your name."

     "I was wondering when you would get around to that." she said. "I'm
Julie."

     "Pleased to meet you, Julie. I'm Harol... Harry." On a moment of
whimsey, he added, "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

     "Sure." She replied, "But right now let's fuck." And they both broke
up laughing.

     But the laughter quickly faded as Harry returned to the matter at
hand. With his mouth and hands he continued to explore the soft curves of
her body, her hips, her navel, slowly, inexhorably moving towards one
definite spot. His fingers playfully toyed with her pubic hair as he moved
his tongue slowly up along her inner thigh. Her breathing had speeded up
noticably as she bent her knees and spread her legs. Harry settled himself
down with his face between her thighs. His fingers pulled aside the labia,
exposing the delicate folds of flesh within. Gently he began to probe
inside with his tongue.

     Her breathing became even more rapid and her hips began to move up and
down in sensuous rhythem. His tongue explored deeper until he found what he
was looking for, the fleshy knob of the clitoris. His nose pressed hard
against her pube, he circled the clitoris gently, over and over again. Then
he would flick it playfully with the tip of his tongue, then caress it
warmly.

     Her gasps became moans, first breathy, then louder as her hips moved
even more violently. She ran one hand through his hair while pressing the
other against her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the noise. "Oh God,"
she moaned, "That feels so goooood..."

     Harry would have said something in reply, but it was bad manners to
talk with your mouth full.

     Not that it would be full much longer. Her moans had become cries that
she was powerless to silence. Her hips moved so violently that he had a
difficult time keeping his tongue where it belonged and he held onto her
thighs to keep her steady. The more excited she became, the farther her
clit poked out of its fleshy covering, and the easier it was to torment it.
Then her cries suddenly silenced as every muscle in her body locked and her
hips rose high off the bed, carrying Harry with them. For a timeless second
she remained like that, every muscle quivering in an explosive orgasm,
before settling back on the bed with a mighty groan.

     Wow, he thought. Cindi never got off like that. Experimentally he
probed with his tongue again. She almost jumped off the bed. "No! Stop,
please... No more..." she pleaded in an exhausted whisper. Slowly Harry
uncurled himself and crawled up to rest beside her. He ran a hand along her
skin, which was cold and beaded with sweat. She rolled onto her side and
threw an arm around him, burying her face in his chest. She was shaking
like a leaf. He hugged her tight to him until the trembling subsided.

     Finally she said "That was good." She ran a hand down to his belly to
his penis. His erection had wilted, and she began to massage some life back
into it. It was not long at all before he was hard again, and she ran her
fingers tantalizingly along the length of his hard-on. She rolled onto her
back again, pulling him on top of her with surprising strength. "I want
you. Now!"

     The little man spoke up in his mind again, telling him he was walking
into disaster, but Harry ignored it as she guided his penis into her. He
thrust deep, and she gasped. "Still touchy." she breathed into his ear.

     He thrust again and again, in and out, as her hips moved in time with
his own. With one hand he supported himself while the other ran along her
side, feeling her body. Her mouth met his in a deep kiss.

     Too soon, much too soon, he felt the pleasure building. It mounted
higher and higher, until he knew he was going to come. He rested for a
moment until it died back, but it returned with twice the ferocity as soon
as he began pumping again. He tried to will it back, to force it down, but
the pleasure quickly grew out of control. He groaned through clenched teeth
at an explosion of pleasure as his seed shot into the warm depths of her
body. She held him tight as the echoes faded and Harold began to relax.

     As the pleasure faded, fear replaced it. Now was the moment of truth.
Was she going to accept him or explode with rage? He pulled out and lay
down beside her, trembling slightly.

     She noticed something was wrong right away. "What is it?"

     "Nothing." he mumbled.

     "Don't give me that. You just withdrew into yourself like a turtle in
a shell. What are you afraid of?"

     He swallowed hard "I thought you might get mad. Because... because I
couldn't last very long. I was premature."

     "What are you talking about?" she asked, "That was fantastic! I
haven't got off that hard in a long time. What-" Suddenly an idea began to
form. "Harry, what was it you were so upset about when you first came in
here?"

     Harold told her about Cindi. It took much coaxing to get the whole
truth out, as the pain had not diminished after all.

     After he finished, she was silent for a long time. Finally she said,
"I almost can't believe somebody could do that to another person. Almost. I
know Cindi. She's pretty fuckin' shallow and self-centered. How on earth
did you ever get tangled up with her anyway?"

     "I don't know." Harold said in a flat, lifeless voice. "I used to
think she was something special. I was in love. I thought she loved me."

