The Blameless Bystander Ch. 10

"Your mother is smarter than most people realize." "Ma is thinking about inviting him for Thanksgiving," Raymond announced. "She's not sure because she says that the trailer is run down and she doesn't want to be embarrassed."

"I think that she should," Tracey advised, "if she wants to."

"Do you think that he'll come if she asks him?" Raymond's enthusiasm was returning.

"Maybe," Tracey mused. "Mr. O'Toole is full of surprises."

*********

"He certainly answered all of your questions, didn't he? It's a lot better interview than you brought back from Jarrod Morris' office," Roger Blair commented as the interview tape completed. "I wish that you could have done it without Ed Cassidy there."

"He said that it's union policy for him to sit in," the young reporter told him.

"I don't believe that!" Roger exclaimed.

"He didn't interrupt or contradict O'Toole until the end. I don't think that his answers would have been any different if he had been one-on-one with me."

"Let's test him," Roger commanded. "Call him in a couple of days and tell him that you need a photo for the story. If he has a problem with his past he won't want any photos of himself showing up in the paper. There would be a big risk that they would be seen on the internet by one of his victims—if there are any."

"I can do that," Peggy replied. "I really think that he's telling the truth."

"Maybe so, but until I'm sure it's going to be strictly arm's length," Roger insisted.

"And what will you do if you do decide to believe him?" Peggy asked.

"That'll depend on what's going on out in the field," he answered. "The whole thing might die away as fast as it got going. I'm sure that most readers had a major yawn when they read Jarrod's interview today."

The young reporter blushed. She wrote the article and was embarrassed because he knew that Roger was correct.

"That's okay!" Roger explained. "I wanted people to see that Jarrod was just giving the runaround when we were trying to get him to talk about something very important."

"So you still think that the Mayor is at the bottom of this?" she wondered out loud.

"I've got that feeling in my bunions," he answered. "It's either Jarrod or my gout acting up."

"If O'Toole turns out okay, then we have to look at Reverend Chandler," Peggy insisted. "I just don't like him."

"Look at him—sure. I dislike him, too but we'll need a lot more than dislike to go after him. For now, we'll just let the facts speak," Roger warned.

"I asked him for an interview, but he refused," she reminded her boss.

Peggy started packing up her recorder. It was getting a real workout lately.

"Write your story," Roger instructed before she left is office. "Be careful to give equal space to Jarrod's and O'Toole's interviews."

Peggy had packed up. She nodded that she understood as she exited the office.

"Even the same size picture!" he shouted to her out in the copy room.

************

When James saw his picture that accompanied Peggy Hardaway's article in the Sentinel he wasn't very impressed. He rubbed the back of his head and realized that he was truly shaggy, just as he looked in the picture. "Even I've heard of 'Photoshop'," he complained to himself out loud, but deep down he realized that his morning self-trims weren't doing the job.

He knew that Harvey English's Barber Shop was nearby and the only one in town. Normally on Thursday he would be busy tutoring after school, but Becky Chandler had dropped him at her father's insistence. So, on a Thursday afternoon in November James found himself pulling into a parking space in front of Harvey's.

"Hi, have a seat, Mister!" Harvey called to him as James walked in the door. Harvey didn't look up, preferring to concentrate on getting the back of Charlie Hancock just right. "You're next—don't mind these other guys—they're all done and just hangin' around."

Several men adorned the chairs in Harvey's shop. James looked around and realized that he didn't recognize any of them. He nodded politely and they nodded back. The subject of the day was deer hunting. They all agreed that it was a lot easier to take one today than years ago, what with the deer coming in close to feed on the farmers' corn stalks, and since more city folks were coming down to hunt it was a lot more dangerous out in the fields than it used to be, and remember when...

Since they all agreed on everything it was hard to keep much of a conversation going, and it died of natural causes. Two of the men sat silently in the chairs. They were considering making an exit. Brice Barlow picked up the newspaper and his face disappeared behind it. James sat waiting patiently.

Barlow slowly lowered the paper and peered at James for a few seconds, then slowly raised it back up again. He lowered it again, and after another long look folded the paper and walked to Harvey, still working on Charlie Hancock.

