Jazz Age Ch. 08 - 11

The Littlewood daughter was a high-strung defiant girl, but she was never any problem for Finn. She never used the car alone and when she was with her parents she paid no attention to him. Finn thought she was nothing but a spoiled rich girl and he was happy to avoid her.

One afternoon just before Christmas Mrs. Littlewood came down the steps of the Metropolitan and climbed into the car as usual. But this time before Finn closed the car door she spoke to him.

"Do you have a family?"

"Just my mother," Finn said as he continued to hold the door open.

"Then you're not married?"

"No ma'am."

He couldn't help looking at her legs. The way she sat on the deep seat had caused her skirt to be pulled back over her knees. Her right leg was closest to him and he had a glimpse of the dark band at the top of her flesh-colored stocking. If she noticed what he was looking at, there was no sign of it.

"I thought you were married," Mrs. Littlewood said.

"No ma'am," Finn said again.

"All right, take me home now."

Finn wondered why she'd asked about his family. He had some aunts and uncles and cousins, but his old mother was the one he lived with. He was thirty-six years old and he thought maybe he'd get married when he was forty. He thought forty was a good age for a man to get married.

Christmas came and passed and Finn received a twenty dollar bill and was thankful for it because he'd worked for the Littlewoods only a short time. He bought a new radio for his mother and a bottle of bootleg Irish whiskey for himself. He was happy.

During the week between Christmas and New Year's, the Littlewoods were busy with family relations and Finn had to drive for them nearly every day and sometimes in the evening too. He didn't mind it. He liked the work. He looked after the chains on the tires and when there was snow on the ground he had no problem with the big LaSalle. The front of the car was warm enough when he had his heavy coat on. It was certainly better than driving one of those old town-cars that had the chauffeur sitting out in the open to freeze.

One morning when Finn was waiting in the car in front of the Littlewood building, the doorman came out and said Mrs. Littlewood wanted Finn upstairs in the apartment. Finn went around to the service elevator and he rode up to the tenth floor.

One of the maids opened the kitchen door to the Littlewood apartment and said: "It's just to move one of the tables. She's waiting for you in the living room."

Mrs. Littlewood was dressed in a dark blue peignoir. "You can help the girls move that table from here to there."

"Yes ma'am."

Finn and the two Swedish maids moved the large table from one part of the room to another.

After that Mrs. Littlewood said she had some packages in her bedroom that she wanted Finn to bring down to the car. When Finn followed her into the bedroom he found himself in a large pink room, pink walls, pink curtains, pink upholstery on the chairs and on the large headboard behind the bed. He started gathering the packages on the bed while Mrs. Littlewood stood before her dressing table touching a comb to her hair. Then Finn glanced at Mrs. Littlewood and at her image in the mirror and he was suddenly paralyzed by what he saw.

The front of Mrs. Littlewood's peignoir was hanging open as she combed her hair, the two sides of the peignoir falling far enough apart from each other so that her breasts and belly and thighs were clearly visible in the mirror. She was naked except for stockings, sheer dark stockings rolled at mid-thigh and maybe held up by hidden garters. Finn could see only the inner slopes of her large breasts, but he clearly saw the patch of brown hair at the joining of her full thighs.

Finn couldn't move. He stood there with the packages in his arms and his eyes on the mirror.

Then Mrs. Littlewood shifted her body slightly. She lifted her head and their eyes met in the mirror.

For a moment neither of them moved. Mrs. Littlewood still had her right hand raised to the side of her head, the comb in her fingers. She continued to look at Finn in the mirror, and then finally she dropped her right hand, put the comb down on the dressing table and used both hands to close the peignoir.

Finn cradled the packages in his arms and he hurried out of the room.

* * *

The daily routine continued as before and Mrs. Littlewood made no mention of what had happened. But soon after that Finn was told that on weekday mornings after he returned from Wall Street he might come up to the kitchen to wait for Mrs. Littlewood. Finn gave up the penny poker game at the garage and he began passing his mornings in the Littlewood kitchen. He would chat with the Swedish maids awhile, and then when Mrs. Littlewood was ready to go out he'd ride down the elevator with her.