     "I don't think the bitch knows what love is." Julie thought for a long
moment. "There's only one thing to do. We're going to have to get you over
this little problem of yours. And I think I know just the person to do
it."

     Harold lifted his head up to stare at her outline in the darkness.
"You know somebody who can fix it?"

     "This guy can fix anything. He knows more about sex than Dr. Ruth.
He'll know what to do. And then you can show that bitch what's what."

     "I don't know..." Harold began doubtfully.

     "You don't have to know." she concluded for him. "I do."

     They lay together for a long time. Finally she said, "Ready for
another one?"

     "Another what?" Harold asked innocently.

     "Come on, now. You've had plenty of time to recover." She began
stroking his penis, which was beginning to swell. "See what I mean?"

     He felt the heat returning as he caressed her breast. "Well, if you
insist..."

     "Of course I insist. You know what they say."

     "No, what do they say?" Harold asked as he moved on top of her.

     "It's usually better the second time around..."


     And it was.





                                     6

     Sunday. Squirrel Heights. By noon, the temperature hit 100 degrees.
The misery at the boarding house was more acute than usual, as hangovers
didn't mix with the heat at all. Also, because about five times as many
people as usual had spent the night there, the place needed a good airing
out. Especially the front room...


                                    ---

     Michael Wilburn was fifty one years old and solidly built. Though
balding, his hair showed not a trace of gray and there was a mischevious
gleam in his eye when he smiled that showed that he had not yet surrendered
to his years and probably never will. He was handsome in an offhanded sort
of way, and had an easy, outgoing matter. He had once been an economics
professor at the local university, until he decided to apply some of his
theories to the stock market and found himself comfortably rich within a
year. Students who once avoided his classes like the plague now begged him
to return to teaching. He always got quite a laugh out of that. Despite
some trepidation when Julie had introduced them, Harold was surprised to
find he liked Michael almost immediately.

     They sat at opposite ends of a study on the third floor, Harold in a
ratty old easy chair, Michael crosslegged on a small pile of pillows. The
air in the room was leaden, stiflingly hot. The only light streamed in
through a half-shuttered window and striped the floor between them. Harold
wiped sweat off his brow every few minutes, but his host seemed affected
not at all by the heat.

     Opening up to a stranger is always hard, but hope forced Harold along.
Haltingly at first, then more freely with Michael's gentle prodding, he
told the whole tale. Strange, but it was much easier than the previous
night he had told it to Julie in bed. He began to wonder if maybe his
manhood wasn't really in question after all.

     After Harold was finished, there was silence for a long time. Michael
sat with his eyes closed, digesting information, perhaps. Finally, he
spoke.

     "I see your problem, but I don't think you do. Control is not the real
problem here. You, sir, are attempting to define yourself by your sexual
ability."

     Harold gaped at him for a long moment. "I don't understand."

     "Simple. This Cindi person did nothing more than verbally assault your
abilities in bed. A painful experience, yes, but not one that should
trigger such a deep depression unless a problem already existed. You are
placing far more emphasis on sex than is healthy for you. Tell me, how
would you feel if I told you Julie was married?"

     Harold felt an icy hand clutch his heart as he shivered in the
sweltering heat. "She-she is? But what happened last night..."

     "Well, she's separated, actually. She had planned a reconciliation
last night at the party, but her husband never showed up. She just learned
this morning that he was in the emergency room at Central hospital with a
hernia. I believe the police have taken an interest in the matter, for some
strange reason. All this could have had something to do with what
happened."

     And she had never said a word about it, while Harold had blubbered all
over the place about his own problems.

     Michael interrupted his thoughts. "But you did not answer my question.
Does it bother you that she has a marriage she is trying to reconcile?"

     The words were like nails being hammered into Harold's heart. "Well...
shit. I guess it does..."

     "Why?" Michael asked mildly.

     Taken aback, Harold replied, "Well... after what happened last night I
was hoping I'd found... She's an incredible woman."

     "Whom you've known only a few hours." Michael finished for him. "What
you found was a chance to redeem yourself, and, from what you've told me,
you've done that admirably. You've totally disproved everything this Cindi
person told you, yet still you are not happy. You believe that gaining the
ability to postpone orgasm is the only thing that will confirm your
manhood." His next words were emphasized so as to avoid any chance of
misunderstanding: "Bullshit."

     Harold blinked rapidly "I don't understand."

     Michael sighed. "Harold, my boy, the only person in the world who can
confirm your manhood is you. What is the definition of manhood, anyway?
I've heard many definitions, and few of them have anything to do with
sex."

