The Heart of an Angel

To look upon Angela Hart was to see the Platonic ideal of Woman: she was in every way remarkable, a creature who seemed both corporeal and at the same time pure and eternal.

Angela was an imposing figure: tall, her chestnut hair rich and flowing; striking blue eyes, a warm look from which could lift up the most downtrodden of spirits. The loose elegant dresses she wore, modest yet stylish, intimated that beneath was a magnificent body. But no man could look upon Angela Hart with lust. The very idea would bring self-recrimination and a blush to the cheek.

She was just too wholesome. Imagine your mother, or the way you wish your mother had been. Or perhaps your fourth grade teacher, the woman who was the very embodiment of feminine integrity. Angela Hart was all this and more. She inspired you to smile at your neighbor and do a good deed for a total stranger.

Angela was the author of two best-selling books on family psychology and hostess of a cable TV show. Her life and her career were rooted firmly in God and Family. Where service to one ended and devotion to the other began, not even Angela could say.

Her own family was Norman Rockwell perfect: a wealthy husband who adored her; two teenage children, both honor students and revered by all as model youths.

Angela Hart was a staple on college lecture tours, at Girls State, and the Future Homemakers of America. Her message to young girls was clear: the path to happiness lies in sexual abstinence before marriage; in absolute loyalty to one's husband afterwards.

Thousands of young women embraced the idea and took the pledge, inspired by the message but even more by the messenger. If being chaste can make me as happy as Angela Hart, they would think, that I must be.

No man admired the woman more than Martin Hessel. He had become aware of her fame some ten years ago as his own marriage had been falling apart. If only Lisa were more like Angela Hart, he would think. But Lisa was not. Headstrong and ambitious, she had moved out of their home in Guthrie, Oklahoma and gone to Dallas, where a career in interior design awaited her. Martin had remained a bachelor since that day. He was still looking for another Lisa or, better yet, an Angela Hart.

Martin was himself an exemplary citizen, an optometrist and now mayor of Guthrie. He was proud to be in attendance the night they honored Angela Hart as Oklahoma's Woman of the Year. She glided onto the stage, a queen before her adoring subjects. In a warm melodious voice she gave her speech.

With a spotlight on her, not unlike a ray from the heavens, Angela described the great joy she had felt as a bride. I walked down that aisle in my pure white gown, she said, knowing that I had earned its purity through virtue. My chastity was a wedding gift to my beloved husband. Among the women, there was scarcely a dry eye in the house.

As for Martin, he gazed reverently at the podium, thinking, now here is someone worthy of a man's devotion. What a woman she is!

Martin was of course eager to attend the reception honoring her after the ceremony. He joined the reception line, as nervous as a schoolboy as he neared Angela. And then it was his turn to bask in the warmth of her blue eyes and radiant smile; to feel her firm hand shaking his.

She hesitated a second, looking at him closely. "Hmm. Have we met before, Mr. Hessel? At Southern Methodist, perhaps?"

"I don't think so, Ms Hart," he laughed, "I'm sure I'd remember someone like you!" But yes, he thought. There is something oddly familiar about her, up close like this.

"Oh, it'll come to me later!" the woman exclaimed. "I'm so happy that you could be here tonight!"

And with that he was moved on. Martin lingered for another half hour; then began to make his way to the hall entrance. Cruel fate placed Angela in his path. She had turned from one group of admirers and was making her way to another when again their eyes met.

"Ah, Mr. Hessel," she smiled, touching her tongue to her lip, "I'm sure I've seen you before, I just don't know where."

Perhaps it was the tongue that did it. Martin shuddered, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed on him. He gaped at the woman, all thought and propriety driven from his head.

"Wait a minute," he blurted. "Now I remember you! You're Dena Mullins! You're that young whore I once spent the night with in Lawton!"

The woman blanched; she looked intently at Martin. Her blue eyes grew large, then larger still. Her mouth dropped open; she gasped. And just like that, Angela Hart fainted dead away.

Now the fates decided to spare the woman further insult. She fell against a passing city councilman, who grabbed her and gently lowered her to the floor as Martin staggered back, dumbfounded by the realization. By the thought that yes, I know this woman. I've known her in the biblical sense. Known her in the most intimate ways a man can know a woman.

*****

A few moments later Martin sat in a booth at the Downtowner Lounge, holding a vodka and tonic in his trembling hands. It isn't possible, he thought. No way. But some part of him knew otherwise. She really is Dena Mullins. Has to be. I'd bet my house on it.

