No Consequences Pt. 01

Kon pulled down a little on me and started kissing the inside of my thigh. "It was nice, I loved my lips on her soft smooth skin and I loved her willingness, I mean the moment my lips touched her skin her legs were opening and her groans were encouraging me. So I sucked and licked," then she started sucking and licking on me and I was getting the picture, getting how she inched her way along the skin until she was into the gully.

"This is the part I really found neat." She sucked and bit into the ligament — for a long time, then she pulled up and mumbled. "I loved sucking on it, I don't know why, maybe because it is like the hint of what is to come."

She looked up at me. "She was perfect down there. She was hairy but God arranged it so she'd never have to shave for a guy like you — that eyepatch you made me wear would have covered every bit of it, you wouldn't have seen a single stray hair — you would have loved her."

"OK, Ok," I could see what she was doing now.

"And it wasn't just that." She opened her legs and with a finger flicked at her exposed labia. "Mine come out a little and they're a little uneven, my right one is longer than my left. I never thought about this until I saw her's: they were hidden and when I peeled her back they were there resting in perfect symmetry. They were gorgeous. I don't think less of me for mine, it's not like that but I thought a lot more of her because her pussy was so perfect looking."

She put her finger in her now and pried out her clitoris. "Mine is a lot bigger than hers, well, not a lot, but a little."

She played with her clitoris for a moment while she sucked me a few times before pulling quickly away like she just discovered a memory. "But do you know what was really different? She was a lot looser than me. When I pulled her lips back to go in and lick her, they were really puffy like they get when you're horny but they were really soft and pliable, too, much looser than mine." She sucked me a couple of times again but much firmer this time.

"And I'm better tasting or maybe it's just that I'm more used to me — I always lick my fingers a lot when I masturbate so I know my taste. Her's was more ... astringent, I think that's the word, more sharp, more acidic, it was nice but I prefer me."

"OK, let me out."

"Let me just get this out of the way. The next girl was very pretty, in a proper kind of way; you would associate her with money, society, good grooming, that kind of thing. We were at a party, talking; I didn't know her. Something invisible happened: we were just talking about something, I can't remember what when her knee touched mine, we were on a couch and for some reason I knew it was a signal, so I pressed back and the moment I did she stood up and started to walk away and I just followed her. We went all the way to the back of the house through the kitchen and she opened up a door and in a moment we were in a totally black room. When she pulled on a string an overhead light came on and I could see we were in a pantry, and not a very big one.

We were both wearing dresses; we were so close together she bumped into me as she reached down to pull up her dress to take her underwear off. She said, "This is what you were doing to me." She handed me her panties; they were wet, very wet and then she went down on her knees, pushed my dress up, took my underwear down and she latched onto me with an unbelievable hunger, I mean it was as if she was starving to eat me out. When it was my turn I couldn't believe how wet she was, her pussy and her legs were soaked with the stuff. When it was over I cleaned myself up with my sleeve, she cleaned herself up with her underwear then stuck them behind some boxes on the shelf. When we walked back into the room her boyfriend or husband noticed us, gave her a totally disgusted look and left abruptly. When we sat back down on the couch where we had been just 20 minutes before she said, "He always reacts that way. He'll be back."

I didn't know it but I was pulling hard at the ties; I noticed that the knot on my favourite tie was pulled so tight it might have to be cut off. "OK, I get the picture, let me out."

"There's just one more ... there's the two guys, too but I won't spend any time on them: the first guy I didn't even like, I just agreed because I wanted to know what sex with a guy would be like — afterwards he called me wanting more but I said no. The second guy I kind of wished would have called me but he never did. The first guy had what I thought was a huge penis, I was scared of it the moment I saw it. The second guy, not so much. I much prefer the small one ... smaller ones."

I could see she was hiding her grin, it was there but there were no gums.

