Loneliest Man Who Ever Lived Ch. 21

After dinner, they watched the stars for a while, hand in hand. Then they returned back to their room.

She stared at him for a long moment. "Well, here we are again," she said. Claire seemed to be waiting for something.

Harry stepped in and gave her a warm kiss. She embraced him, prolonging it, pressing her body against his. When she pulled back, she looked at him. "Anything else, Harry?"

"Um... have a good night," said Harry.

"Have a good night," Claire repeated hollowly, and he could tell she was unhappy. "Fine. Good night, Harry."

********

The next morning they made sand castles on the beach.

"Sand castles?" said Harry, making a face.

"Big brained Harry, the smartest man on the planet, is way too smart to make sand castles!" said Claire. And when she said it like that, Harry had to resist the urge to kiss her. She sounded exactly like Goldie.

And so they made sand castles. But while Harry built a traditional fort, Claire was making something else.

"What is that?"

"Wait."

She started to build one rectangular shaped structure, then a second one, then a lower one. It started to look vaguely familiar. When it was done, Harry's jaw dropped.

"Recognize it?" she grinned.

It was a nearly identical copy of an atmospheric reclamation plant on Mars.

Claire had taken an activity meant for children, or people with very simple mind, and given a sophisticated spin on it. Just like she did with miniature golf. She was like Goldie, in reverse, who could take complicated things like chess and reduce it to something simple for herself.

"It's wonderful," said Harry, and he started to feel something more for Claire as she smiled at him.

********

They went on a boat tour of the coastline. When they saw dolphins swimming by, Claire squealed with excitement and grabbed Harry's arm. "Look, Harry, look at the dolphins!"

Harry looked at dolphins. He was beginning to realize that Claire, who he had first thought was more reserved, had nearly the exact same love of life as Goldie did. He just hadn't gotten to know her as well.

Now he was finding, more and more, that being with Claire was like being with Goldie, in a big way. He began to develop feelings for her.

And yet... the rule of Erica reared its head. Every woman he made love to left him. It could be argued that Goldie hadn't actually left him, but she was gone, nonetheless. It could also be argued that Harry had already made love to Claire, but that had been done under rather unusual circumstances, and in any case, she had made love to him. He had not decided to do it on his own.

He knew that Claire was getting impatient, and that she was expecting him to make the next move. But he was still a little shell-shocked from the loss of Goldie. He was having such a wonderful time with Claire, that he was afraid to rock the boat, so to speak. He smiled as he thought it, because he literally felt the boat rock under his feet.

********

Later that afternoon, they changed into bathing suits. The ocean in South Carolina was not warm enough to swim in during early May, but the swimming pool was large and very clean looking.

Claire wore a black one piece bathing suit, but it was like no other one piece Harry had ever seen. It split from the waist up so it bared a considerable part of the inner sides of her breasts. Every male head within viewing distance turned to look at her.

"Don't you think that bathing suit is attracting some attention?" Harry asked.

Claire smiled at him. "I don't know, Harry, is it?"

He didn't answer.

"Are you coming in?"

"Not yet," said Harry.

"Suit yourself," said Claire. She turned, and did a graceful dive off the deep end. He watched her swim for several minutes. Claire had long, graceful arms, and a solid stroke; she was an excellent athlete in every sense of the word.

When she emerged from the water, she was dripping wet, and more gorgeous, if possible, than before she had gone in. Harry watched how her bathing suit tightly gripped the area between her legs in a taut "v" shape. Her ass which was so well rounded, like globes, were even larger than Goldie's and looked so squeezable. Her breasts, which were only partially covered by her swimsuit, were dotted with white droplets of water. He wanted to suck the water off her breasts, and get between her legs and pull aside that tight v shaped fabric aside and....

Harry immediately felt a stirring between his legs, which he covered up with his Pad.

"Why don't you come in, Harry? The water's fine," said Claire, in a low, sensual tone. Even her voice was arousing him now.

"I will, ah, in a moment," said Harry.

"Why not now?" said Claire. She moved deftly, and in one swift motion, pulled the Pad off his lap. "Harry, you're injured!"

"I, ah..."

"Oh, that swelling must be terrible. Did you bang yourself on something?"

