The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 03

"Randy! What are you-"

"You talk too much, babe," I growled, and stuffed my still-stiff twenty cubic inches into her mouth. I leaned closer, braced my hands on her tits, and fucked her face. Her hands pushed and pulled my butt. We set a steady rhythm. She gagged and groaned and drooled but took me all the way down. My balls slapped against her chin. Her nose brushed my pubes.

I did not warn her. I just spewed a hot stream down her throat. She gagged again but I did not relent, did not pull back, and did not allow her any leeway. I just came until I was done.

I pulled away from my wife's hammered mouth and stood straight. Ruth gulped, swallowed and stared intently at me. Her cum-smeared lips moved but no words emerged. Her eyes were bright, almost crystalline.

"Good. Stay just like that. Don't move."

I pulled the little Pentax SLR from the glove box and snapped several shots. Naked wife; bruised breasts and lips; scratched torso; unreadable expression - all captured on film.

We rearranged our clothes. I drove us back to Los Angeles. Ruth touched me as much as possible as we rolled home. We did not speak until we stood in our tiled kitchen.

I held Ruth's hand and spun her to face me. "Any questions?"

She stroked my jaw and pulled close. "When will we do that again?"

I slapped her cheek gently. "How about right now?"

She reached into my shorts and grabbed my cock. "Yeah, how about?"

More rough fucking all over the house filled the afternoon.

- 1990 - end-of-year holidays

Yet another Black Friday followed yet another family Thanksgiving feast at cousin Doug's familiar Venice West apartment block. Yet another lounge-and-jabber session by the heated pool and its only-barely-covered femmes ensued. Doug and I enjoyed beer and eye candy while our family womenfolk haunted the prestige malls and high-end districts. I trusted Ruth not to break us financially.

"So anyway, it wasn't ordinary, not the rough sex anyway. We're usually enthusiastic but we're tender and caring too - yeah, we're like, driven y'know, to get each other off." I slurped the foam from my boutique microbrew ale. The flavor was almost chocolate.

"That day was otherwise. Our adrenaline boiled over like battery acid. We slapped, yelled, spit and chewed, pounded, bruised, scratched. I thought of that song, I LIKE 'EM BIG AND STUPID, y'know the line, 'The way he clawed and bit me, well, I hope he'd had his shots.' We were both pretty rabid." I laughed.

"But damn, I was pissed, and there was really nothing else I could do. Lie? Cheat? Steal? What? I just expressed what I really, truthfully felt. Yeah, truthiness. Ruth says she loves me but I don't think she'll ever trust me."

Doug had trimmed a blonde goatee around his ruddy mouth. Beer suds glistened in his pale hairs and flushed flesh.

"Can you blame her, boy? She knows you screwed Deb and Rachel for a long, long time, and that their kids are really yours. And Juanita's kid too, right? You have this long fucking history, pardon my pun. You're not a natural candidate for trust."

I sighed, and sipped again. I almost wish I had not let details of my paternities slip out. "Truth and trust, right. I really haven't screwed around since... well, since a little after the marriage. Only Rachel, just before their father Allen died. And Ruth knew about that, right then. I guess that's when I went exclusive." I did not mention fucking mom and Jill, and Jill and Gabby raping me. Doug had no Need To Know there.

"Sounds like Deb was sending signals to Ruth, right?" Doug's eyes tracked a particularly pneumatic peach-blonde passing by, then returned to me. "Maybe suggesting your thing isn't over yet. How's Ruth supposed to take that?"

"The way she's taking it is to hardly talk to her mom and sister. She's always been real competitive with them anyway. She sees herself as getting their leftovers, as in, ME. She has this psychic split, where on the one hand she takes what they had from them, and on the other, she only gets what they don't need anymore but they could have again if they want."

"So where do you go from here?" Doug was briefly distracted by another passing package of pulchritude. Well, so was I. Our eyes broke free. He looked back at me. "They're in San Diego and New Orleans, right? So, can you just stay away?"

"Going to Black's Beach probably wasn't the greatest idea, but we did want to go strolling, and we did know that Deb was in the area. Oh well. And we can't stop Rachel from flying out here if she wants. But we have a change coming, maybe. I don't really need to keep my base in Los Angeles; I can work from about anywhere - not that I really need to. And Ruth's been working more and more with Mexican modernist collections. There's a good chance she'll be offered a gig in Mexico City. We might relocate there for awhile."

"What? You think surrounding yourself with hot Mexican babes will make Ruth feel like trusting you more?" Doug chortled at the idea. "And I thought Ruth loved LACMA? She's gonna split now?"