"The third girl is a friend, it just happened one night — I'll tell you how it happened some time, it was kind of neat. And it was fun, a lot of fun and it was a one-off ... for a year, until she got pregnant and her husband wasn't much interested in her. I helped her out and it has been going on ever since on a once-in-awhile basis — sometimes we just masturbate together."

"How once in awhile?"

"It's interesting ... just a short story, she wouldn't mind me telling it to you, she's entirely open ... like her marriage. They met in college, that's where I met them. They were both pretty ... active. He fell madly in love with her; she wouldn't marry him unless he agreed to an open marriage, which he did. Fine ... until they had kids and her options and time for it became a lot more confined: he could come and go as he pleased, she couldn't and because she was the one to insist on the agreement, he held her to it and she couldn't back out. So he was in an open marriage but she more or less wasn't any more. Enter her best friend, me, or more precisely, she dragged me into her sex life. We get together every couple of weeks or so just for the fun of it."

"Does he know about it?"

"Yep and he's happy with it, she thinks it's because it takes the heat off him."

"So, you're having sex with a woman now. Would that stop if you got into a relationships with a guy?"

"Like you?"

"Say."

"Would you want it to?"

"I don't see me as a prude but, I don't know ..."

"Sure, I'd stop it ... or you could join in ..."

"She'd be up for that?"

"Ya."

"And you'd be OK with it?"

"I'd have to see how it went but I'd be up for trying it ... maybe not right away."

"How about untying me right away?"

"Just a minute." She quickly stripped off her panties, climbed on me and put me in her as she kissed me politely.

Just the act of sliding into her had me at the tipping point and she knew it, I could tell by the hint of her grin. Then she thrust hard, once, twice, three times and I exploded into her so violently I thought my entire consciousness had been rocked. It hadn't; it was my phone vibrating n the table.

She pulled away to get it then she held it up to my mouth for me to answer. It was my agent, she wanted me to go to a dinner party the next night, tie and jacket. I agreed.

"Are you going to sleep with her?" she said, putting the phone back on my night table.

"That's none of your business."

She started undoing the ties, and it wasn't easy; she seemed somewhere between pissed-off and pre-possessed, as if she was deep in thought. It took her a long time to get the knots undone — she had to pry on the knot on my favourite tie with a nail file, then she got dressed and was leaving as I came out of the bathroom. She grimaced and, wordlessly, just walked out of the house.

I had spent hours yesterday rebuilding the profile of my heroine. Using what I knew of Kon, Jennifer Carter was emerging as a far more interesting and complex character than I ever expected but she still had one major flaw: there was nothing sinister about her and this was a problem because she was going to be breaking a whole lot of laws in her maniacal quest to solve a riddle. So, with nothing much sinister about my role-model stalker, I went with the greed and ambition I had already baked into Jennfer; those faults have all kinds of room for expression.

Writing constantly reveals the limitations of my craft, the limits of my knowledge and the limits of my imagination. So as I write, my mind tends to be spinning, looking for ideas, angles, facts, scents, colours — it's infinite and that's probably what separates the great writers from the good: their ability first to generate the creative soup that is inherent in inspiration and then select from it what will drive the story forward. But, while most of this is ephemeral — it flits through your mind like a movie flows past your eyes, some of it sticks and forces you to dig deeper.

The ambition in Jennifer Carter was going to be doing that for me: her ambition had to be nearly obsessive and, not having any myself, I'd have to look to Kon as my prototype.

Was that, in fact, Konrada's flaw, too? Was that why she rang my bell? I am no internationally acclaimed literary figure; so far, I am just a one-book wonder. But did she know that? And did she know that I am also independently very wealthy? I'd be a pretty good catch to an ambitious, assertive predator, a Jennifer Carter ... or a stalker.

By the time noon arrived the swirling in my head had managed not only to inculcate Kon's character into Jennifer, but Jennifer's character, with her greed and ambition, into Kon's, a nifty slight of hand that was as entirely unconscious as it was absolutely convincing.

Could I see Kon as a gold digger? Sure, why not? There had to be some reason she rang my bell on more or less a cold call — I'm not one who thinks he can lure women in on good looks alone.