     "But..." Harold stammered, still confused. "You won't help?"

     Michael was about to say he didn't think Harold needed any. Then he
closed his mouth and thought a moment. Harold probably wouldn't listen.
Michael sensed something in this young man, something he didn't see very
often. Harold was obviously very intelligent, as well as in a lot of pain.
He could get a lot out of life if he ever got the courage to crawl out from
under his rock of self-pity. All he really needed was the right kind of
guidance, and Michael never had been one to resist trying to help.

     "I may help." Michael said at last. "How far are you willing to go?"

     "Well..." Harold thought for a moment, more confused than ever. "As...
far as I have to." he finally replied.

     Michael stared at him for a long time, taking his measure. Finally, he
sighed. "Very well. I have a vacant room you may stay in. You will need to
move your belongings there. The room and board will be free of charge, at
least for now." He leaned forward again. "Your life is going to change
drastically. Just remember what you said."

     Harold swallowed hard. He was no longer confused.

     He was frightened.




                                     7

     Two weeks passed. They passed slowly, but hardly peacefully. The
daytime temperature remained in the 100's, and things were heating up in
more ways than one:

     The Willyville Nudist Society, despite warnings from the police,
persisted in their activities. Walks, swims, gardening, any outdoor
activity that could be was performed in the nude in the scorching sunshine.
After the first fifty busts or so, the police decided it was a lost cause
and just ignored the whole thing. After all, they still had the
air-conditioner thieves to catch. The nudists were easy to spot even with
their clothes on, as they had tans so deep they bordered on sunburns. But
then a medical segment on the local news mentioned something that put the
whole thing into a new light...

     Skin cancer.

     Terror spread through the naturist community as fast as the phone
could carry the news, and the next day the Willyville Nudist Society
disbanded, only to be replaced by the Willyville Overcoat Society. That's
right, every single one of the ex-nudists were bundled up in long coats and
large hats every time they set foot outside. Within 48 hours the hospitals
reported 19 cases of heat stroke. The doctors and nurses of the Willyville
medical community were beginning to wish they had the luxury of taking long
overdue vacations...

     On a more positive note, the Willyville air conditioner crime wave
ended in a rather spectacular way. Elmo Burns had taken a sick day from the
sawmill and was busily enjoying X-rated videotapes in the privacy of his
own home (as was his constitutional right) when he heard strange noises
coming from the direction of the air-conditioner. Already suspicious, he
pulled up his pants, grabbed his over-and-under shotgun, went out the front
door, and snuck around to the back of the house. Sure enough, there was a
man standing on a short stepladder, trying to lever the air-conditioner
loose with a crowbar. Obviously, he thought Elmo was away at work,
overlooking Elmo's Ford 4X4 sitting square in the driveway. Elmo figured
that the subtle approach would just be wasted on someone this dumb, so he
announced his presence by letting the would-be thief have it right in the
ass with both barrels at close range.

     Elmo's shotgun had been loaded with hand-made shells containing, not
buckshot, but rock salt and bacon rinds, which had been his daddy's
solution for kids who stole crops from the fields. The attack was not
lethal, but the crook was still quite immobilized (to say the least) when
the police arrived. The detective in charge of the thefts saw that a golden
opportunity had arisen to bring this mess to a halt once and for all. He
took the wounded thief downtown instead of to the hospital and directly to
an interrogation room. There, being held down on a hard wooden chair by two
burly officers, it took the screaming thief less than fifteen seconds to
decide to roll over on the rest of his gang. Within the hour they were all
rounded up, along with a small warehouse full of air conditioners, which
had turned out to be a bit harder to fence that they anticipated.

     The chief of police announced the news from the steps of City Hall to
a cheering crowd of over a thousand sweating theft victims. But there was
one small snag. Somebody asked when the air conditioners would be returned
to their anxious owners. The chief paused for a second, swallowed hard,
then confessed that they would all have to be held over as evidence for the
trial--which was scheduled to begin in six weeks.

     The riot that ensued would best be left to the reader's
imagination...


                                    ---

     "Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." Michael crooned, sitting
crosslegged in the middle of the floor.

     "Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." Harold aped, sitting in an
identical position in across from him.

     "Repeat after me." Michael said quietly. "Owha..."

     "Owha..."

     "Tajer..."

     "Tajer..."

     "Kiyam."

     "Kiyam."

     "Now repeat the whole thing." Michael said.

     "Ohwa... Tajer... Kiyam..." Harold droned, eyes closed.