"I can control myself with Latina mamacitas, no problem. And Ruth won't be quitting LACMA. The museum's in a downtown DF operation - DF, that's District Federál, like DC here. Anyway, there's a consortium called NAAMA, North American Art Museum Association. NAAMA has a pool office in DF and Ruth will probably get a post there. She'll also have a chance to moonlight, do guest curations at DF museums. More for her reputation, yeah."

"Are you okay with this Mexican thing? I know you and Jill used to do lots of business there. Hey, have you heard from your sister lately? I know she-"

I interrupted my older cousin. "Forget about Jill. We don't communicate. And yeah, I can handle Mexico and even DF. Imagine a mix of LA and DC, stir in tons of hot salsa and corruption and miles of poverty. It's right where the First and Third Worlds scissor together. Kind of like Naples on steroids, but cheaper. Yeah, I'll do well in DF. I'll interface with brokers there and in ports like Veracruz and Acapulco and Merida."

The next sashaying beauty really distracted me and Doug. Was that a bikini, or only wide dental floss? Did she have total electrolysis south of her eyeballs? Was that body sculpting natural? Our jaws hung open. We likely drooled. I pulled myself together after she vanished, and continued talking.

"Ummm, where was I? Oh yeah. Ruth's hot for modernismo but y'know I prefer traditional ethnic stuff. It just happens that the most outrageously superb anthropological musuem on Earth is in DF, and the world's second-best is a few hours away in Xalapa." (That's hah-LAH-pah, home of Jalapeño peppers.) "And the pre-Columbian artifact black market is hot. I'm building a pretty decent collection there and Ruth's growing her own modest modernist trove. You should stop by our place. It's schizo, half-twentieth-century, half-ancient, wrapped in a Bauhaus shell, but it works."

"You taking all that stuff with you when you go? And when d'ya think you'll make the move? You gonna be around here for Christmas and New Year's?"

"We'll take a few favorites but we'll have smaller digs in DF so no, we won't have room for much. Los Angeles is still home; we just won't stay here for some time. And the time frame? That depends on when Ruth's officially offered the gig; early next year sometime. Yeah, we'll do the holidays here. We'll throw a small New Year's party. You're invited. Bring Cheryl."

Doug looked away. "Well, me and Cheryl... I dunno who I'll bring but I won't be alone. Umm, will this be a family party, or...?" His eyes returned to me.

I laughed. "No, nobody's going to report on you to your folks. It won't be group sex but I expect lots of drinking, snorting, puffing, flirting, PDAs, inappropriate behaviors, all that fun stuff, all off the record. Get loose."

"All RIGHT then!" Doug waved clenched fists. "We'll be ready!"

"Ready for what, bro?" A raspy voice floated in on the wind.

Out of her nurse's uniform and filling togs tight enough to show goosebumps (if any), Doug's little sister Jocelyn was always a sight to behold, even if she had not yet donned an eye-searing bikini. She was blonde and fairly tall like her big brother, smart and horny like me, curvy like other gals in our hot genepool, intensely curious, and a total rebel. She might introduce herself as 'Torchy' and leave you wondering if that was her name or her condition.

She was a hot fuck too, but neither of us would tell Doug that.

Jocelyn repeated, "Ready for what?" and grabbed a beer for herself.

"Ready for a little holiday fest," I explained, "and you're invited too, as long as you don't tell anyone else in the family. It will not be suitable for elderly aunties and blobby in-laws. I know you can keep secrets, Joss."

"Sure, your secrets are safe with me, cuz; always have been, right? Like I never told anyone about that time we were climbing in Grandpa's black walnut orchard, and you... oh, I'd better stop now." She waved her bottle of Saint Stan's Wicked Ale at me. "I don't want to give that away so easy."

I sighed. "Don't whisper it too loud, okay?"

Somebody's roommate stalked panther-like past us, wearing almost enough fabric to cover some truly awesome naughty bits. We all ogled her. Jocelyn's face flushed. Ah, I had always suspected her...

More beer and parading beauties flowed. It was a pleasant evening... till the rest of the women returned from shopping. Ruth dragged me away without doing too much damage. Cheryl seemed a bit miffed at Doug. Not my problem.

=====

My mom Nina was taking her new family off to DC for XMas with Jill and Gabby, whom I had no intention of ever seeing again; I would never forgive their using me, and more. Juanita's family was headed for DC then too. We set our local 'family' holiday fest for the Winter Solstice - yeah, a Swingin' Saturnalia minus the sexual swinging. The celebration did not quite fill our mini-mansion - but not for lack of trying.