Harry's face turned scarlet.

"You must be in terrible pain, you poor dear. It looks so swollen! Let me call the lifeguard. Maybe she has a first aid kit." Claire turned to the lifeguard, a blonde woman with breasts almost as big as Claire, and opened her mouth.

"No, Claire, please," said Harry.

"Well, Harry, we've got to do something for it," said Claire. "And I know you don't like the traditional way of reducing the swelling down there." She paused, enjoying his discomfiture. "I know. Cold water. That always does the trick for me."

And she pulled him upwards, seemingly oblivious to his embarrassment, and pulled him into the water. They both fell in with a splash.

The water was cool and wonderful and before long Harry was swimming with Claire, though not nearly as gracefully as she was. She was a thing of beauty, a wonderful body cutting the water delicately, like a jeweler cutting a diamond. The way she soared through the water reminded Harry of Goldie, so long ago, cutting across the ice at Rockefeller Center.

When they finally got out, they toweled each other off, to Harry's immense satisfaction. "Are you having a good time, Harry?"

"Yes," he said truthfully.

"We're going to have an even better time tonight, aren't we, Harry?" she said.

And then his smile faded. She was drawing a line.

If Harry had had any lingering doubts about what was expected of him that night, the dress Claire chose to wear to dinner erased them. She wore a stunning black dress which was elegant in its simplicity. It had some kind of built in push up bra built into it which made Claire's prominence even more so. She looked so feminine, so desirable, so perfect, that Harry got excited just sitting on the other side of a table from her.

"Do you like my dress, Harry?" she said in a low, sexy voice.

"Yes, I really do," said Harry, self conscious of the fact that he was wearing a very simple shirt and pants.

"I bought this dress just for you, Harry," said Claire. She leaned forward. Just as Goldie did when she signaled she wanted to be kissed. Harry obediently leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back, enjoying the moment.

Dinner was tense for Harry. Not only because Claire was playing footsy with him under the table. It was those looks she was giving him, those long, smoldering, half-lidded looks.

Claire wanted to be fucked tonight. And Harry wasn't sure if he could do it.

He wanted Claire. There could be no doubt about that. He wanted her more than anything, except perhaps for Goldie. But all his self confidence had vanished with Goldie's burning air car. If he did it, if he went ahead... would Claire decide she didn't enjoy the sex, and disappear in the morning? It had happened with Alexandra. It could happen here.

And so when they returned to their hotel room, and Claire stood there, waiting to be kissed, Harry kissed her... but nothing else.

She gave him a long look for a moment, and her eyes almost seemed to be pleading. Then she nodded, and sighed, and he saw a very sad expression on her face. She turned and went into the bedroom.

Harry heard a slamming sound, and then the sound of drawers opening.

He went into her bedroom. She was filling up her suitcase.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving," said Claire.

"Why?"

"Because you're not interested in me," said Claire.

He turned her to face him, and saw that there were tears in her eyes. "What is it, Harry? What is it that I don't have that she did?"

"Nothing!" said Harry.

"Then how did she do it, then, Harry? How did she trip you up? Tell me, I want to know." She was sobbing now.

"I... I'm not sure," said Harry slowly.

"I tried everything, Harry. I tried so hard to be like her for you. But I can't, Harry, I simply can't."

Harry held her in his arms. "I don't expect you to be Goldie."

"Then why aren't you attracted to me?" she sobbed.

"I am attracted to you," said Harry. "You're the prettiest, sexiest woman I've ever met." He almost regretted saying it the moment he did, feeling it sullied his memory of Goldie.

"Then w-why won't you... you...."

"Because... every woman I've made love to has run out on me." He remembered the exploding air car. "In one way or another."

"But Harry... I love you! I've loved you since the first moment I met you, at The Foundation!"

"You have?" Harry felt shocked.

"YES!" Claire cried. "But you were with her. Always her. And now... now that we have a chance together, I thought... I thought... but you don't want me." She lowered her head.

Her crying touched his heart. He simply couldn't resist any longer.

Harry raised her by the chin. "Claire."

"Yes, Harry?"

"I want you."

She looked up at him. "R-really?"

"Yes. I want you more than anything," said Harry.

