Love and Other Murders

By lidmila All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Erotica

Chapter 69

“What time is it, John?” She reaches after her clothes strayed about the bed.

“The right time to get drunk on your divine body!”

He throws the sheet back and, not minding her protest, examines her with a painstaking attention.

“Stop it, John!”

Turning over on her belly she stretches forcibly her slack buttocks muscles feeling for the first time in her life embarrassed by her nudity.

“I’ll start working out the first thing tomorrow. You’ll see me in the nude when I am back in shape.” She grabs the sheet and throws it over her.

“What a fool you are, Magda! I don’t want you because you are perfect but because you are YOU! I need you so much that I can’t afford to let you disappoint me!”

She stares at him alarmed by his intensity, the fanaticism of a gambler dropping his last chip on the roulette. This is not what she is expecting from him! All she is asking for is a stupendous sex flashing Polland’s slimy seed out from her vagina. Less and less certain if John would be the most suitable man for her she looks around evaluating the cost of John’s elegant studio apartment, all steel and glass, with its picture window showing off the splendor of the “Sacré Coeur.” What does he do for a living to reside at the very heart of the fashionable Montmartre with a personal elevator built illegally into a historic house? Who is providing him with his hype designer garb, not exactly dime-a-dozen? She must have been nuts to jump into this freakish fling before having the slightest hint of John’s means of existence.

“Are you a model, John?” She asks wriggling free from his embrace.

“Why do you ask me, Magda?”

“You are too gorgeous not to be.”

“I may be, on the side, but mostly I am in the advertising business for TV, I do a cat-walk occasionally and photos of beach-wear to get some free sun. To earn serious money by modeling one has to start very young. When I decided to go up to Paris from my native Normandy I was in my late teens, which is nearly the retirement age for a male model. When people started to congratulate me on how young I look I realized it’s high time to take another turn on the boulevard of fame and fortune.

“A friend of mine introduced me to a famous American writer launching his new novel in Paris, a propos he is the reason we met at the “Shakespeare & Company” bookshop. He tries hard to breathe new life into his faltering inspiration by a casual sex with young men. He let me meet his friends, changed Jean into John and taught me English between two embraces.”

Magda watches him horrified; a gay, a gay hustler to top it! It could happen only to her! How can she be sure he hasn’t given her AIDS? They fell into each other like two rockets in full flight! It happened too soon, too fast! Magda swallows hard. Has John put on a condom? All she can recall is their mad run for lust.”

“Don’t worry, Magda, I never have unprotected sex, it’s the first rule of my trade.” He catches her hand groping after a rubber in the messed up bed.

“Here you are, sweetie!” He hands her their used rubber with a mocking grin.

“I am as clean as a whistle and hopefully you noticed I am not gay. -The proof of the pudding is in the eating-so they say. My homo fucks are a pure business deal and, without boasting, I don’t think you have ever met a better lover.”

Magda shoots him a stony glare. There are limits in sex for sale; would SHE ever make it with a lesbian?

“Under these circumstances I don’t think I can ever see you again, John!”

Backing away from his ready arms Magda puts him righteously down.

“Wait a moment until throwing the first stone, young lady!” He attires her closer tightening his grip.

“Who was the old timer you entertained at the Drugstore? Don’t give it to me you are seeing him out of the kindness of your heart! So, being by all evidence in the some racket you can hardly blame me for doing sex for sale. Come on, Magda, who would give up a first class lay for morality sake?” He says persuasively his caressing hand heightening the force of the argument.

“Stop it, you bad boy, you are making me all funny. Of course you are the best! But I, as a respectable student of Art, can hardly befriend a gay hustler.” She jumps out of bed. Better not testing her resistance, she is only human and flesh is weak.

He watches her thoughtfully. Normally the golden and the chosen he entertained in bed couldn’t get enough of him and begged for a repeat, paying dearly for his favors; something that rarely happened. He is a one-fuck-man. Is he a loner avoiding any romantic involvement or a man fearing to get bored by the routine? What has this redhead the others hadn’t? Of course she knows what she is doing when making a man happy. This time there was no consideration of a financial gratification but pure falling in unbridled lust when nothing but contenting each other matters.

“Call me a cab, will you, John?” Magda has made her last adjustments and gets ready to go.

“Of course, Magda, I will, even if I cannot say it will be with pleasure. And one more thing, we shall meet again even if you don’t want to believe it now; as for me I can swear it blind.”

She watches longingly his nude body assuming instinctively the posture for the camera with the same natural grace when making a telephone call: a body of a Greek god, so perfect that it hurts.

“I’ll see you out.”

He takes leave of her on a hand kiss with the nonchalance of a tuxedo-clothed gentleman taking leave of a lady bringing her back home after the last dance. The formal touch of his lips on her skin puts her on fire while his certainty of meeting again gives her the courage to confront Polland.

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