The Predator Ch. 12

Chapter Twelve

"So," I said, as we walked up to the door, "do you think they'll come over?"

She smiled up at me and flashed The Grin again. "Oh," she said, "I hope so. I'd absolutely LOVE to slap that snotty look off of her face."

I laughed.

"Should I get you a punching bag for Christmas?" I asked.

She turned suddenly serious.

"Maybe," she said, "God, David, it kind of scares me how much I enjoyed that."

"Well," I said, "first things first," and reached for the bottom of her T-shirt.

She giggled and lifted her arms straight up.

I peeled it off of her, admiring the way her boobs seemed heavier.

"You've been taking your pills and pumping, haven't you," I said.

She lifted her breasts and let them fall against her belly.

"Yep," she said, "I hope you like it because I've been having a little morning sickness."

"Oh my," I said, "I'll hold your hair back."

She giggled.

And the doorbell rang.

"Oh shit," she said with a giggle and ran from the room calling, "get the door baby," over her shoulder.

I opened the door and Dan and Phyllis stood there.

"Well, well, well," I said, flashing my best nasty grin, "come right in."

They came in and stood, a little awkwardly I thought, in the front room.

I kept the grin going.

"Something to drink?" I asked.

"Sure," they both said in unison.

"Beer? Tea? I think there's some vodka," I said.

"Ice tea," Phyllis said.

"Beer," Dan said.

She looked at him disapprovingly and I thought, "Oh honey, are you in for an education," as I went into the kitchen.

I brought out the beer and a glass of iced tea and handed them to Dan and Phyllis.

"Have a seat," I said and they sat on the couch, side by side.

Fortunately, it was only a few seconds until Doris came back into the front room. I say fortunately because I had absolutely no idea what to say to these two strangers.

Okay, we all stared.

She was still in those tight jeans, her belly squeezed out in a classic muffin top. But it was the top, not a bra, rather a sort of a cloth titsack that captivated us. She came to me doing the both-hands-on-the-upper-arm thing.

"Show them," she said, smiling up at me.

"Show them?" I asked.

She brushed her fingers across her cheek.

"Show them what a woman needs," she said.

So I slapped her, hard, right where her bruised cheek had started to fade.

Phyllis gasped.

When Doris stood up straight I slapped her again, same spot, same force, snapping her head around.

She was crying softly then, tears giving her raccoon eyes, and snot running down her upper lip.

I kissed her, very softly, and said, "tell them."

She had both hands on my arm again, smiling through her tears, heedless of the way the snot from her nose was hanging from her chin now, leaving a wet spot on that cleavage she was showing.

"I've never felt more beautiful," she said, her voice smoothing out as she talked, "more desirable, more perfectly feminine and utterly female than I have since David," and here she turned her face up to look at me for a few seconds, "came into my life."

I pulled a chair around so I face Dan and Phyllis, and pulled Doris down so she was on her knees on my right. As I started talking I was stroking her hair as I might with a dog.

"Let me tell you a story," I said, meeting Dan's and then Phyllis's eyes, "something even Doris hasn't heard yet."

Nobody said anything. Dan looked intent. Phyllis's eyes were a little bright and shiny and I was pretty sure I was getting to her.

I took a drink of my own beer. Whenever I told this it got to me so I needed to fortify a bit.

"I was raised by a drunk," I started, smiling a bit as the memories rushed in, "not just someone who drank a lot but a true alcoholic. Mom was a single mom and for most of my life she always had a vodka bottle within arms reach."

The room was absolutely quiet as I took another drink.

"If you've never been around a true alcoholic, you can't really understand. You would never know what would make her laugh or send her into a rage. One time, for some reason this really sticks out in my mind, I was doing the dishes. I decided it was time to get all of that black stuff off of her cast iron frying pan. So I worked with an SOS pad for, God, seems like hours but for several minutes. And I got that black stuff off. When I was done it was a nice grey iron color. When I showed it to her, very proud of what I had accomplished, she went into a rage. 'YOU RUINED IT!' she raged at me. Stuff like that."

I took another drink, gathering my thoughts.

"But it worked the other way too. One time I was horsing around, I don't remember exactly what I was doing, and I broke this big ceramic pot she had on the top shelf of a room divider we had. There was no fixing it. The damn thing shattered into a zillion pieces. I knew I would be in it deep when she got home but when she came in and saw it, I had been too panicked to even sweep up, she just kissed me and held me, I was crying by then, and she kept telling me it was okay, things happened. She was actually giggling as we swept up the mess."