     Michael got up a bit stiffly, and said, "I'll be back in a few
minutes. Keep repeating this, a little faster each time, until I return."
and closed the door quietly behind him. He limped down to the kitchen (that
lotus position gets harder on the knees every year) and grabbed a couple
beers.

     As expected, when he got back, Harold was not chanting. Instead he
glared at Michael with all the indignity he could muster. "Very funny."

     Michael sat in the recliner. "That, my dear boy, was the Tibetian
Mantra for Self Realization." He grinned, "Sorry, I just couldn't resist.
Besides, if you really were a jerk, you would have still been chanting when
I got back, and then I'd have *known* there was no hope for you."

     Harold glared a moment longer, then they both broke up laughing.
Wiping a tear from his eye, Harold said, "Still, it was a cheap shot."

     Michael leaned forward, offering Harold a beer. "Actually, it was
intended to illustrate a serious point. To wit: just because you've fooled
yourself into believing something, that doesn't mean it's true."

     Harold popped the top on the can, which promptly foamed into his lap.
"Shit." he grunted, looking around for a towel. "You mean I've been wasting
my time this last two weeks with all this meditation stuff?"

     "Not at all. You are becoming quite adept at controlling your
voluntary reactions and senses. You haven't complained about the heat here
at all for the last several days." Now that Harold thought about it, he
really wasn't feeling the heat at all. Michael continued, "In fact, I've
never seen anyone advance so fast. No, I'd say you're well on your way to
conquering your ejaculation problem. It's your other problem I'm really
concerned about."

     "Oh? And just what problem is that?" Harold asked suspiciously.

     "I think you know what I'm talking about. Your insistance that you
define your sexual abilities by the ability to postpone orgasm. I think
you're going to find that that doesn't mean very much in the real world.
What you're really lacking is confidence and self-knowledge. You need to
know your capabilites and trust in them in order to BE capable. Being able
to have intercourse as long as you like is a fine thing, but you're going
to find that not that many women are going to be impressed by that ability
alone."

     Harold was shaken. "You mean this isn't going to solve my problem?"
     Michael rolled his eyes upwards. "At last he begins to see the light.
I talked to Julie the other day and she says-"

     "You've talked to her?" Harold interrupted anxiously. "Where is she?
How's she doing?"

     "Calm down, calm down. She's doing fine, she just has a few things to
work out. She actually called to see how you're doing. Apparently that
night you shared together has affected her as strongly as it did you."

     Harold's eyes became dreamy "Wow."

     "Anyway," Michael continued drily, "as I was saying, Julie commented
that your abilities were quite remarkable. Yet you persist in believing
that you are inadequete, just because one person told you that you were.
That shows a very serious lack of self confidence. Do you see what I'm
saying?"

     Harold thought it over a long moment. "Maybe... But how do I get this
confidence?"

     "You have to know yourself." Michael concluded. "And doing this is not
the easiest thing in the world. You have to go out and do things. You have
to explore. If you just sit around being a mass of untapped potential then
you will never know what that potential is. You cannot be confident in
something you do not know."

     "Okay," Harold said, a bit confused, "So what's all this got to do
with what's going on right now?"

     "I'm glad you asked. I think it's time we tested some of that
potential right now." Michael got up and opened the door. "Diane," he
called. A moment later one of the most stunning women Harold had ever seen
in his life walked in. "Harold, this is Diane. Diane, Harold."

     Diane offered her hand and Harold took it briefly. "Hello, Harold."
she said, in a low, husky voice. She stood about six inches shorter than he
did, and had a lithe, well-proportioned body. Harold felt almost helpless
to prevent his eyes from travelling downward, from her shoulder-length
auburn hair to small, pert breasts contained in a red tank-top to long,
tanned legs, very well set off by her rather brief white shorts. Suddenly,
self-consciously, he jerked back up where her beautiful hazel eyes met his
in a penetrating gaze. She slipped her hand from his and walked over to the
window, hips swaying just the right amount to hold his attention captive.
Then she turned back to him and stood there, one hand on cocked hip, fixing
him again with that gaze.

     Harold swallowed hard and shoved one hand in his pocket, to conceal
the bulge that was growing there. There was nothing physically remarkable
about this woman. All her power and sexuality was in the way she moved, the
way she held herself. As Tom had often said: "It's not what you got so much
as how you show it." A wave of pure lust swept over Harold. He wanted this
woman more than any he had ever seen in his life, yet her self assurnace
frightened him, as if telling him this was more woman that he could ever
handle.