Deborah and Avram and 'their' (my) kids were up from San Diego. Rachel and Ferdie (the banker) and 'their' (my) kid flew in from New Orleans. Mom and Bobby and 'their' kid (my son and brother) drove over from Santa Monica. Juanita and Alonzo (the Federal Reserve consultant) and 'their' (my) kid stopped in en-route from Honolulu to DC. Bunches of aunts and uncles and cousins (including Doug) and their mates and kids (all their own) rolled in from wherever. Okay, so I had screwed some of my sexier cousins in the past, but I had not impregnated any, whew. Still, the place was awash with my DNA.

We feasted and gifted and drank and flirted and connected. WHO did Uncle Lanz run off with? HOW did Aunt Laura end up with those tattoos? WHEN is Cousin Hannah due? WHERE did they finally find Aunt Elena? WHY did Cousin Hank take Gemma back? WHAT did Uncle Nolan screw up most recently?

Questions and answers. Family dynamics. Children and adults mingling at varied speeds and depths. No major fights, despite tensions. Secrets kept.

We survived Saturnalia, and the non-family (except cousin Doug, who escorted fair Fiona, and cousin Jocelyn, who brought hot Jan) 1991 New Year's blast, and the Orthodox Old XMas (a nod to some associates), and what passed for winter around Los Angeles. Ruth and I spent XMas Eve and Day at our favorite Palm Springs naturist resort. Swim and lounge naked in the morning; take the tram up two-mile-high Mt San Jacinto for afternoon snowboarding; back down to the pool for midnight splashing.

We floated side-by-side in warm water and fantasized about other guests.

"Look at that gal! I bet you'd love to have her tasty twat on your cock or lips right now, wouldn't you?" Ruth waved at a tall, tanned, curvy, flaxen-haired Nordic goddess's swiveling hips and swaying buns as she strutted past. Wide pink areolae and a thin gold landing strip marked her zones.

"And you'd probably like to lez-out and 69 her, wouldn't you?" I teased back. "She'd be on top, driving her long tongue deep into you while you lick her soft labia and suck her drizzling joy-juices. Your face will be soaked."

"Yeah, you'd like that. Then you'd double-fuck us, shoving your meat into her pussy, then my mouth, then her pussy, and over and over again, right?"

"Sure thing. Then I'd roll you both over and jump around to the other end and feed your drippings straight to her taste buds. She'd get a mouthful of my cum and your runoff."

"You'd probably want both of us at once, yeah? Maybe you'd preacher-fuck her while I sit on her face and squirm on her tongue. Then she could sit on your face while I ride your fat cock and slurp her big, bouncy tits."

"Is that all? No, I want us to circle the wagon train. I'll bite your clit while you're eating her sweet snatch and she's swallowing my cunt-splitter."

"Oooh, check out this guy!" A short muscular black man sauntered by. "Those pecs are just dreamy! He really worked for those six-pack abs! Nice tight buns, too. And that cock..."

"You want that big black cock up your ass, don't you, Ruth? And my big white cock in your mouth or maybe your pussy. Tell you what, we'll get the blonde back here with a strap-on for your snatch, and you can suck me off while that black dick pumps into your backdoor. We'll have you airtight. And you'll be helpless; you'll just have to take it all."

"Well, looks like his cock isn't any bigger than yours, but it'd be something different, yeah. Hey, he looks really bi. How about if we bend him over a chair, and you fuck his ass while I squat in front of him and blow him till he bleeds, how about that? And then you can trade places."

"Not quite. That would work but we'd start with the blonde shoving her strap-on into him while I'm doing her tight cunt from behind. And then, yeah, you and she can trade places and I'd fill you up the way you like."

We only talked of these fantasies; we acted them out between ourselves.

Good fantasy fucks always made Ruth scream.

- 1991 - Los Angeles to Mexico City

We survived normalcy until Orthodox New Year in mid-January. That is when LACMA officially offered Ruth the Mexico City job. She accepted immediately.

We had already bought a condo in the historic downtown, near but not in the Zona Rosa which used to be high-class but had degenerated lately into a center for lap dances and overnight fun. We sent the more deviant visitors and clients there.

Both our offices were near our condo. All were in low-rise buildings; DF is quake-prone and we did NOT want to be pancaked in the next temblor. Ruth's work and my consults sometimes led us around the region. But we were together at our DF home much of the time. And we fucked like rabid weasels.