Now disillusion swept over him. Angela Hart was my ideal woman, he thought. But who is she really? Is she truly a fraud? Are she and all that she stands for just a charade?

He took a deep breath, recalling how he had stumbled out of the ballroom, ignored in the hubbub as everyone rushed to Angela Hart's aid. Now looking around the bar, he thought, how long ago did I meet her? Over twenty years? Hard to believe.

It had all begun in a bar, worlds apart from this one. A small bar, a dump really, with the crack of pool balls hitting each other; Shelly West warbling 'Jose Cuervo' on the jukebox.

Martin had been nineteen, working that summer on a wheat harvesting crew. They'd begun in Texas, slowly moving north as the crop ripened and awaited the combine and the grain elevator. By late July they would reach the Dakotas, the northern limit of the winter wheat region.

But June meant Oklahoma, long hot days and idle nights. He and his friend Dustin were sharing a cheap motel room near Lawton as they worked the southwestern Oklahoma wheat fields: a world of pale blue sky and pale yellow wheat that stretched to the horizon.

He'd been sitting in the Horseshoe Bar & Grill near their motel, sipping a Miller Lite and unwinding from another day. Dustin entered the bar and quickly slid into the booth.

"Hey Marty, want a girl? Guess who I've got lined up for us tonight?"

"Reba McEntire."

"You wish. What d' ya say to a couple of prostitutes? Real ones?"

"Now why would I want t' pay for it? There's gonna be girls tonight that'll be glad t' please Little Willie down here, and for free."

"Yeah, right. As if you were that hot. Besides, you can chase these local skanks any time. I'm talking 'bout high class call girls, women of the world. All the way from Oklahoma City. Ain't you ever wondered what it'd be like to have one?"

"Dustin, you really aim high in life, don't you?" He eyed his smiling companion, then said, "Okay, how much?"

"Seventy five."

"Whoa, that ain't pocket change! I'm saving to go back to school at Okie State this fall."

"Just consider tonight a part of your education, ole buddy. I've got it arranged with the greaseball who runs our motel. Room 211. You get one of 'em from 10 'til whenever. Deal?"

Anything to break the ennui, Martin thought. "Yeah, what th' hell. Deal."

He'd been lying on the bed just after ten o'clock, the door to Room 211 slightly ajar as per instructions. The TV weatherman was saying that tomorrow's weather would be dry, high of 98 F. There was movement at the door, and without a sound she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Expecting an older woman, fishnet hose and maybe spike heels, he saw instead a young girl. She was wearing cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a pink sleeveless blouse tied around her narrow waist. With a blush on her cheeks, she watched Martin nervously.

"You're her?" Martin asked. "Th' prostitute?"

"Yes I am."

"Right. If you're a hooker, I'm Harrison Ford!" He saw that the girl was in fact quite striking: intense blue eyes, short hair bleached by the sun to a mix of blonde and russet; full inviting mouth; a figure that would soon be stunning, but now had a coltish quality to it, a work in progress.

Martin spoke again. "Say, how old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen."

"Like hell. You're sixteen, tops."

"What difference does it make?"

"About three years if I get arrested. They don't much mind a guy doin' a whore, but jailbait, well, that's serious time." He hesitated, then went on, "Show me some ID, girlie, or I'm kickin' your cute little butt outta here."

The girl angrily stuck out her tongue at him. Still glaring, she drew out a thin wallet and showed him her Oklahoma driver's license.

Martin studied it. "I'll be damned, you are eighteen, just barely. Dena Mullins. And you're from Hollister, for Pete's sake. Fresh off the farm. You're no more a hooker than my Aunt Sally. What are you tryin' t' pull?"

Dena was still as nervous as a cat, exuding false bravado that Martin somehow found charming. "I didn't come up here to talk! You want me or not?"

Grinning and shaking his head, Martin said, "Maybe you better show me what I'm gettin' for my money."

"You mean like strip down?"

"Uh huh."

"I'll show you part. Then you gotta lay some money on the nightstand over there, buster."

"Okay, fine."

"Turn around first."

Martin laughed, now thoroughly enjoying the game. "Boy, some hooker you are! Too bashful to let a guy watch you undress! Say, how long you been in this line of work?"

"Long enough to show you a good time, cowboy. Now turn around!"

Martin did so, and after a few seconds Dena said, "Okay, you can look now."