"It's him, Harv," he quietly spoke. "It's him; look—here's his picture."

"What are you talking about, Brice," asked Harvey, a little annoyed. He set his scissors on the counter and looked at the picture, then read a little bit. Then he looked at James and read a little bit more.

James figured out what was happening. They were giving him the same look; the same quiet words passed among them; the same treatment as he had received from his fellow teachers at school since his name had been revealed at the School Board meeting. He braced himself. He would rather get up and leave, but knew that it would be the wrong move. Acting guilty would make people sure that he was guilty. Being treated as if he was guilty was such a burden. It was tiring him out—wearing him down. He would have never thought that it would drain him. A few moths before, he might not have cared.

"Are you really this fella?" Harvey asked.

"My name is James O'Toole, if that's what you're asking," James answered. "My picture was in the paper today, so, chances are that the answer is 'yes'."

The shop fell silent until Brice Barlow scratched his head and whispered, "Well, I'll be..."

The two men who had been thinking of leaving edged their way to the door and one of them slipped his hand around the doorknob. "See you next time, Harv," one of them called out as they slipped out the door.

"Well, what are doing here?" Harvey asked in a challenging tone.

"I came in to get a haircut," James answered.

Harvey's face bore a confused look. "Why here?" he asked.

"I need a haircut. You're the only barber shop in town."

"Well, you're not getting a haircut in this shop!" Harvey declared. "Not today—not in a million years."

"Didn't you read the article?" James asked. It's there in black and white. I've done nothing of what I've been accused of. Don't I get a fair shake?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mister, but I know you're trying to trick me. I don't want you in my shop. I think that you better leave." Harvey answered.

"Don't you want to hear the facts?" James asked.

"Don't tell me about facts!" Harvey shouted. "We have facts—all the facts that we need. Do you think that we'd take the word of a stranger over what our pastor told us in our own church?"

"I'll leave," James said, "but I'm telling you that I have no blame in this. Someone made it up. I'm just a bystander in the wrong place and wrong time."

"You're in the wrong place, alright," Harvey retorted, becoming angry. "This man, here, is a Town Police officer. He'll get you out of my place if you don't leave on your own."

"He's right," Charlie said matter-of-factly. "He can tell you to stay out of his place if he wants to."

"On the other hand," Brice Barlow added, "The Civil rights Law says..."

"I just came in to get a haircut," James interrupted.

"Your kind makes us sick!" Harvey panted.

"Really, O'Toole," Barlow reasoned, "after all that's been said just now, do you really want to stay and get a haircut?"

The answer, of course was 'no', but James wouldn't give the assemblage the satisfaction of hearing his answer. He left without saying more. He decided to drive to Corning on Saturday afternoon and find a barber shop there.

**********

It was Saturday morning and James sat in a barber's chair in Corning as the clippers gradually corrected his shaggy appearance. The barber didn't turn out to be a conversation-style barber, the kind that engage customers in conversation about any subject, from the latest football scores to free advice on marital problems. It was just as well, because James' life was getting more complicated by the day and he had a lot to think about.

He was tired of thinking about Reverend Chandler and the pedophilia charges against him. They weren't really charges, he reminded himself, not even allegations, but rumors with no base. It was pointless to turn it over in his mind yet again. The only remaining questions were 'why' and 'how much longer', and he knew he had no chance to answer either question. It would better to turn his energy to other matters.

'Other matters' meant understanding his dual, sometimes cross-connected relationships with Vicki and Abby. Several days beforehand he spent the night with Abby and enjoyed her many charms. Tonight it was to be with Vicki. In fact, the two had driven together to Corning. They split up temporarily; Vicki to go shopping, James for a haircut. They made plans to rendezvous later for an early supper at a casual restaurant. After that, it would be back to Vicki's apartment for the night and more of her lessons in one-on-one.

He realized that his was a situation for which most men would be supremely grateful. Neither woman was jealous of the other, actually cooperated in the sharing. There was no one with pretenses or higher designs on the relationship. It was understood that sex was always on the agenda. Each woman brought her own style to their bed. James' greatest question was why he was questioning anything at all. Still, aware of his inexperience in such matters, he was careful.