"Then, w-why-"

Her question was cut off by Harry's lips, which pressed down on hers. It was not an ordinary kiss, but a kiss of passion, of lust, of needing, and Claire could sense the difference immediately, the difference from all of Harry's other shy, bashful kisses. This was the kiss of a real man. A real man who hungered for sex. Claire immediately responded with equal enthusiasm.

Harry undressed her, dominantly, like a man, without hesitation. Claire kissed and hugged him and cooperated eagerly. And as Harry undressed, he stared at her with such a firm, hard expression on his face, that Claire became sexually aroused. It was an expression of masculinity; an expression of control; an expression that said that Claire was about to be taken, her body used fully, on Harry's terms, and Harry's terms only. The thought of it excited Claire beyond imagination.

Harry took Claire to bed and made love to her. For the longest time their bodies were intertwined, slithering against each other sinuously like serpents, as they kissed and touched and petted each other. Harry was so excited. What he had told her was true. She was the sexiest woman he had ever been with. Goldie's face and hair had been beautiful, but Claire's hair was blonder and thicker; somehow, the thickness conveyed to him a sense of extreme sensuality. And when he looked down at her large, pouty c-cup breasts, he realized that however much he had worshipped Goldie's body, that Claire was so much more womanly, so much more feminine, down to the wider thighs and thicker labial lips nestled between her light brown forest.

He had to taste her. Harry moved down, and put a nipple in his mouth. Claire groaned as he nibbled on her teat, with just the barest suggestion of teeth, as she felt a cord of lust shoot from her nipple down to her groin.

Claire's groan only made Harry harder. As he continued to lick and suck, his hands petted her breast reverently. It was so big, and so soft! He loved the smoothness of it. His lips made a popping sound as he pulled out of her nipple. He looked down at her. With her big breasts and wide pubic bush, she looked so feminine. He had to have her.

He raised himself up, and inserted himself into her. He loved the smile on her face as she looked down on him while he entered her. She was loving every minute of it. When he was fully inside of her, buried to the hilt, she put her arms around him. "I've waited so long for this."

"I have too," Harry found himself saying, though, for some reason, he also felt a little ashamed to say it.

"Then do it, lover. Make love to me," she pleaded.

Harry began the act of reproduction. Harry and Claire practiced coitus, as it had been practiced by humanity for thousands of years. But although they were repeating a well worn act practiced by billions over the millennia, for them it was personal, intensely special. As Harry slid in and out of Claire, he looked into her blue eyes, and saw Goldie, and Claire, both at the same time, and he felt so happy.

And as Claire felt Harry mount her, and thrust in and out of her, she felt how good it was to be a woman. How good it felt to have a man, using her, taking her, and fertilizing her with his seed of love.

Harry's smile grew broader and broader, and so did Claire's, and they both knew their time was coming.

"Harry...." she whispered urgently.

"I know," he said, and then his face contorted, and even as he gasped, she was doing the same, and the head of his penis twitched, and then he released, violently, within her, spurt after spurt after spurt.

As he lay on top of her, feeling himself slowly drain within her, she said, "Harry, promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll never make me beg for it again."

"Never," he said, and he sealed it with a kiss.

*********

It felt like a second honeymoon.

Or a first one, since Harry had never been on a honeymoon with Claire before.

They weren't married. They weren't remotely close to being married. Harry hadn't even told her that he loved her. It had only been... Harry counted the days... a week since Goldie had died.

One week, and he was already shacked up with her sister. Thinking of it that way made Harry feel embarrassed. Wasn't he disrespecting Goldie's memory by moving on, so soon?

But Claire had told him that Goldie would want him to go on with his life. Harry believed it, though wasn't sure if Goldie would have been happy with Harry moving on with his life... with her hated sister.

Harry still agonized whether it was too soon for him to have a new girlfriend, but quickly frowned at the irony. He had spent his entire life as a lonely, single man, and now here he was, with an embarrassment of riches, with one woman after another--Goldie, Jerri, and now Claire--throwing themselves at him.

As he saw with Goldie and Jerri, a romance was something that could come, and go very quickly, without warning. No, although he wished he had mourned Goldie for longer, he decided he had made the right decision when Claire had forced the issue. He still felt insecure; he still felt like no other woman would ever be attracted to him; and he felt that if he had let Claire slip through his fingers, he would be all alone again.