And where was she anyway? It was noon. And why did she go home so abruptly last night?

When I went out for my walk I had a huge amount of pent-up energy: my story was already taking on a whole new level of intrigue, thanks to the modification of just the one character. As I've said, novel writing to me is creating characters and turning them loose. The new Jennifer Carter had me typing so fast my fingers hurt.

And so did much of the rest of my body after an extra long walk. And not just physically hurt, but mentally hurt, too; my head had been spinning out of control the entire time. When I got into the shower, Jennifer's possibilities were infinite, not the leasts as a bi-sexual willing to express herself whenever and however she wanted.

Carol Hattersley, my agent, had made me as a writer. Sure, I had written a story but she had some critical imput and she was the one who let people know about it, first the publisher then the reading public. If I owed anyone anything for my sudden success, it was her. I knew it and so did she.

So she had expectations: I would come when she called; my obsequiousness would always be evident and I would climb into her bed whenever her spirit moved.

I added up the times her spirit had moved as I slipped in beside her last night: nine times in 15 months; it had taken four of my visits to learn how she wanted me to behave.

Carol is a no-nonsense woman who knows precisely what she wants, which in bed is my idolatry. She has worked hard to keep her aging body desirable and she wants to hear it praised: I can't say enough of 'I love your ...." After a little cuddle time and kissing I spend a lot of time on her sagging breasts which at one time must have been amazing, now they are merely wonderful. She has an apron of loose, wrinkled skin across her abdomen which she doesn't want me to see so I have to be careful on my transition from upper to lower body but I always make it, always with her insistent hands pressing against my shoulders, pressing hard as we travel past the forbidden zone.

She likes me to eat her in a particular way which is fine but it takes a hell of a long time — once I made the mistake of cumming first and I will never, ever repeat the error. She likes my eruption as the denouement of the evening ... after everything else has been satisfactorily accomplished I can then have my reward — a hand job to end it all ... my hand job into three squares of tissue, never two. Once done she is not to be disturbed, not in the bed and not on my way out in the morning, never before 8:30.

So I was home by 9:05 and back with Jennifer Carter as soon as the coffee was made and Jennifer was driving me on like yesterday, driving me from one page to the next like she couldn't wait to get past the re-do and on to discovering what happens next.

The thought occurred to me while I was making lunch, not that Kon hadn't showed again — I was abundantly aware of that when I drove up to my house and she wasn't standing there waiting. And abundantly aware that I didn't actually know where on the fucking planet she lives and how I could possibly get in touch with her. Panic actually flashed through me, it was brief but I could feel it. I knew her last name but the phone book didn't, not that phone numbers are ever in there any more; I didn't know where she had worked or where she will work either; I didn't know any of her friends; didn't know what vet to call because I didn't even know if she had a pet. She was right, I knew nothing about her ... and I was using the woman as the model for my main character.

So it was up to her to get in touch with me. I hate feeling vulnerable. I cut my walk short after lunch to be back home if she came. She didn't. And she didn't call — she had my number, it was in the book. And she didn't come at suppertime, or in the evening or the next morning — the hours dragged on like ... like what? What did she and her glistening gums actually mean to me? Nothing. But still, I needed her, Jennifer Carter needed her. I seldom write in the afternoons and evenings but I did today, the sinister side of Jennifer Carter just seemed to flow through my fingers.

But my fingers weren't moving when I sat down at my computer the next morning; they were curled like talons in tension, or was it anger? I had been nice to the woman, welcoming, I had given her presents so where the fuck was she, the ungrateful ....

It was a long shot but the only shot I had. After I bought the two pounds of coffee I was sitting nursing a cup, just as I had after I first met her: same place, same time, same coffee, this time alone.

Then she appeared and I knew it was on the very second she had materialized that first time. She took her time getting her coffee, chatting, laughing and when she strolled ... strolled over to my table, she was looking side to side like she was deciding where she wanted to sit. Eventually, she decided it was with me.