     Then Michael cleared his throat and the spell snapped. Diane relaxed
and became a mere mortal again, leaning against the windowframe and
grinning like someone who had just played a grand joke. Harold felt as if
he had been doused with cold water from the inside out and the bulge in his
pants quickly receded. He swallowed drily. "That's... some act."

     "Thanks." She said, her voice now quite ordinary. "I always get a kick
out of doing that. Before I came here, guys used to ignore me in droves.
Now I can get 'em drooling any time I please. I don't do it very often, but
it's nice to know that I can."
     "Diane came here about four years ago." Michael said, in his best
college professor voice. "Her circumstances weren't all that different from
yours, in fact. She felt she had all kinds of faults and deficiencies, but
her biggest problem was that she simply didn't know herself. Under my
guidence, she quickly learned who she really was and what she could do." He
turned to her and asked, "What was it you were doing before you came here?
I forget."

     She appeared to ponder it for a moment. "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot
about it. I was waitressing down at Ptomaine Palace for minimum wage and
living with this guy who would slap me around because he said sex with me
was 'boring'. Finally the fucker ran off, leaving me with a lease I
couldn't afford to pay. My fondest fantasy is to track him down someday and
put his ass in the hospital." A feral gleam suddenly appeared in her eye
and Harold felt a chill running down his spine. "Anyway, after the landlord
threw me out a friend introduced me to Michael. After hearing my story he
gave me free room and board for as long as I needed it, and lectures every
day. After a while I quit resenting it and started to really listen to what
he was telling me. Now, in a couple months I'll be starting my junior year
at the university with a major in Engineering. And I owe it all to
Michael."

     "Bullshit." Michael growled, sitting back down in his recliner. "You
owe it all to yourself. I just gave you a kick in the ass that got it
started. No excuse for letting yourself go to hell like that. None at all."
He paused for a moment. "Do you still want to do this?"

     She looked Harold up and down appraisingly. "Sure. Might be
instructive all around."

     Harold suddenly felt very alone and outnumbered. And a little worried.
"Um, somebody want to let me in on this?"

     "Well," she said, walking over to Harold, "Mikey and I had a little
talk last night, and I had this idea to, you know, prove just how far along
you had come in conquering your little problem." She placed a hand on
Harold's shoulder and traced it, feather light, down his shirtfront to his
belt buckle, which she hooked a finger into and tugged gently.

     Harold swallowed hard, wondering just how far he had gotten over his
head here. He looked over at Michael. Michael, who had winced visibly at
"Mikey," simply looked back and said nothing. No help there.

     So he turned back to Diane. "Um, you mean here? Right now?"

     "Sure." she said, tugging on his buckle again. "Why not?"

     Then she was rubbing up against him, her arms around his neck. Their
mouths met in a long, breathtaking kiss. Harold's cock was as stiff as a
railroad spike, and it didn't help that Diane was grinding her hips against
his. She broke the kiss and ran her tongue slowly along Harold's jawline.
Planting little kisses along his neck, she slowly slid down his front,
maintaining maximum contact with her hands a body all the way. When she was
on her knees, her face level with his crotch, she began to work at his belt
buckle.

     Oh, jeez, Harold thought, as he looked around frantically. Michael was
still watching, only his expression was intent. Harold got the distinct
feeling he was being *studied*.

     Diane got Harold's belt unbuckled, undid the snap, and pulled the
zipper down. A white bulge immediately poked through, as his erection
strained to be free of his shorts. His pants fell to his ankles with a
jingle of change as Diane placed a hand on his covered bulge, massaging it
gently while she looked up into his eyes. Harold already felt waves of
massive pleasure surge up from his groin. She put her mouth over the tip of
the bulge and exhaled gently. Harold clearly felt the heat of her breath on
his cock, and moaned imperceptibly.

     Then she grabbed the waistband of his briefs and began to slowly pull
them down, uncovering his erection inch by agonizing inch. The pounding in
his cock was matched by the pounding in his head as he felt the elastic
drag down along the length of his penis.

     Then he was free, his cock standing stiffly erect for all the world to
see. He glanced over at Michael, but Michael didn't seem to be as
interested in the action as he was in Harold's face. Then Harold forgot all
about him as Diane extended her tongue and ran it up along his cock.

     Then, without warning, she plunged it into her mouth. All the way in.
While Harold wasn't exceptionally large, he had still never met a woman who
could deep throat him before. The feeling was nothing short of amazing, as
the warm, slick wetness of her mouth enveloped his entire cock. The feeling
was intensely erotic, and Harold closed his eyes with a moan and rolled his
hips as he prepared to explode into her mouth.