Another drink from my beer, a bit aggravated that my hand was shaking a bit.

"It's just insane," I said, "living with a drunk."

"But then things changed in one event. There were four of us, friends from grade school days, who turned 18 within weeks of each other. I was in the middle and when Dana, the 'baby' of our group since he was a full month younger than me, hit the big One-Eight we all went down to the Federal Center together to register for the draft. We got drunk afterward. Steve had managed to get a case of beer and we drove out to a place we knew where there was a rope swing over a swimming hole and swam and drank all afternoon."

Another drink from my beer and I met each of their eyes separately, held them for a second.

"When I got home, my life changed. Mom was there. It wasn't late, maybe 9 o'clock or so, but she was in a rage. You know how something like that goes. 'Where have you been?' 'I've been worried sick.' Shit like that. She was drunk, well, she was always drunk, but she was drunk and screaming at me. I was drunk too."

I took a deep breath and a drink from my beer.

Another deep breath and I went on.

"So I slapped her, just like I just slapped Doris. I slapped her hard across her face, hard enough that her head snapped around. She came back at me and I blocked her punch and slapped her again, hard enough to knock her back. She came back at me, screaming and I slapped her a third time."

I stopped there. I had to. Remembering that night always gets to me. I took another deep breath and a big swallow from my beer.

"And that broke her spirit. She came back at me but this time she was crying and telling me how sorry she was. And I was so goddam hard I thought my cock would explode. I think as much as anything, it was the way she looked, her eyes red, tears streaming, mascara running, and," and here I ran my finger across Doris's bruised cheek, "and the way she was marked. I wanted her. I mean, I wanted her sexually. I had been aware of her as a woman but, you know how it is. She was just 'mom,' not really a woman. But now she was a woman and I WANTED her."

My hand was trembling a little more as I stopped to take another drink.

"And she obviously wanted me. Hell, she was dry humping me like a fucking dog. Her tongue was a wild thing, probing and seeking. She was breathing hard and I could smell her excitement, that wonderful, pheromone-laden scent of a woman in heat. Her hands were all over my back and my ass, and mine were exploring her too. I lost my virginity right there in the front room. I never even got her bra off and she didn't get my shirt off. Hell, I didn't even get my pants off, just got them far enough down to do what I needed, and NEEDED is the right word."

I was smiling now, it really is, by and large, a very pleasant memory. I took another drink of my beer and went on. I noticed my hand wasn't trembling now.

"So I lost my virginity and became, you should pardon the expression, a motherfucker in the same instant. It wasn't very good, of course. Hell, I lasted about five strokes and came like a goddam fountain. But she was giggling and telling me I had just paid her a wonderful compliment. Honestly, I didn't care at that point, I just stayed where I was until I softened and slipped out. I liked the little whimpering sound she made when I did, I DO remember that very clearly."

I stopped and looked at them. Dan's mouth was open slightly and his focus was absolute. Phyllis's eyes were bright and she was kind of unconsciously brushing her cheek. Maybe in anticipation. And Doris was looking up at me with that sort of adoring look in her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"She sat up, lit a Kool, took a slug from her vodka bottle, and looked at me, I guess the word would be 'speculatively.' 'Did you plan that?' she asked and I said, 'no.' 'Neither did I,' she said, 'but I'm not bitchin'.' She finished her cigarette and looked at me again. Then she undressed. She didn't make a striptease out of it or anything like that, just took off her clothes."

I took a drink and know I looked like a fucking idiot the way I was smiling. But it was a GOOD memory.

"So she stood then, and finished, kicking off her shoes, getting her jeans and panties completely off, and reaching around, the first time I ever saw that weird double-jointed thing you women all seem to be able to do, and tossed her bra onto the couch. Then she laid down on the carpet next to me, smiling, and said, 'it's okay to touch you know.' So I touched her breast. She wasn't huge, but she was a bit top-heavy. Her bras, I learned later, were 36C. But she was narrow hipped enough that she seemed top-heavy. Her pubic hair, and yes, I stared, was sparse and very coarse, just a dusting. Very sexy."

"She did a slow turn, showing herself to me. Her breasts had fallen, what we call pancake boobs today. Her nipples were like the tops of little fingers poking out from light tan areolas about the size of half dollars. As I looked they tightened until the nipples were standing out on conical areolas. She smiled and lifted her breasts and then dropped them, they hit her ribcage with an audible little slap. When I didn't move she got to her knees beside me and started undressing me. She got my shoes off and then just tugged my jeans and shorts down, they were loose already. I held my arms straight up while she pulled my T-shirt off. Then we were both naked and I was hard once again."