It wasn't long before Finn was aware that Mrs. Littlewood was looking at him more carefully these days. She looked at him as though she were inspecting his uniform, her eyes travelling up and down from his black shoes to his black peaked cap. But Finn made a point of dusting his uniform each morning before he put it on and he was confident she could find no fault with it.

What had happened in Mrs. Littlewood's bedroom was never far from Finn's thoughts. Now when he looked at her legs as she entered the car, he would think of what he'd seen in the dressing table mirror, her belly, her white thighs, the tuft of brown hair.

One day Finn drove Mrs. Littlewood and two other ladies to a luncheon on Central Park West. The two ladies seemed to be old friends of Mrs. Littlewood. They chatted about people they knew as the big car moved along the winding road through the park. Finn drove them to a building on 65th Street and then he sat in the car waiting for them. He'd brought a wrapped sandwich with him, and now he ate the sandwich as he watched the traffic on Central Park West.

When the ladies came out of the building again, it was obvious to both Finn and the doorman that they were all drunk. The doorman rolled his eyes at Finn as the two men helped the ladies enter the rear of the LaSalle.

Finn took the two lady friends of Mrs. Littlewood to their apartment buildings on Park Avenue, and then he drove Mrs. Littlewood home.

"I've had too much to drink," Mrs. Littlewood said. "I'll need your arm to help me get up to the apartment."

"Yes ma'am."

Mrs. Littlewood held onto Finn's arm, her hand clutching at his bicep, her fingers squeezing the muscle again and again. They rode the elevator together and then they entered the apartment through the front door. Mrs. Littlewood walked with Finn past the maid who had opened the door. She walked with Finn into her bedroom and there she closed the door and fell into Finn's arms with a groan:

"You're very strong, aren't you?"

"Ma'am?"

"Kiss me, you fool. Kiss me before I change my mind about it."

Finn kissed her. She moaned against his lips. He could smell her perfume and he had the taste of her lipstick in his mouth. She pressed against him, her eyes closed and her face lifted as the kiss continued.

Then suddenly she dropped a hand down to the front of his uniform and she groaned as she grabbed at his penis through the cloth of his trousers.

"My God, it's like iron," she said.

She held him tightly, squeezing his penis with her fingers, measuring its length and thickness. She made a sound of approval and then she abruptly pulled away from him.

"You can't stay here. Wait in the car for me and I'll be down in twenty minutes. I just want to freshen up. Will you do that?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh, look at it. Look at the way it sticks out like that. I'm sure the maids will see it. Carry something, will you? Carry that newspaper."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Finn waited for her in the limousine. She came down at last, and as soon as she was settled in the back and he was behind the wheel again, she said: "I've reserved a room at the Netherlands. Room 620. You take me there now and I'll go up first."

He drove straight to the Netherlands Hotel and she left the car to walk through the entrance. He found a garage for the limousine, and then he walked back to the hotel entrance with his peaked chauffeur's cap in his pocket.

He walked through the hotel lobby to the elevators and he rode an elevator to the sixth floor. When he found room 620 and knocked on the door, he heard Mrs. Littlewood call out: "Just a moment." Then she opened the door to admit him inside.

"Close the door," she said. "Quick, close the door."

Finn closed the door.

"This is much better, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Well, take your coat and jacket off, won't you? We're not going to do anything while you're dressed up like that."

Finn slipped his coat off and put it on a chair, and then he unbuttoned his tunic and laid it down over the coat.

"And the shirt," she said. "I want to see what you look like."

He slipped his suspenders off his shoulders and then he pulled his woolen undershirt off and put it on top of the tunic.

She stared at the mat of dark hair that covered his chest. "That's better," she said. "My, you look strong. You're fit, aren't you?"

"I'm healthy, if that's what you mean."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-six."

"Now you can kiss me again and we don't need to worry about the maids."

He looked at the windows.

"It's only the park," she said. Then she laughed and she came forward to kiss him. "Don't be afraid of me. Are you afraid of me, Finn?"

"No ma'am."

"We're not going to do everything. We'll do certain things but not everything. I want to have you in my mouth and for the time being that's all I want. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind? You'd better tell me now, because if you want everything I won't allow it."

"I don't mind it, ma'am."

"You can call me Grace if you want. While we're together like this you can call me Grace. Now let's see what we have here. Is it hard again? Oh yes it is. How lovely."