And who knows how long Claire would be interested in him? He knew, from the Second Rule of Alexandra, that women could leave him at any time, for any reason.

He resolved to push those thoughts out of his head, and to simply enjoy life to the fullest.

And enjoy it he did. Now that he was officially with Claire, (for the moment, at least), he couldn't help but notice the looks of the other men around them at the resort. They were all looking at Claire, at her beautiful smile, at her gorgeous breasts, at the large, fleshy globes of her wonderful ass. They all coveted her. And then they looked at Harry, and Harry could see the disbelief in their eyes, as if to say, how could a guy like Harry possibly be with a woman like Claire?

Rather than being annoyed, Harry enjoyed their envy, and absorbed it like a sponge. It made him feel more masculine, more powerful, even though he also knew, in the back of his mind, that it could end any day, any moment, without any warning of any kind.

They went golfing. Not miniature golfing, but real golfing. That was what Hilton Head was most famous for, after all.

Harry remembered when he and Goldie had gone golfing. He had taught her how to golf. He remembered how good it felt to wrap his body around her and teach her how to swing, how she had smiled and kissed him when her game improved.

But however good Harry was at golf, Claire was better. She started to make holes in two or three strokes like they were still playing miniature golf. Harry began to feel more and more embarrassed as Claire patiently waited for Harry to catch up to her and get to the next green. She stood there, in a short white skirt, with those long yummy legs spread apart, almost in an unconscious invitation to him (or was it unconscious?). The wonderful curves of her white shirt were equally distracting, as Harry remembered the touch and feel of the most beautiful parts of her.

Finally, Claire smiled sweetly and said, "Harry, maybe I can help you guide your rod."

Rod, she said rod, not iron, not club.

He reddened as she wrapped her arms around him as he gripped the iron. He smelled the fresh scent of her bathing soap, and felt her mammary glands pressing against his back. Most importantly, he sensed her, just inches behind him, her blowing into his ear. It was enough to give him chills. And it did.

"All right, Harry. The key is the measured application of force. Think of it like balancing an equation," she said, as she held her hands over his, gently moving the iron back and forth, back and forth. "And just wait... until it feels... just right..."

"But how do you know when it feels just right?" Harry asked. It was odd feeling Claire, but not being able to see her!

"You just know, Harry," she said, making him take another mock swing. "You just know... when it feels right... because everything fits... so very... marvelously...." And then Harry found himself swinging, or maybe Claire did, and the ball went flying.

They watched it soar through the air. It landed on the green... not three feet from the hole.

Harry turned to Claire. She stood there with that little smile. She was a blonde beauty, totally clothed in white. She looked like a supermodel modeling clothing for a commercial. She looked so perfect, so beautiful, but also so expectant. At that moment she saw the power she had over Harry, and she reveled in it, simply relishing it. And so Harry went to her, like a supplicant, and gave her, just a taste, of what she wanted most.

Harry's golf game improved markedly after that, but his mind was rarely on the ball.

That evening Claire was wearing all brown; an open shirt and tight brown pants. The contrast of her bright blonde hair and brown clothes was wonderful. The pants were so tight that he could see every curve.

"Do you like my outfit, Harry?" she asked.

Harry merely nodded and smiled.

That night when they returned to their room, Claire just stood there and looked at Harry expectantly. He immediately stepped forward and kissed her strongly. Then he took her into the bedroom and made passionate, enthusiastic love to her. She had fully trained him; there was no longer any resistance, no longer any hesitation.

But after they were done, he said, "Claire?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Are you... protected?"

Claire gave a short laugh. "This is what, the third time we've had sex, Harry? And you've only thought to ask this now?"

"I... my mind was on other things," said Harry, staring at her slick nether lips.

"I should hope so," she said, wrapping an arm around him as she kissed him. He responded eagerly. "Yum," she said. She looked into his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes, you're protected?" Somehow, Harry felt the need to hear it more explicitly.

"That's what yes means, Harry," said Claire, smiling at him.

********

They spent three more days at Hilton Head. Harry decided that he wanted to resume searching for The Foundation.