I stopped and took another drink of my beer.

"The second time was a little better. I guess I lasted a minute. But it wasn't enough to finish her, that's for sure."

I laughed at myself then, looking at each of them in turn.

"But I got better. After that second time we finally made it into bed, but, well, the alcohol and the exertion and just, well, what had happened got to me. We were kissing, I scooted down and took her nipple in my mouth. And dozed off."

I laughed again, and took another drink.

"I wasn't the world-class lover I am today," I said, and patted Doris on the head, "but I got better. The third time we made love, and now it was starting to be making love, not just fucking, not just draining the old dragon, was when she woke me with her hand, slowly bringing me erect. As I came awake she swung a leg over me and mounted me, cowgirl style. She was grinning as she rode me, her hips grinding into me, the coarseness of her pubic hair irritating where I was a little tender anyway. She almost made it that time, but I came before she could and almost instantly softened and slipped out. She was frustrated, I could tell. She tried to make out like it was okay, but she was frustrated."

I took another drink.

"So she rolled off of me and used her hand to pull me up onto my side. Then she guided my hand down, using her finger to guide mine, and pressing. Remember, I had precisely ZERO experience so this was all new to me. She used her finger to guide mine until I found the hard little button of her clitoris. She applied pressure and started making little circles I'm not terribly stupid and soon enough figured out what she was wanting. So the first time I brought my mother to orgasm it was by masturbating her on that first night of my new life. When she came I felt her release soaking my hand. Her back arched. Her body clenched. She cried out, sort of an aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee sound, very high pitched. Her legs were kicking and she was starting to push on my wrist but I didn't stop, I kept her going. I knew, you know, KNEW on some level, that I was giving her something special."

I paused again, took a drink and another deep breath.

"The fourth time we made love was after she woke me with her mouth. Honestly, I don't think the woman slept at all that night. And I can't imagine I had been asleep more than an hour or so. But I was hard again. This time she got up on all fours and it was obvious what she wanted. So I obliged. I took her from behind, not anally, that was still in the future, but vaginally. And it WAS the fourth time so I had staying power. Besides that, she was pretty well primed herself. When she came, it was spectacular, well worth it. She didn't exactly 'squirt,' but her thick natural lubricant was running down my legs and we were making odd little splashing sounds as I thrust into her. And I didn't stop. I was well spent already. And honestly, she didn't stop either. She would cum and cry out and buck under me, and cum again. Her head was hanging before I finally finished. She was breathing in harsh little gasps. Her nose was running and she was drooling too. She was a mess, and I liked her like that. When I finally managed to cum again, I was well and truly spent. But I did manage to lay forward, forcing her to carry my weight while I used my hands to tug on her nipples, like I was milking her."

I finished my beer then, which was good, I was about done with the story.

"I think I actually added a couple of years to her life. I got her to at least start drinking screwdrivers rather than straight from the bottle. For the next three years, we had an odd relationship, my mother and I. She was a very high functioning alcoholic and she continued to run the nursing home. She would get ready to go to work, sitting at her makeup table with her screwdriver at hand, and the bruise on her cheek would be completely invisible when she finished. The swelling was there, of course, but to be honest, it made her look a little healthier. She had been losing too much weight anyway. Every week or so I would renew the mark on her cheek. She liked it that way. I learned to properly spank a woman too."

At that a patted Doris's head.

"I made it through high school, kind of surprising myself, and even a couple of years of Junior College before her liver gave out. But it was a truly wonderful three years. We would go out almost every Friday night. I didn't have any trouble passing for 21. She would make herself up but, like the lovely Doris here," and I patted her on the head, "she would leave her cheek unmade. She was proud of the look and I was proud to be seen with her. During that three years, we had each other every way you can imagine. I had her mouth, her ass, her hands, her feet, her tits, hell, I even had her armpits. For about six months I took away her razor. I learned," and here I stopped again, dramatically met each pair of eyes in turn, "how to treat a woman."

I went into the kitchen and got another beer.

"Sooooooooooooo," I said, grinning my best thousand-watt boyish grin, "you guys think about it. You'll be welcome at our table at the Senior Citizen Center Dance on Friday," and I paused dramatically, "but only if Phyllis here is properly marked."

Another dramatic pause.

"And now," I said, chuckling softly, "if you good folks will please excuse us, the lovely Doris really does need a spanking."