his chest, enjoying the sensation under her fingers. She sighed deeply as she snuggled in closer to him. She breathed in his scent, clean with a subtle hint of cologne.
He glanced over her head at the clock on the end table. He’d been here thirty minutes already. Usually by this time he was deep between a woman’s thighs, and she was screaming like a banshee. At this pace he knew there wouldn’t be any of that today.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“This is perfect,” she mused.
Tentatively his fingers began caressing her back. His hand lightly brushed across the fastening of her brassiere. He felt her immediately stiffen in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing something was not quite right here. He assumed she was a virgin and thought it might have been the reason for her strange behavior. But why was she wearing a bra? He moved his hand back up to her shoulder.
“I guess you think I’m weird or something?” she said sadly, slipping back into her shell.
“No, I think you’re frightened—very beautiful, by the way, but very frightened. Do you want to tell me why?” he asked with concern. He wondered if perhaps she’d been raped. He couldn’t put his finger on the cause of her fear.
“I’m not beautiful,” she said adamantly. “Not anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
He felt the wetness from her tears as they fell onto his chest. She didn’t even look at him during the exchange. He lifted her off his chest so she was sitting up and facing him. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.
“I haven’t been beautiful since the surgery, since they took my breast,” she blurted out and began to cry.
He wasn’t prepared for that admission. A rape victim, a virgin—he could handle that. He’d handled it before. But this was different. This woman was beyond fragile, and what he did now would affect her psyche for years to come. “You’re still a beautiful woman. You are more than the sum total of your breasts,” he said as he pulled her back onto his shoulder.
“Jamal didn’t think so. He left me because he couldn’t deal with it,” she said angrily.
Once again Trevor found himself in the position of having to fix some other man’s screw up. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her face to his. Tenderly he kissed her. Her lips were salty from her tears. She responded slowly to his kiss. It had been so long. He deepened the kiss, flicking her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth to accept his probing tongue. She was growing moist as her body responded to him. Normally he would have reached across to caress her breast, but without staring he wasn’t sure which one was missing. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable so he placed his free hand on her flat stomach instead. Sliding her hand down his stomach, she felt the top of his briefs; unable to stop herself, she placed her hand against his organ through the cotton briefs. It was not erect. Disappointed, she pushed away from him.
“I don’t excite you either,” she accused.
“Yes, you do. But you don’t want this right now. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to rush into this. I only have a little time left with you today,” he explained.
“But how come you’re not…” she asked. Jamal had always gotten an erection from kissing her, and he’d stopped getting an erection after the surgery.
“Because I’m not fifteen, and this is what adults call control. Don’t worry, I won’t disappoint you,” he said easily. He smiled as he climbed out of the bed. She sat there looking forlorn and lost. He leaned back over the bed and kissed her again. “Next time,” he said. He collected his clothes and walked into the bathroom. She climbed out of bed and hastily retrieved his fee from her purse and put it on the corner of the dresser. Today she did not have an envelope; next time she would be prepared. Next time, she thought. Yes, she’d ventured this far; there would be a next time.
He emerged from the bathroom and headed for the door. Smoothly collecting his fee, he shoved the cash into his pocket. Turning at the door, he looked back at her. “Call me when you’re ready,” he said.
“What’s your name? Can I know your name?” she called to him.
“My name is Steve,” Trevor replied and closed the door behind him.
4
Sister Jenkins had a standing appointment on the third Wednesday of every month. Trevor rang her doorbell at eleven o’clock at night, and he was on time as usual. Denise never allowed him in through the front door. He was required to drive his car around to the back of the house and enter through the kitchen door. She was undoubtedly afraid her neighbors might see him and begin to ask questions. He could hear her heels clicking on the steps as she made her way down the short narrow stairwell leading to the door. She opened the door and retreated into the kitchen to allow him to enter the house. This night she was dressed in a long white satin gown. A lone strap crossed over her left shoulder. Her right shoulder was bare. The dress dipped daringly across her large, firm bosom. Nipping in across her flat stomach, it flared out again at her hips. A thigh-high split in the right side revealed a peek at her thick thighs.
The lady spares no expense on her clothing, he thought as he started up the steps into the kitchen. He started to turn toward the bedroom in the back of the house where he usually spent his time with her, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the front of the house. Puzzled, he followed her lead.
The drapes were drawn in the living room. Dozens of candles were lit along the fireplace mantel and strewn around the end and coffee tables. The strong aroma of vanilla musk filled the air. He set his bag down on the floor and looked at Denise. In the flickering light of the candles she did not look half bad, more feminine than usual.
She pointed to the grand piano in the far corner of the room. He raised his eyebrow at her quizzically. Surely she did not think he was going to make love to her on top of that piano. Women had the wildest imaginations sometimes. He would have to put this as delicately as he could. She was a very large woman, and the weight of the two of them on top of that piano could be a disaster waiting to happen.
“Honey, I am not Richard Gere, and you are not Julia Roberts. If we get on top of that piano, the legs will break like Pixy Stix,” he cautioned.
“No, they won’t. That’s a good strong piano, and I want you to make love to me just like they did in the movie,” she said sternly.
“It’s up to you,” Trevor replied and turned away from her. Quietly he began unbuttoning his shirt, silently praying the piano would take the strain, but there was no way in hell he was picking up her big ass and putting her on top of it.
“Wait!” Denise said, moving around to stand in front of him. She placed her hands over his to stop his progress. Pulling him over to the piano seat, she started to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She began planting wet kisses on his neck as she worked his shirt free of his pants. Diligently working on her fantasy, she unbuckled his belt and eased her hand inside his trousers.
Trevor could feel his manhood stiffening in response to her eager touch. He would give her what she was paying for. He placed his hands on her waist. The gown was satiny and slippery to his touch. He worked methodically, running his hands up and down her sides from hip to just under her armpits; delicately raking his fingertips along her skin through the flowing fabric.
Denise