Nude from the waist up, she was still blushing intensely, holding her arms over her bosom. Taking a deep breath, she let them fall away, revealing full taut breasts. She had a farmer's tan: her arms, neck and face were rich bronze, but elsewhere Dena's skin was pure cream. Her nipples were buds of the fairest rose.

"Dang, girl," Martin said quietly, his manhood stirring. "You got a lot more than I thought. You're as pretty as a peach."

Unable to suppress pride in her endowments, she said, "We got a deal?"

"Hell yes." Martin quickly drew the three twenties and three fives from his jeans and laid them on the nightstand. He watched as Dena began to unbuckle her cowgirl belt.

"Do I gotta turn around again?"

"No, you've already seen th' best part," Dena replied. Having removed her boots, she unzipped the jeans, let them fall, and then slipped out of her thin cotton panties. She stood again eyeing him nervously, hands behind her back. Her jutting pubic mound was covered in soft reddish down; Dena's legs were slightly bowed, so slim that he could easily see space between her thighs. He saw puffy labia where they joined her slender torso.

"I think I'm lookin' at the best part now," Martin said in a low voice, swallowing hard. "I think maybe all of you is the best part, Dena."

Trying to look seductive but unable to hide her nervousness, Dena approached him. "I gotta kiss you now, right?"

"Reckon so." Martin drew her close and kissed her warmly as his hands moved down to clasp her firm butt, as small as a boy's but ineffably smooth and round. He drank deeply of the girl, savoring her clean taste mixed with that of Juicy Fruit gum. Then they broke the embrace. She turned off lights, leaving only a ray of light from the bathroom, as Martin undressed.

He embraced Dena again; her body now felt almost feverish. Gently laying her on the bed, he moved to mount her. Her eyes were as big as saucers; Martin saw that she was trembling.

"You nervous?"

"Uh huh. See, I ain't never done it before."

Martin's jaw dropped. "Whaat?"

"Well I'm sorry, but I ain't!"

Martin collapsed back on the bed. "Aw man! First it turns out you're not a real whore, and now you're a virgin? Gimme a break!"

A faint sheen of sweat on her brow, Dena rose up over him, her full breasts pressed against his chest. "Look, a girl's gotta start sometime! How hard can it be? I just lay here, right? Besides, you kiss pretty good. I can do it if you'll be gentle."

"You ain't worth seventy five dollars, girlie."

"You ain't tried me yet!"

Shaking his head, Martin began to move his hands over the girl's breasts, then slid them down to her pussy, finding dampness there. Soon his kisses became more demanding. Dena responded, and then he was on her, his cock head at her portal.

"Easy, easy!" she whispered as he sensed her warm wet flesh enclose him. Her pussy drew him deeper until he realized that he had sunk into the girl to the hilt.

He rose up slightly, seeing that Dena's face was afire, her breath coming fast. "Oh jeez," she gasped, "oh jeez!"

Martin began to slowly thrust back and forth, feeling Dena's pussy become wetter and more welcoming as she instinctively began to match his thrusts. Long moments passed as he relished this most delightful of carnal pleasures. Feeling himself getting close, he withdrew, leaving only the cock head enclosed in her sheath, and began to kiss her cheeks, now salty with perspiration.

"Don't stop!" she whispered. "It's feelin' real good!"

He was aware of Dena's hands on his butt, pressing him back into her. The man and woman began to thrust against each other with mounting urgency, until Martin felt a scintillating release as his semen flooded into the girl.

Dena was now biting his shoulder, crying, "A little more, cowboy, just a little more! Oh yeesss! Aaah!" Her writhing reached a crescendo as Martin felt that final bolt of electricity surge through him, his eruption of semen now beginning to abate.

Martin rode the girl to her satisfaction, until her breathing began to slow and she released him, her arms falling back on the bed.

He felt the irresistible urge to kiss her; kiss her over and over everywhere. After his lips had nuzzled her breasts, he returned to her cheek, whispering, "I take it back, girl. You are worth seventy five. Maybe even a hundred."

"Holy moly!" she murmured. "So that's what all the fuss is about! Jeez louise!" Dena gazed at him, an angelic smile on her face. "Easiest money I ever made," she giggled.

His cock still embedded in her, Martin said, "Now, tell me why you're playin' a hooker."

She grinned, saying, "It was Crystal's idea. She's been my best friend through high school. We used to call each other a whore, you know, just teasing. Somewhere along the way we got to wondering what it would be like to be a prostitute. To let some stranger do you, no questions asked, anything he wants."

"It was like a dare, you see, neither one of us willin' to back down. And she set this up. For tonight I'm your whore, 'n you can have me just like you would a whore. So far it's been great."