When she eased into the chair, as a bird might alight on a wire, I gave her what I hoped was a pissed off sneer. But she ignored it and took her time positioning her coffee mug, her purse and her body back against the chair, her arms resting insolently on the table. Only then did she look at me and give me three quarter gums. "I wondered if you were going to figure this out."

"You know there is a protocol to stalking. You can't just do it once and quit; that's technically not stalking‚ it's invasion of privacy at best, and might not even qualify as that."

Quarter gums. "The effective stalker has to be unpredictable, those who aren't often wear cuffs."

I relaxed probably for the first time since she left me three nights ago. The quiet felt good ... until I realized I had to be the one to break it.

"Do you know what the Stockholm Syndrome is?"

"You get emotionally attached to your captors."

"I got a touch of that with my stalker."

"Probably because she cooked, cleaned, took her clothes off for you and ravished you."

"Or maybe it was because ... you know, the stalked kind of liked to be stalked and expected to continue to be stalked, like two days ago at lunch, or yesterday at dinner ... or today when I woke up."

"Maybe she thought you'd be in another bed ... attending to other things ... other people ... septuagenarians, for instance."

Huh? "Is that what this is about? That I was going out to dinner with my agent?"

"Stalkers have feelings, too. Some of us know when we're not wanted — usually because we're not told we are wanted, it's a downside to the trade."

"So you just come and go as you please? The stalked just hangs around waiting for when it's convenient for the stalker to show?"

This might have been an odd utterance but she was taking it completely seriously. "Or he does something about it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know ... asks for a phone number, finds out where she lives, how she lives — finds a little out about her other than where her birthmarks are ... you know, he pretends to take an interest — doesn't just sit back smugly waiting for the stalker to show and quickly get her down to the underwear he so thoughtfully provided — who does that? Who buys a woman underwear before he knows anything about her? Why isn't that totally insulting ... panties for fuck's sake ... to feed your perversions."

I sat back with a marvelling look. "Ah, an indignant stalker ... I never thought I'd see the day."

"Stalkers have options, too, you know; you're not the only one out there to be stalked — and many are a lot more appreciative than you are."

I took my phone out. "So what's your phone number?"

"Stalkers don't give out their data, let's just leave it as it is right now."

I thought her act had been coming into focus, this objection made it blurry again. I sat back again. "So I sit back and wait for you to appear."

"We have our pride, too — we want to know that we're appreciated. I'm going to a party tonight. Would you like to come?"

I hate parties; I never go to parties so I hesitated ... for too long as it turned out.

She got ready to leave. "I'll swing by your place at 7. If you want to go and you're ready you can get in my car." With that she got up so dismissively I was speechless for a moment.

"Come back," I commanded.

She stopped three feet away, turned and looked at me, probably evaluating how fucked up she had made me.

I pointed to her chair. "Sit down ... please. I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

There was no reluctance when she made her way back, but no enthusiasm either.

When she settled, still prepared to leave, she looked (somewhat defiantly) at me.

"Look," I said, "can we be a little more conventional about this? I want to spend some time with you; I want to get to know you ... I don't want to duke it out with you every time you bother to show up — can we just, you know, be normal and adult?" I think the woman is smarter than me, she's certainly more cunning. She has an endgame here, I don't know what it is but she's got one.

"I'll take that under advisement. See you at 7 ... or not."

When I left the place just after she did I actually kicked the tire of my car so hard it hurt my foot, that's how frustrated I was. I was being diddled by someone I didn't even know and there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it ... except start planning on how I could build this mysteriously odd woman into my Jennifer Carter — the irrationality of it would give my heroine an air of intrigue that had fascinating possibilities.

I made my decision well before I got halfway home. Even though I had made a solid start at rewriting my story I would have to abandon it for now: there is just way too much I still have to learn about Kon before I can really know Jennifer Carter. So for now, Kon has to be my priority.