Excerpt: I am not sure I know what the precise definition of schizophrenic is but it always seemed to me that Charlie Helmson should be classified as such. I mean, there were two halves to Charlie's personality and you were sometimes several months being introduced to the second half. I worked with him for eighteen months during a rather hectic mapping program during which we established ground control for an aerial survey being conducted by the Melbourne Mining Corporation.Which was the facade for a magnesium intrigued subsidy of The Bank of America, at least the bank was the financial authority behind the enterprise as it was conducted in the wilds of Eastern Washington. Charlie was an engineer. He defined elevations and lineal dimensions that would guide the aerial photo mappers during their assembly of nine by nine exposures of the terrain as produced by the aerial photographers in endless flight strips. I was the coordinator and translator. I translated Charlie's scribbled field books and made sure that the first one coordinated dimensionally with the next one. It wasn't always easy because Charlie had an aversion to printing figures and notes so they could be read and when there was a gap, Charlie's dramatic explanations had to be deciphered and made right so the "strip" on which we were working would eventually come out so it could be worked with by the plane jockeys.
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I am not sure I know what the precise definition of schizophrenic is but it always seemed to me that Charlie Helmson should be classified as such. I mean, there were two halves to Charlie's personality and you were sometimes several months being introduced to the second half. I worked with him for eighteen months during a rather hectic mapping program during which we established ground control for an aerial survey being conducted by the Melbourne Mining Corporation.
Which was the facade for a magnesium intrigued subsidy of The Bank of America, at least the bank was the financial authority behind the enterprise as it was conducted in the wilds of Eastern Washington. Charlie was an engineer. He defined elevations and lineal dimensions that would guide the aerial photo mappers during their assembly of nine by nine exposures of the terrain as produced by the aerial photographers in endless flight strips. I was the coordinator and translator. I translated Charlie's scribbled field books and made sure that the first one coordinated dimensionally with the next one. It wasn't always easy because Charlie had an aversion to printing figures and notes so they could be read and when there was a gap, Charlie's dramatic explanations had to be deciphered and made right so the "strip" on which we were working would eventually come out so it could be worked with by the plane jockeys.
That was Charlie. He was twenty-eight, tall, cool and very precise in all matters except his printing. Whatever, he never looked mussed or disheveled. He was as strong as any member of the survey party and stronger than most. He had a deadly pistol for the snakes that cruised the bounding, bumpy countryside. He could match the best of us beer for beer when the day was done and his laughter was always genuine and spontaneous.
We were friends, not only because we worked closely together but because we were a lot alike even if I was four inches shorter than he and didn't care for beer. It was all right; he'd drink the bourbon I scrounged up in the Godforsaken hills and toy with the "pruno" the cook made in the commissary tent. We shared personal items, I loaned him money when money was required, and we didn't talk much about chicks. That was Charlie, for the eighteen months the ground needed charting. We shipped to Frisco, unemployed for the time, raunchy and both possessed of a bundle of money and time to spend it.
Semi-rich, we put up in the Mark Hopkins. We bought a bottle of bourbon for me and a six-pack of Charlie's favorite beer and about eight o'clock, Charlie remarked that he was going to venture out in search of pussy. Up to that point you have met Charlie Firsthalf.
Charlie showed back at the hotel about ten. I was just getting out of the shower with definite designs on the bed. The bourbon was half gone and I was in no mood for delay. It had been a long flight from Spokane and I was tired, also unhasty about tomorrow or the day after. Her name was Mabel.
"Meet Mabel," Charlie said as I climbed my bare butt into bed. "Hi," I managed.
She blushed at the expanse of bare chest I displayed and I made a mental note that Charlie had missed out.
"She's the right color for me," Charlie went on. "Purple and scarlet and blonde. Purple, dress, scarlet kerchief and blonde hair." He threw back the covers on the other bed and tested the spring action. Satisfied, he slipped off his suit coat and loosened his tie. "Come On, baby. Peel. Don't mind Jimmie. He's a buddy."
She stood like a slim, immature statue, blinking from me to Charlie who was paying no attention to her at all. She didn't shed her coat or put down hew handbag. All she did was exude confusion. Charlie slowly unbuttoned his shirt then remembered he had not removed his necktie. He did that very neatly and hung it up. Then he took off his shirt and, by God, began to remove his pants. Mabel stared as if fascinated by the disrobing. When Charlie dropped his shorts, she let out a little yelp of anguish.
