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Chapter 17. MAST

“You look lovely today,” Dick complimented as I slid into the car next to him. It was a warm sunny day, and the convertible top was down. We were heading to the Jersey Shore for a weekend of sand, sun and fun with friends.

“You remember,” I chided, “this is the top and kerchief we bought at Caribelle Batik in St. Lucia last winter.”

“I thought you got a pink something,” he recalled.

“And this blue. I couldn’t resist. These fabrics are beautiful, and the cotton is so soft. Annie and Susan love the serapes I got for them.”

“That was an interesting process to dye the cloth. Out in the middle of the rainforest.”

I remembered back to our weeks in St. Lucia. When we weren’t mounted in the big bed under the slow wide fan, we spent most of our days lazing on the beach. I relaxed under an umbrella, with Dick stretched out on a chaise in the sun next to me. For hours each day, he lay in the Caribbean sun and never suffered a burn or even uncomfortable redness. His skin tanned, and warmed into a luscious shade of caramel that made me want to lick him all over.

The hotel manager had joined us for a stroll across the grounds one evening when we were on our way to dinner. He complimented my silk shawl and asked if I had been to the batik workshop at the top of the mountain. When I said we hadn’t, he offered to have a car take us there the next afternoon. To my surprise, Dick asked if that sounded like something I would enjoy. When I said yes, he asked the manager to have the car ready at four o’clock.

The next afternoon, we ate a light lunch on the beach then headed to our room for a cool shower and what I expected would be some delicious afternoon sexy time. But Dick emerged from the bathroom in a crisp white linen shirt and pressed chinos and asked, “Aren’t you ready? It’s 3:45, we should head to the lobby.”

It took but a minute to slip a light dress over my head, and strap on sandals. The little devil on my shoulder had goaded that Dick would probably put me in a taxi and send me off shopping on my own so he could relax and read the newspaper uninterrupted. The little angel on the other shoulder was smug. This man is full of surprises, I mused to myself as we drove the local winding roads. At Caribelle Batik, Dick and I toured the workshop. We met the artisans and marveled at the deep vats of dye and rolls of fine cotton fabric the crafters twisted and folded to created magnificent swirls of color. Then he found a seat to one side, and observed as I looked through the offerings and modeled several outfits.

“I like that,” he commented. “Give whatever you want to the young lady. Be sure to pick out something for the kids.”

Draped in pink and orange batik, I rushed over to him, climbed into his lap and gave him a long, luscious kiss. “Thank you, Dick.” My heart overflowed with appreciation of his generosity and gallantry. He said nothing in reply, but the stiffening mast in his pants shouted volumes.

“Oh,” I squeaked. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he looked at me with calm self-possession, challenging me to deny the thrill of his magic wand pressed resolutely at the folds of my batik skirt, as it swelled into my slice of heaven. He smiled coolly, watching me squirm as my cheeks reddened and I sank onto him, barely able to maintain my composure and not daring to stand up.

“Uh-hum,” Dick cleared his throat, bringing my reverie to a close, and my thoughts back to the car with him. I stroked my hand sensually across the soft, colorful cotton fabric of my skirt. My cheeks flushed with the memories as I said, “It was a wonderful trip. I hope we can go again.”

Dick raised the convertible top as we approached the Lincoln Tunnel and connected to the New Jersey Turnpike. He reached over and placed his hand on my batik covered thigh, moving his thumb back and forth. Teasing but never quite reaching between my legs to my damp peach, he commented, “Indeed, soft.”

Dick and I had been gallivanting for almost two years, and I felt connected to his life and family more and more each day. His friends were becoming my friends as we met for dinner or at the Club for social events. His sister Claire and I talked on the telephone once in a while. My kids liked him, and he seemed to like them.

Todd had finished high school and moved to New York City. I wanted him to go to college, but he insisted he needed a gap year, and was living in a loft with a school buddy on the lower West Side. He worked in the warehouse for B&H Audio, a big box store for photo and video equipment. At least he was nearby, and he met me and Dick for dinner every few weeks. Dick was a good influence on Todd, and a role model of a successful businessman.

Cruising the familiar streets of Atlantic City, Dick chuckled softly as I tilted my chin to look up at the magnificent white marble horse testicles hanging over the car as we pulled into the driveway of Caesar’s.

Back in our favorite suite, Dick waited patiently as the porter delivered the luggage, opened the drapes to a magnificent view of the Atlantic Ocean, offered instruction on the ventilation system, and the television remote control. He thanked the young man, handed him a folded bill and watched him leave. As soon as the lock clicked confirming our privacy, he reached for me. His hands gripped around my waist and pulled me close. Almost nose to nose he said, “After that long car ride I’m feeling frisky. How about you?” Before I could answer, he covered my mouth with his. His tongue danced over my teeth then moved to my neck and shoulder, and slid to my earlobe, where I shivered at the sensation of his tongue and hot saliva. His lingual ribbon waltzed in my ear like a point of flame lighting my insides. Weak kneed, I melted into his arms.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispered, continuing his moist ministrations and lifting me to the couch. I writhed as his mouth found my nipples and sucked, hard. The batik colors lay in a heap on the floor, and Dick’s mouth continued its hot journey across my belly to lick at the sticky honey between my legs. My pink abode and thighs were damp with readiness.

Then, without preamble, his royal mast thrust up my seaway. Higher. Higher. Deeper. I felt the shaft widening me, opening me. “More!” I screamed, and “Oh! Oh!” as he propelled himself deeper and higher. I raked his back with my hands, grasping, yearning, pulling him into me. The head of his fully rigged pole pounded into the tip of my cervix and my body exploded with a million scintillating sparks.