Martin withdrew from the girl, seeing in the faint gold light of the room that his cock was glistening but had no blood on it.

"If you were a virgin, how come you didn't bleed?"

"I been ridin' a horse ever day since I was six years old. Think about it."

With a playful smile, Martin gestured to his cock, saying, "Now you gotta lick it nice 'n clean, y'know."

"Yuck!" Dena said, a mow of distaste on her face. "Do I have to?"

"Uh huh. That's what all whores do. Didn't you know that?"

Dena touched his wet cock with her fingers. "Well, if you say so."

Martin laughed. "You silly twerp, I'm just kiddin'. Boy, are you gullible!"

Dena angrily grabbed his testicles and began to squeeze. "Maybe I am, smartass, but you're the one with his nuts in a vice!"

"Okay, okay, I apologize! And you're a great hooker, the best!"

She released him, then grinned. "I might do that if you'd wash it off. Me 'n Crystal been wonderin' what that would be like too."

Martin went to the bathroom, rinsed his cock in warm water, and returned. True to her word, Dena was waiting with her mouth. He reclined on the bed, and she began to kiss his semi-hard manhood, down to his testicles, then up to the head, alternating kisses with wet strokes of her tongue.

"Am I doin' it right?"

Martin smiled. "Oh yeah. Just perfect."

His cock began to swell again as she took him into her mouth and held him; then withdrew, then went down upon him again. On her knees astride Martin, Dena looked up, saying, "This ain't so bad. It's kinda fun." At once she engulfed him again, slowly easing her lips down his shaft until he was resting against the back of her mouth.

Pausing now and then to give him a saucy look, the would-be whore brought Martin again to the brink with her mouth. Sensing that he was nearing climax, she looked up, saying, "I'll take it in my mouth but I don't want t' swallow, okay?"

"I thought I was payin' for this."

"C'mon! Cut me some slack!"

"Okay, whatever you like," he said. With that Dena got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a washcloth. With surprising dexterity she brought him to orgasm, both of them emitting moans as he felt his semen gush into her mouth.

The girl patiently held his cock in her mouth until he had finished; then, released thick milky fluid into the cloth. On impulse she began to squeeze and lick the cock, mixing and swallowing semen with her saliva. Now wiping her mouth, she rose up and sat back on her heels, saying, "Well, how was I?"

"Girl, you done tamed Little Willie. He's gentle as a kitten now." Glancing down to her pussy, the vivid pink labia slack and open, Martin said, "Y'know, two can play that game.."

Dena's eyes grew wide. "I wonder how that feels. You want me to wash off first?"

"No, if you can stand the taste of come, reckon I can too."

Her rose up from the waist, kissed the girl several times, and guided her down on the bed. Now Martin was bending over her and now he was touching his lips to her nether lips, savoring the rich pungent aroma of pussy mixed with semen.

"Easy, easy, that tickles!" Dena whispered, running her hand through his dark hair. Then, "Hey, ooh jeez that feels good! Ooh, man, yes!"

Closing his eyes, Martin sank his mouth onto her pussy, letting the juices wash over him, probing her depths with his tongue and then finding the girl's now-swollen nub.

"Oh yeah!" she sighed, "that's so much better than my hand! Omigod, I may come too!"

Soon she did. In a few moments the girl was bucking again, holding Martin's face to her pussy as she moaned through a boisterous orgasm. Then, gasping for breath, she pulled him up to her and began to kiss him fiercely, the mix of come and juices from her sex now covering both their faces.

Martin looked at the girl, her eyes glowing in the dim light, her chin wet. The rest of her face was drenched with perspiration even into her hair. Still breathing hard, Dena smiled and said, "You smell like a sweaty horse."

"Well, you're no gardenia yourself. C'mon, let's take a shower!" Now entirely at ease, the young man and woman showered, laughing playfully as each washed and rinsed off the other. Afterwards they made up the bed, and were soon under the covers nestled in each other's arms again. Both fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

Sometime in the night Martin was awakened by a strange sensation. Drifting up from slumber, he realized that his cock was in someone's mouth. With a start he raised up to see Dena once again putting her tongue to good use.

Her face a silhouette, he heard, "I woke up, 'n got to thinkin' maybe Little Willie would like to play some more."

"I believe so," Martin replied. "He's rarin' to go."

Now on her knees, Dena said, "How 'bout if I ride you cowgirl style? We ain't tried that."

"Can you stay on for eight seconds?"