Flee The Night

CHAPTER ONE-2

"Are you going to drive me home?"

"You only live a few blocks away."

"It'll take time to walk there. Damn it, I have to get up early to work tomorrow. Do you think I can loaf like you?"

Ah hah! It was out at last, the old unending argument. He wanted to write and she wanted him to get a. permanent job. In the past it had entered his mind that his profession limited their relationship. She didn't want to be just another artist's mistress. Once married, however, she could control the reins and force him to pursue the old nine-to-five route.

"Now don't condemn my career. I told you that things were picking up."

"Where, oh, where have I heard that before?. Just look at this dump. You've got the smallest apartment in a Park Avenue building, and even so you must struggle like hell to pay the rent on it. It'd be so much better for you to move in with me."

"If we get married, I'm saying if, I'll dictate where we'll live. And another thing, you've got a roommate. She's been a good friend to you, what do you expect to do, bounce her out on the ear?"

"Allison! But she expects to lose me. She knows it's just a matter of time before we tie the knot."

"But she doesn't expect to be roofless."

She opened the door. "Alan, you better make up your mind about me in a hurry. s*x is all you want and I've gone as far with you in that direction as I intend to, I'm giving you twenty-four hours to make up your mind to trot down to City Hall with me. That's all." Her lips stretched into a wide smile. "You know, Wallace Robbins has been phoning me for dates."

Alan allowed his mind to dwell for a moment on Wallace Robbins, a short, blond playboy, twice divorced, whose name appeared occasionally in the gossip columns of newspapers. He had a boat anchored somewhere off Long Island sound, drove a red Ferrari, bragged about his suits (custom-made in Paris at a cost of $400 each) and lived in a swank, East 65th Street duplex. He was a fink, and a first-rate phony, but all the same the women chased after him.

"That son of a b***h!"

"He's interested in me, Alan."

"For one thing only."

"And what about yourself?"

"I offered to marry you! Don't make any comparisons between me and that rat."

"Offered, darling. It's about time you suited a little action to that promise." She waved good-bye and left.

He slammed the door after her, not wanting to see her as she waited for the elevator. The lousy tease! He refilled his glass, making this drink stronger than the last, threw himself into a chair and reread the morning's mail. It was all nothing, mostly bills and dunning letters except from the note from Joyce Kelly. It was the third in a row from the girl he had treated as a relative, a niece perhaps, and always thought of as a child. It had been so long ago since that abortive affair with her mother. He remembered Joyce then as a gangling child of ten. She must be ... he closed his eyes, counting the years past ... at least twenty. Good Lord, where did the time all go to?

It seemed incredible. A child he hadn't seen in years now a woman writing that she was in trouble and he was the only person who could help her.

What sort of trouble, what sort of help?

Alan was suddenly aware that his senses were still aroused. He ached from frustration and had half a mind to phone Jacqueline and promise to marry her the next day if she would give herself to him tonight.

Damn it, but a man should have a steady woman, one willing to give herself without complications. He picked up his old address book, scanning through the names of his recent past, wondering which girls were available and would take kindly to his just popping in on them.

Suddenly, he tossed the book aside, remembering the ex-prostitute who resided in the building, on the floor below. Her name was Eleanor Frezell. She was a woman in her forties who might have once been beautiful, commanding a hundred dollars a night for her services. Now she was fat, living off stocks purchased for her by former stock-broker clients and surrounded by poodles and a false facade. Not a bad sort really, and on a few occasions he had cracked a bottle with her. But that was so long ago. All the same ... his hand hovered above the telephone. On impulse he dialed her number.

"Hello, Eleanor? Alan here. Yes, yes, Alan from upstairs."

"Alan, baby! Where've you been keeping yourself. At one time you'd drop in for a drink but I haven't seen you in ages."

He decided to be blunt. "Sweetheart, I've got troubles."

"Financial?"

"The other kind."

"Oh, oh!"

"Don't get insulted, sweetheart. I mean, I'm not trying to bug you or anything, you understand."

"Haven't you got a girl? I've seen you in the lobby with a tall brunette, a sort of a bitchy type."

"She won't go."

"With a guy of your looks! The hell's wrong with her? Drop her fast, Alan, baby." She inhaled deeply, taking a deep breath before she continued. "It's been strictly friendship between us in the past, baby, but I guess I can help out a friend."

"Eleanor, you're a doll." Alan hung up, slipped on his jacket and raced down the stairs to the woman's apartment. Her door was open and she admitted him at once. She smelled of perfume and her dyed blonde hair was piled high atop her well-shaped head. As she moved toward her decanters to get him a drink her quilted satin housecoat billowed out revealing strong-looking thighs and full legs.

"What'll you take, bourbon or Scotch?"

"Sweetheart, I don't want a drink." He was too eager for her, wanting to engage immediately in a mauling. She was not wearing a brassiere and her mature breasts, sagging slightly, were bursting the shiny material of the housecoat.

