Call Me Mr. Portis Pt. 01

Someone was at the door. Valerie assumed it was Amazon or UPS and normally wouldn't have opened it but she happened to be right there about to leave for tennis at the club.

"Hi there! I'm your new neighbor." It was the older guy with the cane from across the street who she and Tim had seen that weekend directing the movers in and out and occasionally chatting with his wife in the doorway or on the front lawn. Valerie had met the wife, Linda she thought her name was, when she took the new neighbors a banana bread as welcome. Linda was short, and a little dumpy, thought Valerie, but seemed nice enough, maybe a little preoccupied. It seemed Linda was younger than her husband for sure, but it was hard to tell how old the guy was. He had some scars and sun damage, his beard was gray, he could have been mid 50s, but the cane made her think he could be ten years older.

"So I thought I'd introduce myself. And also thank you, I loved your banana bread. I'm Reggie Portis." He put out his hand, but Valerie didn't take it. She didn't mean anything by it, but she was strangely taken aback. No one comes to your door anymore. And it was 2pm. Why would he come over at 2pm? She guessed maybe he was retired or worked from home. Still...

"I'm sorry umm... won't you come in? I'm just getting ready to go and you caught me off guard."

"Well, why would I come in if you were about to go?"

There was something in the way he said that, like sarcasm, like he was angry. But then he smiled and chuckled and said, "No no no, you go enjoy your tennis, I just wanted to say hi."

How did he know she was going to play tennis? Everything this guy said seemed like there was an ominous implication, but then what was ominous about any of it? she thought.

"You ok, Valerie?" Reggie seemed genuinely concerned. She realized she'd been standing there nearly speechless, and now she thought, how does he know my name? "Do you need to sit down?"

"Oh my gosh. I don't know what's wrong with me! I was just so surprised, and a new face..."

Reggie chuckled again. "Well, I know it ain't the most pretty face. And maybe my speech threw you off? Yeah, I had a major stroke a year ago, so I walk and talk funny. But don't you worry, my brain's still ok. I ain't too crazy."

He looked at her without much of an expression when he said it. Like, was he serious or was that a joke?

"Oh Reggie," she said, recovering her well honed manners in spite of having major willies, "you're a very handsome gentleman, and I'm sure your brain is just fine..."

They looked at each other for a moment, something hanging in the air, Reggie expressionless. Valerie was becoming more and more nervous.

"A stroke affects the part of the brain that controls your motor skills, so yeah, I ain't psycho or a retard."

"What is it you do Reggie?" Valerie was desperate to change the subject and right this fucked up ship.

"I'm a writer," he said.

"Oh, what kind of writer?"

"Well, I get paid for writing technical mumbo jumbo, that's my job, but I also write stories, poetry, fiction."

In Marin everyone was a writer. Most of them were "working on a memoir" or had a screenplay idea or were in a workshop developing a novel, so there's a reflex you get, kind of automatically dismissing the idea as hocum, but Valerie politely stated, "Well, maybe I could read a book of yours some time."

"Maybe," Reggie replied, but didn't offer to give her anything or tell her where to find his work.

Valerie didn't know if it was the heat or this weird exchange, but she was feeling faint.

"Well it's so nice to meet you Reggie. Ben and I would love to have you and Linda over for a drink or iced tea some time and get to know you guys properly."

Now it was Reggie supplying the uncomfortably extended silence.

"Who's Linda?" He finally asked, slowly and dryly.

When Valerie told Ben the story that night, she emphasized that moment, the way he said it, and how she felt like she was in a Hitchcock film.

"It was so weird. The vibe was like... just, aaagh!" she said, mock screaming, "I really can't describe it..."

Ben was laughing at her riotously.

"I'm glad my impending murder has you in stitches." She kicked him in the ribs with the flat of her bare foot from the other side of the couch.

"Ouch, hey! Well Val, you know, you'll forgive the man if he doesn't know any Lindas, you know, since his wife's name is Janet." He laughed again, curling into his side of the couch with his butt and thigh lifted to shield her kicks. "And he knew you were going to tennis because you were in that sexy little tennis skirt that makes all the trainers at the club want to fuck you."

She gave him a small grin and sideways glance. "But I'm telling you, there was a vibe the moment I opened the door. Even before that, like, I don't know why I even opened the door..."