     A sudden, hard slap rocked his face. Shocked, he opened his eyes to
stare at Michael, who had bounded off his chair and stood just behind
Diane. "Harold," he said quietly, "if you ejaculate in her mouth, she will
bite your penis off."

     At that moment, he felt a brief, sharp pain at the base of his cock as
she dug her teeth in very slightly, just as a hint, before resuming her
sucking with double the intensity.

     Cold horror gripped Harold's heart. He had been a fraction of a second
away from coming before Michael slapped him, but the slap had brought him
well back from the edge. Still, Diane's oral talents were nothing short of
extraordinary and it would not be very long before he was back again. She
slid his cock in and out of her mouth while lightly caressing his balls
with one hand. The other hand slid between his legs and began to tease his
asshole with a finger. Already the pressure was beginning to build as
Harold frantically thought of a way to stop it.

     In the midst of panic came a voice of calm. Your training, you idiot!
it said. That's it! Harold replied. He began to repeat the mantras Michael
had taught him over and over in his mind. Slowly, the real world began to
fade into the distance as he entered a trance. The sensations beneath his
belly eased to the point where he could contemplate them or dismiss them
altogether. His heart slowed and his pupils dialated as his mind entered an
alpha state. Within an amazingly short time he became pure ego, floating in
a sea of peace and serenity.

     After what seemed a brief yet endless time his hindbrain became aware
that something changed and he resurfaced to conciousness, gazing at
Michael's gently smiling face. Harold looked down and saw that Diane had
stopped, and was sitting at his feet, massaging her jaw.

     "Jeez." she said, "Thirty fucking minutes. Nobody's ever outlasted me
before." She looked up at him ruefully. "Mister, you are nothing short of
amazing."

     Laughing, Michael clapped Harold hard on the back, almost making him
trip over his pants. He quickly pulled them up and refastened them. "Well,
my boy," Michael said, "I guess I'd pronounce you cured, at least by your
own standards."

     Harold stood there, amazed. "I.. guess I really did it. I never
thought I would."

     "I had no doubt." Michael said. "You have found one solution to your
problem. Not the best one, in my opinion, but a solution all the same. With
practice you shall find others, I'm sure."

     Harold helped Diane to her feet. He looked her in the eye and asked,
"Would you really have...?"

     She just smiled and said nothing.

     Harold gulped and looked over at Michael. "Would she have?"

     Michael just shrugged. "Beats me. And I suppose I should know if
anybody would. After all, she's my wife."

     Harold's jaw dropped open. It stayed that way for a moment, until
Diane reached up and gently closed it. "You look cute when you're shocked."
she admitted. Then she gently tugged him towards the door.

     "What are you doing?" he asked, still flabberghasted.

     "I think we can find a more suitable place to finish what we
started..."

     "But... but..." he looked over at Michael helplessly.

     Michael just shrugged again, palms up. "She does as she wishes. And I
wouldn't have it any other way. You have passed an important hurdle today,
and a difficult one. You deserve a reward. Enjoy yourself. Both of you."

     Harold was silenced, at least long enough for Diane to drag him out of
there and to his well-earned reward.

     And what a reward it was!




                                     8

     In order to prevent an armed revolt by the citizenry, the mayor did
the only thing he could. He promised to drop all charges against the
air-conditioner thieves on the condition they would return all the stolen
property. They hastily agreed, considering that an armed mob waited outside
the building to hear their decision. Since there would be no trial, all the
air-conditioners were returned immediately to their sweating, cheering
owners and the mayor became a guaranteed shoo-in for the next election.

     The chief of police, who was recuperating in the hospital from a
concussion sustained during the previous day's riot, went on record saying
he would live just as long and die just as happy if he "never heard the
word 'air-conditioner' again."

     Though the thieves managed to save their lives by returning the loot,
there was still a slight feeling of resentment against them in Willyville.
Since the police had no reason to hold them anymore, they were thrown out
of the station and right into the arms of the raving crowd.

     Within the hour, the entire gang had been tarred and feathered.
Julie's husband was among them, and Julie herself took great pleasure in
assisting with the tarring and feathering, but not before getting him to
sign the divorce papers. She watched as the gang was run out of town on a
rail, Elmo Burns assisting with his shotgun and a generous supply of his
"special" shells. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away
absently. An unpleasant chapter in her life had just closed, and she knew
better things lay ahead.