She gripped his penis through his trousers as they kissed again. Then she pulled her mouth away from his and she looked down at him.

"I want to see it now. Before we do anything else I want to see it."

"What about you?"

"Not now. Please hurry. You do want to please me, don't you?"

Finn quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off until he stood on the carpet in front of her wearing only his black socks.

Her face flushed, Mrs. Littlewood stared at Finn's white body a moment and then she came forward. She lifted his balls in her left hand as she closed the fingers of her right hand around the shaft of his penis. She carefully fondled him, one hand squeezing his testicles while the other hand stroked his erect organ.

"Yes you're fit," she said. "This is a handsome thing, isn't it? My poor husband is too old now. Much too old for me. I'm only forty-five, you know. Did you think I was older than that?"

"I thought you were younger."

"Oh nonsense, you're trying to flatter me. Let's move over here to the bed."

He thought she'd lie down on the bed, but instead she sat on the edge of the bed and then she made him stand in front of her. He suddenly understood her intention and a moment later she carried it out: she leaned forward and took the knob of his penis in her mouth and started sucking it.

Even if she'd warned him it was what she wanted, it was still a surprise. Her face down there was a surprise, the face of a Park Avenue woman whose mink coat was now thrown across one of the chairs. It was something only whores had done to him, and that not often since he could rarely afford the price they asked.

Mrs. Littlewood gorged herself. She held his balls with her left hand while she filled her mouth with his thick organ. He stared down at her face as though hypnotized, his eyes on her stretched lips as they moved back and forth over the length of his cock.

Then he was shocked when he noticed that her right hand was under the hem of her dress and between her thighs. It was obvious that she was fingering her fanny while she sucked his cock, and the idea that she would do that so openly set his mind ablaze. He raised his head up and groaned as he discharged in her mouth.

Mrs. Littlewood continued sucking and swallowing his sperm. She held just the knob of his penis in her mouth and sucked at it as he continued spurting. When he was finished, she pulled her lips away with a wet sound and licked the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

"Oh yes, you're fit," she said with a laugh. "You're as fit as can be."

* * *

During the weeks that followed, the routine of Finn's job continued. He spent each day with the car, each weekday driving Mr. Littlewood to Wall Street, then driving back to the Littlewood address on Park Avenue.

Every two or three days Mrs. Littlewood rented a room in advance at the Netherlands or the Plaza. She would leave the car and go to the room to wait for him. Finn was always afraid of the eyes of the desk people as he entered the lobby and walked to the elevator. He kept his peaked chauffeur's cap in one of his pockets in the hope they'd think him just another guest. But if they noticed or remembered him there was no sign of it. He wondered about the other well-dressed women in the hotel. How many of them were on their way to a tryst with someone like himself? No, it can't be, he thought. There couldn't be any like her, not like Mrs. Littlewood.

Inside the hotel room she always had the same insatiable hunger to suck his cock and have his sperm in her mouth. She said he had rich sperm for a man of thirty-six. She said it was a sign of good health and he ought to be thankful for it. She always did her best to drain him completely. She would suck on his penis until he finished spurting and then she'd use her hand to get some more out of him. He was surprised at how little it weakened him. Five minutes afterward he'd be dressed and on his way to the car to wait for her.

There were times when he was annoyed because he thought she treated him like a prize animal. After he undressed, she liked to feel his balls first. Then she'd push his foreskin back to look at the glans of his penis. This happened only every week or so and he guessed she was making certain that he hadn't contracted a disease somewhere. She seemed to know a great deal about male anatomy.

It was nearly a month before she undressed completely so that he could look at her. Her breasts drooped, but not as much as some other women he'd seen. She let him look at her fanny all he wanted and she was amused by his interest in it.

Whenever she sat on the bed and sucked his penis she had a hand between her open thighs. When she was naked he could see everything, her naked belly, her fingers rubbing her sex. She had no modesty about it. She told him it was the only way she had her pleasure and he could watch it all he wanted. She asked him if he ever did it to himself and then she laughed when he wouldn't say yes or no.

When they were away from the hotel rooms, when she was getting in and out of the car, or when he sometimes saw her in the kitchen of the apartment, he couldn't look at her face without thinking of her doing it. He would look at her face and think of her mouth on his cock, or think of how flushed her face always was after she got what she wanted out of him.