"Oh Val," Ben said, suddenly serious, "Mr. Portis is controlling you with his damaged brain!" Again with the laughing and kicking. Ben wrestled her into submission and began forcing kisses on her. She fought back a little bit, but soon they were kissing deeply, and not too much later they were out of their clothes and fucking like kids on the living room sofa. If Valerie would have peeked up to look over Ben's shoulder as he was driving in and out of her between her spread legs, she might have seen the distant small red glow of the burning cherry on Reggie Portis's cigarette on the other side of their back fence as he watched them through the sliding glass door.

Perhaps all she'd needed was a good fucking, but Valerie woke up late the next day and thought about how silly it really was, and just as quickly felt horrible as she probably came off seeming to Mr. Portis like a snooty bitch. Ben had already left to work in the city and she got up and thought about calling a friend for coffee or lunch, but then got carried away surfing the web for carpets. She was redecorating her friend Cindy's place, and as they had a multi multi-million dollar place in Ross, the results would look killer on her vlog and might really give her business the jump start she needed.

It was a beautiful day, so she had the windows open and the front door, too, for a nice crossbreeze. Their neighborhood is pretty quiet, not much coming or going on a weekday, so when she heard a man yell in what seemed like distress, she jumped up and went to the front door to look out. Mr. Portis was lying on his driveway. She saw that he was pushing himself up with great effort. It seemed like he might be hurt.

"Mr. Portis," she called, walking outside and crossing the street, "Mr. Portis, are you alright?"

He'd just sat himself up now and raised his hand as if to signal he was fine, but he stayed sitting there, so she continued over.

"Mr. Portis, what happened? I heard you yell..."

"Oh hell, it's my damned two left feet and crossed brain wires. Sometimes I just lose balance, the brain and body don't communicate. Well looky here, at least I'm treated to a little lunchtime treat with you in your cute little outfit."

Valerie still had on the small boxers she'd slept in and a tiny halter top without a bra. Of course she didn't think about it when she heard the yell and then saw Mr. Portis on the ground.

"I'll be alright darlin', I'm pretty used to these falls. Maybe just give me a hand...."

He reached out his hand and Valerie offered hers with which he pulled himself up. She noticed he had a cut on the side of his head and there was a lot of blood and his elbow was skinned badly and bruised and swollen.

"Mr. Portis, you're bleeding pretty bad from your head. Did you hit your head?"

"Well I must have. How bad's the cut?" he asked and tilted his head toward her so she could see.

"There's so much blood I can't really see..."

He stripped off his t-shirt and pressed it to the wound for a bit to stop the bleeding. He stood there with his hairy white belly and skinned elbow and shook his head grinning at her. Then he gently removed the shirt from the wound and tilted his head again for her inspection.

"Well, it's not so bad, but maybe you should have a doctor decide if it needs stitches."

"Honey, I've had enough stitches to sew both you and me new shirts to cover our naked bodies."

She wasn't naked. I mean, she realized her shirt was small, but...

"We'll still Mr. Portis, you should have someone take a look at it."

"Oh, head wounds bleed and bleed, makes 'em seem worse than they are. And call me Reggie please, I'm in need of feeling a little less feeble and like an old man."

He definitely had the belly and sagging flesh of an old guy, but it was obvious he'd once had muscles and a powerful frame. She felt sorry for him. It must really be hard for a man to suddenly become vulnerable and weak; he really wasn't that old.

"I tell you what darlin', let me take your forearm there and walk me back up to the house so I can get cleaned up."

"Ok Mr. Por... Reggie." Valerie smiled and Mr. Portis smiled back. Maybe everything from the day before could be forgotten. Reggie was thinking something similar, however there were certain things about the night before he did not want to forget.

As they reached his front door, Reggie said to her, "Valerie, I thank you sincerely. You are a lifesaver, a good neighbor, and a real hero. But I can get it from here."

"Is Mrs. Portis home?"

"No, Janet's a school librarian, so she does the Monday through Friday thing."

"I don't want to leave you alone yet. Let's sit you down, and at least I can clean the wound and your scrape."

"Women always telling me what to do, oh it's a bum's life." He clearly didn't mind being taken care of. He sat down on his recliner in the living room and Valerie went to the kitchen to get a cloth and some hot water.

"Mr. Portis, Mrs. Portis has such nice towels in here, I don't want to bloody up a nice one."