She corked the whiskey bottles and eyed him with undisguised desire. She pursed her lips and nodded a few times, as if he would be on a trader's block and she, the potential buyer, estimating his s****l worth.

"Strange when you come to think of it, Alan, but it's been strictly friendship with us. You'd think half the tenants in this building know about my former profession. The passes I get." She went into a pose and unbuttoned the housecoat.

His eyes took in the large, naked thighs and at once, he felt a searing stab of lust. As she walked about, deliberately kicking the garment back he saw the white flesh of her enormous buttocks quiver in a rhythm that burned him from top to toe.

"Eleanor," he drooled, "you're a pal."

She swept the robe back, exposing herself completely, standing with her hands flattened on her massive hips. Her voluminous breasts jiggled, widening the deep valley in-between. "Got it real bad, eh, friend? Hell, you're so good-looking! I can't see why you can't find a woman willing to service you and enjoy herself as well, in the process. This thing works both ways but a lot of people don't realize that."

"I'm damned glad that you do." He slipped out of his jacket and tossed it across a red velvet armchair. As he discarded the rest of his clothing he thought that the apartment was tastefully furnished and not at all in keeping with Eleanor's former game.

She switched off all the lights. In the dark her eyes looked black, almost evil. "AU set, honey?" Her hands slid over his shoulders, tested the muscles in his arms and roamed over his chest. "You've got a good physique. No, I just don't understand women nowadays. Tell me, are you going to marry that tall broad?"

"I've had second thoughts."

"Smart boy." Her arms locked around him and her wet, open mouth was pasted to his. He felt her tongue, rasping and darting and probing while at the same time the massive thighs kept opening and closing.

He clutched her great breasts, pinching their tips until they thickened like stubby screws. It sent a shudder throughout the length of her, and he swiftly shoved his hand down over the domed belly. It did something to her and she fought for freedom, but he held her fast, his tongue entwined with hers, his knee riding between her heavy, shivering thighs.

"Oh, honey!"

"Like it?"

"Love it. Honey, you don't know what it's like for a gal like me when I can really let myself go and hold back nothing ... not like with the Johns when I thought about all sorts of things while they exhausted themselves."

"Do it, sweetheart, let yourself go." Alan continued to knead and press the mammoth buttocks, at the same time increasing the rhythm of his pumping knee. The enormous thighs opened and closed until Eleanor ground herself against him and took his mouth in a fierce kiss.

When at last he tore his mouth free, he told her he had to take her now, he was unable to hold out for another minute. She dropped to her haunches and rolled back upon the rug like a big cat. He glanced down at her and saw her awaiting him with arched back and enormous hips switching from side to side.

"On the floor?"

"Yes, baby, oh, please! The rug feels just like grass. Pretend we're lovers, out in the country, taking advantage of our passions."

Alan knelt and crept over the big, threshing body. They explored one another with quick, damp hands and after minor adjustments secured the most suitable position. The heavy thighs yawned open, gleaming whitely in the darkness. She shouted, "now, right now, please kiss me!"

He sank his teeth into her lower lip, reveling in her gasps and sinous tongue. She rose as he bore down, and the initial thrust into her soft bulk had her wild and rearing up.

"Oh, you ... you hurt! Oh, honey ... it ... it hurts!"

"Easy, baby, easy or it'll be over too quickly for me." He pressed her back, amazed at the size of her. Her breasts and thighs were immense, and considering her age, surprisingly hard, like rubber. Her stomach was a deflated pillow, big and soft enough to cushion his weight.

"Oh, baby ... yes, just like that with your hands."

He did as he was bid. She immediately began to moan and caress him, saying the most vulgar things. Her eyes were tightly closed, her dyed hair spread out as she tossed her head from side to side.

, Slowly, he blended with her and she let out an ear-piercing scream. They kneaded together, slowly, everlastingly slowly. But a few seconds of this had Eleanor raging and set a quicker pace, forcing Alan to be carried along. She used the motions learned so long ago, artful, yet maddeningly rapid. She meant to exhaust him with her knowledgeable body.

"Too quick, baby, much too quick!"

"You're a man," she gasped, "come on, bring me along with you."

It was a challenge and Alan rose to meet it. He was surprised at her strength and passion; her s****l appetites were ravenous. But, she was not going to win, she could not win because he washer master. He levered himself cruelly, forcing her to yell from pain and pleasure.

"Baby!"

He ignored her protests and battered her recklessly, joining her in a shuddering and heaving that brought them simultaneous deliverance. She lay back first, Alan, seconds afterwards.

"Thank you, sweetheart, I. needed that ... boy, did I need that."

She passed a hand over his dark, short hair and dabbed at his sweat-streaked temples with her fingers. Her eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. "It was so good ... that, in a few minutes ... we'll have to go again,"