Archive-name: Control/heat5to8.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: The Heat - (Parts 5-8 of 8)


                                     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.

--