     The next day, Bob Katt, fresh from a long vacation in the Yukon,
returned once more to the KNUT Newsroom. Since the studio air-conditioning
had been restored, he was appeared fully dressed, bringing the best news
Willyville had heard in a long, long time.
     The high-pressure front that had been stagnating over the whole area
for the last five weeks had finally weakened its hold and a storm front was
moving in, bringing massive thunderclouds, rain, and COOLER
TEMPERATURES!!!!

     A massive roar rose over the town as every man, woman, and child
cheered. Bob was later nominated for sainthood by the local church. He
politely declined, saying that one Church of "Bob" was enough...


                                    ---

     Harold knew the moment of truth had come. There was no denying it, and
putting it off would only make things worse. He had talked to Julie, who
understood completely. Diane said, "Go for it!"  Michael objected, saying
that Harold was still placing way too much emphasis on his sexual ability,
but acquiesced eventually when he saw just how determined Harold was.

     There comes a time when one has to face one's fears, either to defeat
them or succumb forever. But to avoid the test is to avoid oneself. On this
even Michael had to agree.

     Harold swallowed hard, picked up the phone, and started dialing.


                                    ---

     The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the bedroom with
an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant 75 degrees. Perfect
temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back on the pillow with a satisfied
sigh of pleasure not yet faded to memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed
between her knees, his erection pounding almost painfully against his
belly. The moonlight spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly
eyed her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of her
orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the wiry mass of her
pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent so much time carefully and
artistically bringing her to a powerful climax. Whatever else you could say
about his performance in the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of
the skills he was especially proud of. It used to be all he was proud of.

     Harold leaned forward, placing his hands on the bed on either side of
her. He kissed her fully and deeply as he gently lowered his weight onto
her. For a moment they simply lay there, as he savored the full body
contact, the feel of her naked skin against his own. Then he raised his
hips and she gently guided him into her.

     For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever compare to
the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust deep, and her hips moved
in response. His excitement towered to new heights, and his balls ached for
release. Take it slow, take it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand
along her side, from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving.

     He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythem, her hips moving with his.
Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her hands moved along his
back. Her breathing became short and rapid, and Harold knew she was
building to another orgasm. With each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a
new height until finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too
soon...

     And then he remembered. The mantra began to slowly run through his
head, and he felt the pleasure fade as he began to distance himself from
what he was doing. His whole body seemed to shift into an altered state,
one of total control.

     Beneath him, Cindi froze for a moment, perhaps in amazement that he
hadn't come yet, and then she became fluid again, moving and twisting in
synch with his own movements. Her breathing became rougher and louder,
first becoming gasps, then cries. Harold continued to pump mechanically all
the while. Cindi wrapped her arms around him, her nails digging into his
back. Her hips bucked and humped, grinding against his pubic bone with
every thrust. Finally, her body tensed as her moans became a breathless
shriek of ultimate pleasure as her orgasm ripped through her. Gasping, she
begged Harold to stop, but he wasn't listening, and a moment later she felt
herself building up to another orgasm. Once again her body locked and she
squeezed him hard enough to bruise ribs as the pleasure exploded in her,
twice as powerful as before. By now Cindi was beyond amazement and in
nirvana. And then she felt herself building up to a third...

     Forty mind-blowing minutes later, Harold decided to release the hold
he had on his senses and ejaculated, pumping his seed into her with a
rather disappointing spasm that might technically count as an orgasm. He
pulled himself out and flopped on the bed beside her, exhausted. His back
and stomach muscles ached miserably and his dick felt like it had been
rubbed with sandpaper, especially around the base. He turned over to Cindi,
who was laying on her back with her legs still apart, eyes glazed, mumbling
incoherently. He began to wonder if he had done her permanent damage.

     It was another fifteen minutes before she returned to reality. She
promptly rolled over and clamped onto Harold for dear life. "Oh, God!" she
gasped hoarsely, "That was unbelievable! How..."

     Harold grinned, trying to pry himself loose so he could breathe. "Oh,
I've learned a few things."

     "I'll say you have! Jesus, I'll be sore for a week! I've never *ever*
had a ride like that before."

     A cool breeze suddenly blew in through the window and they both fell
silent, in respect for nature's sudden benevolence. Then Harold got up and
began to pull on his clothes. Cindi continued talking, oblivious to
everything but herself, as usual. "You know, I really didn't mean to be so
hard on you before, but what's a girl to do? I mean, it's the man's job to
satisfy her and if he can't do it... well..."

     "Uh huh." Harold said, zipping up his pants. He began to look about
for his shirt.

     "Anyway," she continued, "I thought maybe if I gave you a little
incentive, you might find some way to shape up. And boy, did you ever! All
those guys I saw after I left you... they couldn't hope to match what you
did tonight."