"Take a look under the sink," he called back, "there are some rags there, they're stained but clean."

Valerie opened the cabinet beneath the sink. She could see a stack of rags far back and had to stretch and reach in blindly and feel for one. Her hand came upon a handle of some kind, thick but soft, and she pulled it out to see what it was. It was a thick coil of leather and she realized that it was a bullwhip. What an odd thing to have? she thought, and under the sink. The thin end was wrapped around the coil several times, so it remained wrapped tight, but she could tell it was very long, and a serious kind of whip. She put it back quickly and tried to put it out of her mind.

"Hey sweetie, You want to grab me a beer from the fridge?"

"OK!" she easily replied, and then realized how odd it was -- he called her sweetie, and her response, so familiar and compliant.

Valerie wet a rag with hot water, put a little soap on it and grabbed a beer from the fridge. She returned to the living room to see Mr. Portis in his chair. Now he was not only shirtless, but he'd removed his jeans and was sitting there in his boxers. She chose not to say anything, handed him his beer and walked to the other side and behind him to clean the head wound. Portis took a big swig of beer and let out a satisfying sigh.

"Oh God, on a hot day, what a sweet relief. Did you grab yourself one sweetie?"

There was the sweetie again. This time she didn't feel so easy about it, but only grimaced.

"No thank you."

As she dabbed around the wound and rubbed a little harder where the blood had dried, Mr. Portis shifted in his chair.

"Am I hurting you Reggie?"

"No no darlin', just getting settled."

She looked down at his lap and it was apparent he'd shifted because he had an erection. It made his baggy old boxers suddenly a bit tight. She tried not to look and kept cleaning the wound.

"Reggie, do you have some rubbing alcohol or hydrogen-peroxide?"

"Rubbing alcohol. Huh? You ever wonder why they call it rubbing alcohol? Anyway, yeah, we have one of those in the guest bathroom down the hall."

She looked back down at his lap, and sure enough, it made its appearance. The head of his cock was poking out the leg of his boxers and it was purple and the size of an egg.

"Oh my God!" she said, she thought sufficiently under her breath, but Reggie asked, "What's that sweetheart?"

"Oh, nothing. I'll go get the alcohol."

"Yes, solid idea, and grab the vodka from the freezer while you're at it."

Valerie grimaced again. She wasn't creeped out, like yesterday, but the familiarity and the drinking was getting a little annoying. She went to the bathroom in the hallway and looked in the medicine cabinet and under the sink. Nothing. She caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her nipples were as big and hard as rocks and they were poking through her little halter. Oh my God, she thought, was I turned on by his cock? But just the thought of that monstrous purple head simultaneously made her gag, so she turned away from the mirror and took a few big breaths.

"Mr. Portis, there's nothing in here."

"Call me Reggie! Ok, take a look in the master bathroom, up the stairs, end of the hall."

She was not calling him Reggie anymore, things had become too familiar. She was glad she was there to help out but she'd just finish cleaning his wound and get straight home. She entered the bedroom which was as tastefully -- if generically -- decorated as the rest of the house. As she crossed to the bathroom at the far corner she passed the bed and looked down. Attached to the headboard were straps with cuffs latched to them. Oh my God. she thought, do they have a dungeon here?! She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. No alcohol, but there were several oils and lubes. Jesus, she thought, these two are perverts. She looked down at her nipples again which were still rock hard. Oddly, they hurt a little bit. She looked in the cabinet under the sink, nothing there either. But one more big surprise -- a huge black standup dildo. Of course, she thought.

As she came down the stairs she called out, "Mr. Portis, no alcohol or peroxide anywhere."

"Didn't I tell you about the vodka in the freezer?"

Well, yes he did, and why not? She'll clean his head with a little of that and her job is done.

She grabbed the bottle from the freezer and entered the living room.

"Well, Mrs. Portis is going to wonder what you've been up to, all bloody and reeking of vod..." She stopped suddenly. Froze. Mr. Portis was reclined in his chair and the cock once concealed in his boxers was now standing straight up, and though there was a nice breeze through the open windows, it did not sway.

"Don't mind me darlin', I don't mean to offend, but he needed a little air."