Abby was so hot in the performance of sex. James thoroughly enjoyed having her tiny body and driving her to climax. They never spoke about anything important, although she was pleasant to be with. It was something that they did when Bubba was away. There would never be a chance for any activity outside the safely hidden confines of Abby's house. The sex was great, but outside of it, there was little to share.

Although Abby was closer to James' age, he enjoyed being with Vicki more. Vicki was two women. There was the 'bedroom Vicki', his first, his teacher and sexual mentor. At each session it seemed that Vicki would teach him something new. She even told him of ways to please Abby that he would never have come up with on his own.

There was also the other Vicki, who James considered a friend, who was the ideal companion at dinner or on a trip through the wine country. She was always interesting, never dishonest. She had warned James about love, but there were times that he felt that she cared for him. He had to admit that he felt something for her and he took a risk by ignoring her warning. Still, there was a gap, something missing that James hoped he could correct. It was hard to explain what more he wanted from her; surrender of reserve, lovemaking without holding back, confession of feelings. He skimmed the edges of his dilemma, missing the center of his target, but ready to try to fathom the depths again.

So, it was eight in the evening as the pair unlocked the door to Vicki's apartment. There was little doubt about James spending the night in her bed, so they proceeded immediately to the bedroom after taking off their outdoor clothing.

Vicki lit the customary candles on her dresser. James noticed that she had refreshed the spent candlesticks, showing that she had planned the evening the same as he had. She turned to unbutton his shirt, but James gently took hold of her hands and pulled them to her sides.

"Let me this time," he whispered. He took the top button of her blouse in his fingers and slowly undid it.

"Well, alright, James," Vicki conceded. James noted the slight discomfort in her voice at the change of routine. He refused to allow it to bother him, with the intent of the pupil to impress the skeptical teacher.

After releasing the buttons one-by-one he slid the blouse from her shoulders. Her white bra pushed her breasts out at him. James thought for a second and decided to pass it up for the moment. He unbuttoned her skirt and slid the zipper down. It fell to her feet. He knelt on the floor in front of her, inches from her shiny, white slip. She had already kicked off her shoes. Vicki stepped out of her skirt and James tossed it aside. He glanced up at her looking down at him with an expression that told him that she was wondering why she was still wearing her bra.

James reached under Vicki's slip, placing a palm softly on each knee. He allowed his hands to slowly slide up each thigh, feeling the flesh and form, higher and higher, both hands in unison. She spread her feet apart just slightly more as he did so, telling James that he was pleasing her. His hands finally reached the tops of her legs, but he didn't stop. He pushed his hands onward; he felt them pass over her hipbones. When he reached the waist band of her pantyhose he stopped and hooked his fingers under the elastic. He pulled them off her as he began the slow journey to her feet. As he passed her silk panties he paused for a second, to let her wonder if he would take them on the journey, too, but he passed them by and inched the hose ever slowly downward until they lay around her ankles. He nudged a foot, and then the other, removing the nylon from her feet.

With the pantyhose removed, James repeated the procedure with Vicki's panties. As he did, he thought that he heard her let out a little gasp. So sensing her anticipation, he was careful to avoid touching her skin at all as he slid the panties down her legs, allowing anticipation to do its work. He remained on his knees for a few moments to let her wonder what he would do next.

James stood and Vicki reached for the buttons on his shirt. "I thought that you were going to let me do this," he admonished. He reached behind her, unclasping her bra. He brought it forward tenderly, allowing the breasts to escape the cups without pinching or bouncing them. James remained still, watching the nipples harden and Vicki's breathing deepen. He did so as an act in itself to admire the breasts, and the beauty that the held. He could see that Vicki expected him to touch them, or hold them, or rub his thumbs across the tender buds, but he didn't. He chose, instead, to allow her to think about what he might do, because it allowed her to experience all those possibilities in her mind's eye.