     "Izzat so?" Harold said, finding his shirt hanging on the curtain rod.
"Lots of different guys, huh?"

     "Well... you know." she said coyly. "They really didn't mean anything
to me anyway. They were just random flings, even the guy you saw me with at
the party. I always, well, cared for you somehow. You have this sort of
stumbling, immature charm that I always found appealing. You just needed to
do some growing up and I'm so glad I finally decided to make you do it."

     "Yep, you sure made me do some growing." Harold said, pulling on his
shoes. "In fact, that was precisely what I wanted to show you tonight."

     "When you called me this morning and said you wanted a chance to show
me how much you improved I was, well, a little dubious. In fact, I called
Frank and Tony and kinda set up a backup date in case you... frustrated me
again." She closed her eyes and sighed luxuriously. "But you sure didn't.
I've never been so satisfied in my entire life."

     "I'm glad to hear it." Harold said. He was fully dressed now, and sat
down on the edge of the bed. "This was just something I felt I needed to
do. But now-"

     "I know, I know." she interrupted. "You want us to get back together
again. You are so predictable! Well, until tonight I really wasn't sure,
but maybe we could work something out. It couldn't be exclusive at first,
at least not for me, but a few more nights like that and you might just
convince me to settle down... Hey, are you all right?"

     Harold seemed to be suffering from a choking fit. Finally he took his
hand from over his mouth and it became obvious that he wasn't choking at
all, but laughing. It was a full minute before he was able to bring it
under control and talk again. "You... you really are something else, you
know that?" He had another fit of giggles and Cindi watched him, confused
and unbelieving. He continued, "You really think... after all that... that
I'd still wanna..." and off into another burst of laughter.

     "What are you talking about?" she demanded, confused. "You distinctly
said this morning you wanted another chance! I thought-"

     "Well, I'm sorry that was what you thought, because it wasn't what I
said. I wanted to prove something, both to you and to myself." Suddenly he
was sober and serious again. "And I did. That was all I really wanted to
do. You might as well make a date with Frank and Tony for tomorrow night,
because as far as I'm concerned, we have no reason to see each other ever
again."

     Cindi stared at him, aghast. "What the hell are you talking about?
You're in love with me, you fool! Don't you think I couldn't tell?"

     "Old news, my dear." Harold got up and went to the door. "Tell you
what: If you ever learn to think about anyone but yourself, give me a call.
Maybe we can work something out..." and with another burst of laughter, he
was gone.

     Cindi got up and ran to the window without dressing. Not caring if
anybody saw her, she leaned out and yelled, "Bullshit! You still love me
and you know it! Admit it!"

     Her only reply was the sound of a car pulling away and slightly
demented giggles drifting on the wind, mixing with the distant rumble of
thunder.


                                    ---

     At 11:04 PM, the first lightning strikes were sighted over the forest
north of town. After five weeks without rain, the woods were dry as a
tinderbox, and the forest service immediately summoned all the regular and
volunteer firefighters they could muster out there. The temperature dropped
below 75 degrees for the first time in thirty-six days.

     Thirty minutes later, black, murderous storm clouds drifted over the
Willyville area, filling the sky with a spectacular lightning display.
Thunder shook the town to its foundations as virtually everybody in town
came outside to watch from their porches or doorways.

     By midnight the temperature dropped to 65 degrees. Harold and Julie
watched from the front porch of the boarding house as a single drop of
water spattered in the dust at their feet.

     Approximately one minute later the skies opened up with all their
fury. Quarter sized raindrops hailed down in a torrent, quickly drenching
everything in sight. The Forest Service needn't have worried. It was as if
the sky gods were trying to make up for so many days of drought by drowning
the poor, hapless town beneath them. People whooped and hollered in the
streets, mindless of the soaking they were receiving. The hospitals would
admit 14 pnuemonia cases before the weekend. But right now, even the
(off-duty) doctors and nurses were joining in the celebration.

     The people partied hard and long into the night, as temperatures
quickly plummeted. They bottomed out at 50 degrees around 2:30 AM. This
news was greeted by hoarse and ragged cheering. People were catching colds
already.

     On the boarding house porch, Julie shivered, delighting in the chill.
An arm circled around her shoulders and she looked up into Harold's eyes.
Without a word, she led him into the house, past Michael, who looked on
with bland approval. Michael himself had a beer in one hand and his other
arm was around Diane's shoulders. Pretty soon, they would be going inside
as well, for a more private party. It was indeed a time for celebration.


     The heat was finally over.

--