We only fucked each other. At least, I only fucked Ruth, and I had no reason to suspect her of anything, despite our disconnections. She had wanted me for half her life and now she had me, all of me.

And I had Ruth. Like I said before, I'm not sure I loved her, or anybody. We fit well together. We had immense fun together. We complemented each other.

I guess I saw our relationship as tight friends with exclusive benefits.

Was I tempted by sultry young lovelies in tight, low-cut clothes? Well, duh. But I kept my trousers zipped. Especially with my secretary / manager Mariana, whom I suspect had been planted in my office by Ruth, the tricky wench.

Was I tempted by sultry young lovelies thrown at me by clients? Yeah, them too. As a brokerage consultant, advising organizations about supplies and demands, I often influenced large flows of money. Those interested in the direction of those cash flows sometimes tried to sway me with offerings. Offerings of cash and precious objects, of which I already overflowed. Offerings of drugs, which I knew better than to get anywhere near - I kept my distance from cartels. Offerings of girls, and boys, in great numbers.

"Señor van Ronk, my clients would like to express their gratitude for your services." (I had just brokered a large transaction.) "Please accept these small tokens of their appreciation." (An attaché case containing large bills, a small bag of white powder, and a hotel room key.) "My clients look forward to working with you again." (Well, maybe...)

"Muchas gracias, Señor Guzman. Your clients are much too generous." (And too dangerous.) "I regret that I cannot accept all these gifts." (I pushed the bag and key across his desk.) "I'm sure some worthy person, maybe even yourself, could put these to good use." (I gotta get outa here.)

I met one of Señor Guzman's clients once. Once was enough.

Señor Delgado (known familiarly as El Naco, the hick) was a short fat man who sat in a stuffed chair smoking a cigar during our meeting. A naked Indian girl knelt between his thighs with his cock in her mouth, her head bobbing slowly. Another naked girl stood beside him and sporadically groomed him and pinched his nipples. She wore a shoulder-holstered pistol, nothing more. He offered her and her sisters to me. I politely declined. This seemed his usual mode of conducting business.

Like I said, once was enough.

Yes, I had Ruth all to myself, and I was sure she loved me, more than I loved her. But I was no fool. I had spooks watching her, for protection more than cheat surveillance. Invisible bodyguards were a prudent measure for any well-to-do Gringa in Mexico. They did not cost much here, either. And I had my own covert protection. Just to be safe, yes?

Our noisy social circle mostly reflected Ruth's museum-and-gallery world; my business contacts were not exactly the most refined folks, to say the least.

Mexican and international arts-and-artifacts traders and creators mixed with varied professionals and travelers. They were generally entertaining, fairly polite, mostly well-groomed, and wildly flirtatious. At parties and confabs, disparate couples and other groups might disappear for some time and return slightly disheveled and sweaty. I silently kept score of the game-playing.

Genevra Nyquist represented DC's Corcoran Gallery (Ruth's alma mater) at the NAAMA office; her tidy desk sat cat-corner from Ruth's. Ginny was maybe five years older than my thirty-one and a near-clone of the sensuous Nordic blonde we saw that New Year's by the pool in Palm Springs. She and her hard-bodied pal Luisa, of the local Museo Tamayo, often joined us jogging on days when the DF smog was sub-toxic. Both hinted at what they could do with us in bed.

Were we tempted? Well, duh. But we gently excused ourselves. Ginny and Luisa seemed to zero-in on likely couples. They were fun to watch.

Javiér Leís Montoya ran a section of INBA, one of the web of federal culture bureaucracies. He fancied himself a slick operator and insider. A gymnast in his youth, he kept his body in perfect trim and his bed filled with visiting females; none remained long. Ruth laughingly brushed off his attentions.

My college buddy (and best man at the wedding) Dave Moreland's state senate district near San Diego included heavily chicano areas; he found excuses to visit DF regularly, especially with his lovely wife Guadalupe. Sometimes he brought political friends and operatives. Except for Dave, I pretty much hate to deal with politicos, but they come with the territory.

Mexican politicians were usually smoother but more expensive than their gringo counterparts. USA pols can be bribed pretty cheap. I have receipts to prove it.

Sansón Frías Ulibarri's latest demo drew the usual motley crowd to his chic Embassy Row gallery. Cultural attachés, probably foreign spies, mixed with arrogant artists, devious dealers, blustery bureaucrats, predatory party girls (and boys), cautious collectors, bored bodyguards, snide critics, journalists sponging-up free food and drink (especially strong drink), and a thin smattering of innocent bystanders.