We sprawled on the couch, drained physically and emotionally. Eventually Dick stumbled to his feet, and made his way to the bathroom. Sunk into the cushions, I wriggled my thighs to activate the slimy, pungent tingles in my labia. I reached between my legs, yearning to recreate the effervescence of climax.

“AH!” Dick’s cry jolted me to my feet. “Ah! Damn.”

“Dick! Dick?” I rushed across the room frantic to reach him. The cold floor tiles under my feet sent a chill up my legs as I realized I was bare assed. Also naked, he sat slumped over on the toilet. “Dick? My God, are you okay?”

He looked up at me, his arm half into the toilet. His great, long shaft hung limply in his hand. “I hate these old toilets,” he muttered, a serious expression knit his brows.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, still worried and confused.

“The water, my shlong hits the toilet water. It’s fucking freezing!”

My first reaction was to reach for my crotch to protect it from icy water. Then a giggle popped out, until I saw him glower at me. Quickly rearranging my face to a serious and sympathetic expression, I moved towards him and commiserated, “Oh Dick. Has this happened before? Is this a lifelong problem?”

He caught the humor in my tone as he realized it was a predicament I never experienced, and never would. “Well,” he conceded, “it is for me. I guess not lifelong, but since I was about fifteen.”

I laughed, and hugged him, and kissed his cheek, then kissed the tip of my finger and bent to touch his penis. “Sorry fella’. It’s such a burden to be so big and long.” I consoled, “How about a nice hot shower to make it all better?” Dick agreed.

The rest of the weekend was filled with social gatherings at the roof top pool, golf and dinners. Dick and I took a stroll on the boardwalk one evening to people watch and enjoy the noise and lights. But we never made it down to the sand. The Atlantic City beach stretches for miles, but has coarse, yellow sand compared to the pristine silvery beaches of the islands. This time of year it was also filled with beer drinking, boom box blasting teenagers.

Mercy and Rod flew in from Kentucky for the weekend. Mercy now accepted me into the group, though still maintained a pretentious southern courtesy. After several years of continuing to show up at Dick’s side, it seemed she and Rod respected Dick too much to cause a rift in the business and social relationship by being rude to me.

Randelle and I met for lunch occasionally in New York, and I was happy to see her and Axel at dinner that night. The next afternoon, Randelle, Mercy and I decided to shop the Dangler Outlets while the guys played golf.

“Dahlin’,” Rod drawled and leaned towards Mercy for a smooch, “I expect a great big bill on my credit card. Now you buy whatever your pretty heart desires. Don’t disappoint.”

Mercy returned the kiss and looked at us all to comment, “He’s a cheeky bastard but I love him so.”

Dick squeezed my hand and said, “Have fun. I’ll meet you back in the room about five.”

“Come on you love birds,” Mercy chirped at the sight of Dick holding my hand, “Time’s a wasting.” And Randelle and I dutifully followed her across the lobby.

“The new Kate Spade opened since we were here last fall,” Randelle said.

“Honey, Rod’s credit card is burning a hole in my pocket.” Mercy patted her pocket as if to put out a fire. “Let’s make Kate our first stop.”

An hour later, Randelle and Mercy were loaded down with shiny red shopping bags. “Lunch,” Randelle stated, “I need to replenish before the next stop.”

Seated at a table at Ruth Chris’ Steak House, our salads in front of us, Mercy reviewed the loot she had collected. “Her Zooey line knocked me over!” She assured us, “It was all I could do to buy just the one. So I didn’t!” And she laughed at her own joke.

“What?” Randelle laughed with her. “Are you telling me you ended up buying both the black bag and the white one?”

“Mmm-hmm. And the pink one too!”

The price tag on a Kate Spade bag at Macy’s New York was $400 plus tax. My fantasy was limited to drool and fondle. Even the reduced outlet price of $328 was too steep for my budget, much less a trio.

“I’m perfectly happy with these little trinkets.” Randelle waved her wrist across the table to show off a rose gold wrist watch, then pointed to her earlobes where matching rose gold earrings perched. “Lori, what did you get?”

“Those earrings are beautiful.” I answered to distract while I thought of an answer for why I didn’t buy anything. I mentally bellyached that Mr. Dick Grand didn’t offer me a credit card so I could afford to play with Mercy and Randelle.

“Did you get a pair?” Mercy asked.

“Oh, no, not this time.” I said, letting it hang in the air that I had gotten them last trip.

“Well, ladies, finish your salads because we have to exercise our credit cards,” Mercy teased. In the next couple hours, we visited Ralph Lauren, Sunglass Hut, Brooks Brothers, Chico’s, and St. John, where Mercy stocked up on cruise wear.

As we passed Wilson’s leather on the way back to the hotel, Randelle asked, “Mercy, are you and Rod coming to Montreal in September?”

“Oh yessireee,” Mercy confirmed, “I wouldn’t miss that fur show for the world. Rod promised me there’s a new fox coat with my name in it.”

“Lori, are you and Dick coming?”

“What’s in Montreal?” I asked, feeling uninformed.

“Well,” Randelle continued, “This year the big convention is in the Old City, and Angiriou Furriers is holding a special show right at the hotel.”

“Angiriou specializes in wild furs.” Mercy explained, “I have a mink, it’s five years old but I really love it. I was thinking something sportier this time around. You must come, Lorelei, we have a wonderful time.”

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