Recriminations ran through her mind, and she could feel rage building, but she couldn't make herself speak. Or move. It was easily a foot long, easily. And as she saw the purple head earlier, now she saw the entire shaft was shades of deep pink to red and purple, a thick, almost black vein running up the side and top of the shaft. She'd never seen a cock like it before. For as oddly stimulated as she seemed to be with her unyielding hard nipples, now she couldn't say she was so much stimulated as entranced. She was literally frozen. Mr. Portis didn't turn, didn't seem surprised by her stillness and silence. He reached his arm back toward her and said sort of quietly, "How about that vodka, sweetie?"

She was able to shuffle forward awkwardly and quickly hand him the bottle, and then she turned to move away and kind of made a small jump back, but couldn't bring herself to simply leave. Mr. Portis unscrewed the cap off the Stolie and took a big gulp.

"Oh my God darlin', ice cold vodka, that's refreshing. Come on over and sit down."

"Mr. Portis, I'm mortified. And I'm hurt and insulted..." she found her voice, but she couldn't quite form a complete sentence to make her statement.

"I know," he said gently, almost apologetically, "it's not at all appropriate having my big cock sticking out up here like this, I've offended you, I'm wrong for that."

How in the hell is it just standing straight up like that? she thought, as if the blood within it couldn't abate if he'd wanted it to.

"Honey, you are a sexy little thing, and running around here with those hard nipples and your ass barely fitting into those thin boxers..."

Oh my God, what had she done? He was right, she was barely dressed, and they were in his home. Ok, she had to go. Now.

"Mr. Portis," she spoke almost hesitantly, as if she were afraid for him, though he was obviously just fine, "I'm going to leave now. You should get yourself in bed and rest." Shut up, shut up, she thought to herself, quit talking and go.

"That's a good idea baby. How about you help me up to my bed before you go."

"Uhm no. No! Absolutely not. You are naked, and and... I'm going now. I'm going..."

"Sweetie, it's ok that we got excited, it's normal..."

"I'm not excited..."

"Here," he said, holding out the bottle toward her, "Have a little shot of this." His cock was still standing straight up.

"Goodbye Mr. Portis!" she yelled, nearly shrieking, as she ran from the house.

That night at dinner Valerie did not regale Ben of the events with Mr. Portis. They ate quietly as Ben was content to scroll on his phone. It had been a hell of an afternoon. She was literally haunted by that cock, even now, sitting at their Danish modern table, eating under recessed fluorescents, she could see that cock standing straight up. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, not like a man's cock, but like its own kind of organism, like it could walk right off Mr. Portis's lap and make its own way in the world. The closest thing she could compare it to was the giant black dildo she'd found in their bathroom. Not quite as thick, but probably just as long, and unlike the dildo, very much alive. It had a fascinating energy, an aura, and this is what she couldn't shake.

She'd run home and slammed the door, locking it. What was poor old Portis going to do, bruised and banged up, come over and rape her? Even that thought sent a thrilling jolt through her and she was freaked out by that. She went straight to the shower and stood under the spray and scrubbed, as if what she felt could be cleaned away. Several times she had to forcefully deny her own impulse to jam four fingers in her pussy and rub her clit until she exploded. Everytime she forced the thought away, but never quite the image. She lived with the sight of that cock all day long. She even had sudden thoughts of returning, of cleaning and caring for him and letting him fuck her. Those too she would halt in mid stream.

"Any excitement around here today?" Ben asked her, still looking at his phone.

"No," she replied uncomfortably, "just browsed the net for things for Sandy's place." He didn't reply. She was hoping he'd just start talking and not stop until she fell asleep, distract her from the vision of that vile beast of a cock intruding in her mind over and over. Finally, Ben said, "You seem tired, let me do the dishes. You take a bath, turn in early."

The thought of stripping down and getting her tub was actually terrifying at the moment. If she was simply horny, she'd fuck Ben crazy and get over it. But it was more than that, getting off wasn't all she needed. In the bath she could fully immerse in the memory of Mr. Portis's cock, give herself to it completely, and this terrified her, even as a fantasy.

"Ben, you're so sweet, but I need a distraction. I'll do the dishes before bed. Go watch Sports Center or something."

"She stood at the sink rinsing dishes and placing them in the washer, hand washing pans, and breathing deeply, just focusing on her breath, like in Shavasana at the end of yoga class, no thoughts, and it was working. She just focused on each dish and her breath and felt free for the first time that day.