Sometimes, in one of the hotel rooms, he tried to get her to do something else. He wanted to lie on her and put his penis inside her in the ordinary way. He asked more than once but she always refused him. She said he ought to be happy with what she did. "Don't be a fool and spoil it," she said.

What happened was that he started hating her. He hated her because he knew that he meant nothing to her. He hated her because she was the one who had the money and that meant he was only a servant.

One day in a room in the Netherlands Hotel he forced himself on her. Instead of standing in front of her so that she could suck his cock, he pushed her down on the bed on her back. He forced her legs apart and he tried to enter her.

"I won't have it!" she cried as she tried to pull away from him.

"Let me do it the ordinary way."

"No, I won't have it. I don't want that. I told you I don't want that."

When she realized he intended to force her, she clawed at his body with her fingers. She was in a cold fury. She struggled against him, a violent struggle that succeeded in preventing him from entering her sex.

He had an urge to strike her, but he could not strike a woman. It was something he could not do. Even if she deserved it, he could not do it. He finally moved away from her and he gave it up.

"You're a bitch," he said.

"You fool! Don't you call me that!"

She lay naked on the bed, taunting him with her body, her legs wide apart to expose the hairy mouth of her sex. "Get out," she said. "Get dressed and get out of here."

He put his uniform on and he went down to the limousine to wait for her.

He sat there thinking about her as he watched the people leaving and entering the hotel. Once again he wondered about the women, the ladies wearing furs and jewelry. How many of them were like Mrs. Littlewood?

When at last Mrs. Littlewood came out of the hotel, he opened the rear door for her as usual. She said nothing to him. He closed the door and he walked around the car to climb into the driver's seat. Before long they were heading north on Park Avenue, another chauffeur and another well-dressed New York woman returning home.

The next morning Mr. Littlewood told Finn that his services were no longer required. He would get two weeks pay and a reference if he needed it. He could leave the car in the garage after he drove back from Wall Street.

"I'm sure you'll find another job," Mr. Littlewood said. "Everyone seems to want a chauffeur these days."

Chapter 11: Crazy Rhythm

Another month passed and it was now March. The evenings in New York were still cold. Downtown the lights of the shop windows caused a glow in the faces of the pedestrians on the sidewalks.

On the corner of 34th Street and Seventh Avenue a woman in a red hat pulled the collar of her coat closed to cover her throat. The women were now wearing tight-fitting hats, the front part of the brims turned up. The men wore fedoras and bowlers, the hats sometimes tilted at a jaunty angle to give a bit of dash to the appearance.

Never mind the dash: During the first week of March it rained cats and dogs in Washington while Herbert Hoover was sworn in as President of the United States. Was it a portent?

In the evening in New York, a man named Jack Bishop turned from 34th Street into Seventh Avenue, a gray peaked cap tilted forward on his head, his body warmed by a black overcoat, his hands in his coat pockets. He walked slowly, stopped, walked again, stopped at a shop window, turned to gaze at the displayed merchandise, mens overcoats, ulsterettes, popular patch pockets, double breasted belted, form fitting, $29.95, $39.95, $49.95, four mannikins in the window, the second from the left with his left hand raised, a gloved hand holding a second glove, the other hand behind his back, his forefinger touching his thumb as if to point or pull at an imaginary thread, his teeth exposed in a smile or a grimace, the white collar, the carefully knotted dark blue tie, TESTED MERCHANDISE IS DEPENDABLE MERCHANDISE...

Jack thought: the one on the right 50 bucks, makes you look like a successful business chap, a man going places, all wool with a satin lining no doubt. But he didn't need an overcoat, he already had two coats, how many coats could a guy wear at one time? Take off one, put on the other one. He wouldn't mind being rich, but why does he need three overcoats? Yes this one on the right would be fine, that happy smile on his face, the way they do it in wood then paint it over, the glowing skin, the healthy teeth, this one on the right goes home at night to a pretty little thing from Coney Island, a girl who wears one of those tight wool bathing suits in summer, a bathing beauty way back in 1919, the wool suit showing everything, her breasts, the swell of her hips, her thighs, her calves only half covered by those bathing stockings they wore, her arms outstretched as she poses for the camera la di da here I am Charlie take my picture...