James returned to his knees at Vicki's feet. James put his hands once again on Vicki's thighs. Her little gasp let him know that she expected them to creep upward. James had other plans.

He bent his head low, close to the floor, below the hemline of the slip. He grasped her legs to hold her still and slipped his head under the undergarment. He inserted his head between her thighs and felt her hands on his head, trying to control his movements, but she couldn't through the slippery fabric. He spread her legs apart more with his hands and was glad when she willingly complied. Vicki's scent under the little tent was intoxicating. He pushed his way higher up. She spread her legs even more—this time on her own. In the darkness his face encountered her moistened flesh and wispy pubic hair. He assaulted her slit with his tongue, prying it between the labia. It didn't go in all at once, and he pressed his mouth forward more and more. He finally felt her jump a little and a hardened bulb where he expected to find it—where it had been many times before.

James lashed it with his tongue and suckled it with his lips. He was usually gentle when he performed such acts, but that time was different. He pressed ever harder, pursuing her ecstasy that seemed to hiding just around the corner. He felt her press back and smiled inside with the knowledge that she was taking pleasure from him.

"That's so good, James," she gasped, as she bucked her hips against his tongue. "I think it's enough now. "Let's take your clothes off and get on the bed."

"Not yet!" he called back as he paused his oral quest and took a breath of air. He pressed back even harder, smelling and tasting her, gripping her buttocks and pressing her into his face. After a few more minutes—when he was convinced that he had tasted every bit of her—he stopped, emerged from under her garment and stood.

"James, you surprised me. I felt so good," she praised his efforts. Vicki reached again for his shirt buttons, but he stopped her.

"Let me see you lying on the bed," he ordered. Vicki pulled down the covers and climbed into the center in a half-sitting position. "Lie on your back and spread your legs so that I can see you waiting for me." Vicki obeyed. She bent her knees as she spread her legs to form the cradle that he was to lie in when he came to her. She exposed her sex, wet from her fluids and his, unabashedly to him.

James quickly peeled off his clothes as she watched him. When he was nude, except his under shorts he paused. Vicki brought her hands to her center and started working herself.

"Take it off!" she pleaded. James slowly lowered his shorts down and let them fall to his feet. He stroked a few times for her to watch, and then climbed onto the bed. Vicki stretched out her hands, moistened with herself to welcome him. James felt her slick fingers grasp him around her shoulders. He positioned himself in her cradle and entered her all the way.

Vicki moaned in pleasure. "After all you did, you deserve something special," she whispered to him as he let his penis rest inside her. "Hold still and let me take over."

"Next time," he answered back in a clear voice. "I want to do this."

James withdrew almost all the way out and then thrust back in. It wasn't hard or rough, but strong and decisive. He made love to her with his whole body, not just his penis. He felt all of her; breasts pressing up into his chest; arms and legs wrapped around him; her face alongside his perspiring from heat and exertion. He repeated over again, many times. Vicki labored under him to keep pace. A few times she could not, but she kept trying.

He felt his orgasm starting to rise and wanted to put it off. He changed the pace to a gentle rocking. He heard Vicki's purrs of delight and looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed and she wore a smile that betrayed pleasure and contentment.

After a short time she looked up and said, "James, this is so good. Do me hard again."

He obediently returned to his strong thrusting. As he stroked inward he heard her exhale her pleasure sounds. She tightened her vagina around him. It made his orgasm rise again, and this time he knew there would be no retreat from it.

"Cry out my name!" he screamed, but only to himself. He climaxed before she had a chance to.

***********

James and Vicki lay side by side in the aftermath of sex. It had been good: sensuous, innovative, and filled with pleasure for both. Nothing is ever perfect, however, and some things James resolved to try again later.

"James, that was good," Vicki complimented him. "It appears that you've been doing some practicing with Abby."

"No, Vicki, I save all my firsts for you," he answered.

"You've never taken charge like that before," she continued.

"It was one of those 'variety' things that we always talk about," he answered, and Vicki noted the sarcasm in his voice.

"Something wrong?" she queried.

"Not really—maybe just one thing," James replied. "When Abby and I are together she...you know...at the end...she seems to..."