Now, I'm no doodle-gazer so I had never seen Charlie's cock. Further, it was half-hard at the moment- and that didn't help its enormous proportions. Like all of Charlie, it was efficient, to say the least. I thought Mabel was going to faint with shock.
"Well?" Charlie said directly to her. He also skinned his big cock back in a truck-driver's grip. It distended a good two inches which made a long seven out of the thick column. Mabel was all eyes and a tiny pink tongue which flicked nervously at her lips.
"I d-don't know -" she stammered painfully. "I never -" Charlie flopped back on the opened bed and his cock took on a new dimension. It stood up stiff and red, like a banner. He settled himself comfortably and grinned at her. "Okay, take your own time about it," he said philosophically.
She whimpered a little. Then she began to remove her coat, It hung up on the handbag which she hadn't dropped and she hassled with that a moment. The purple dress was nice, I noticed. It had good straight lines and little bumps where her tits should have been. When she got out of the coat I saw, with what sense I had, that there was a little flare to her hips and a proper pooch to her ass. The exterior disrobing had done a little something to her hair and it was longer and fuller than it had seemed. She was kind of cute and about eighteen, I guessed. I flopped back on my pillow.
She glanced at me, then began to unzip the back of the purple dress. She had turned half away from Charlie which put her a half-turn from me. The dress came off in front first then slid down the lithe, slightly curved contours of her body. She wore a brassiere which I felt had to be padded even to make her mice-tits. She wore panties, white, cheap nylon things that frosted the top of her dark thighs. I wondered how a girl got so tanned in San Francisco. Her stockings gave her skin a lighter tone to their limit just above her knees.
Charlie's hard-on gained another inch in stature. Mabel began to cry. Not violently, but softly, as if she'd lost her purse or something. She looked my way again, apprehensively. Then she started to thumb down her panties.
That is something a professional whore never does first. It's more the action of a green-type pea who wants to reserve the tits as a final shock, more I to her than to the trick. But Mabel skinned right out of the panties before she hesitated at the meager tit strap. She had a good ass. It wasn't flared much but the cheeks stuck out in twin moons and my own cock shifted at the implication implied by the deep crevasse neatly dividing them. She turned toward me, in embarrassment I was sure, and I could see where her pussy was a thin ; line of lipless indenture because she didn't have a hair on her low belly.
She took off the tit strap, which was responsible for about half of the uninspiring volume of barely mounded flesh. The nipples were large and pink and they sat on cute adolescent mounds of swollen flesh. My cock grew considerably, if unintentionally. She was young, she was obviously hot, and by her actions, ready. She turned back to Charlie and slowly sank to a knee then one hip beside him.
His hands came up on her shoulders and he turned and twisted her slim tanned body. She kind of yelped then but was unable to say anything j because Charlie forced her down and his stiff cock jammed into her quivering mouth. She wasn't sure, at least she pretended to fight a little before she fanned her face and began to mouth his prick, j When Charlie eased his grip on her shoulders she stayed put. She seemed a bit awkward, at least until she had thoroughly wet about four inches of the thick and suddenly responsive organ. I'd have said she didn't know much about Frenching a man but she was willing to learn. I was looking right up her asshole and the view was magnificent. Charlie reached out and turned the bed stand lamp off but mine threw enough light on the entire matter to expose the full drama. I developed a full erection, kind of a numb one as if it were merely reacting to the scene. When she began to wriggle and moan, it grew sensitive.
I couldn't see the development but it was to the point. She got excited. She got wetly noisy and her head did things. Her hand also took care of the long thick protuberance of cock she couldn't get into her mouth. The velvet globes of her ass bounced and did instinctive fucking motions and Mabel was well on her way. Charlie lay with his passion-glazed eyes closed and his mouth slack,' and only an occasional urge to his hips when the inept lips became critical. I needed a drink.
I was just uncorking the bottle when Charlie's laboring prick blew. He blew with his butt arched up off the covers. The jism was copious, shooting scalding white sperm into Mabel's mouth. Then a spurt of hot sticky come struck her cascading blonde hair as she jerked back in surprise. She caught the next rush of rolling liquid and made a gurgling noise in her avidity for what followed. Charlie gradually relaxed and Mabel seemed to resent this. He put one hand down hurriedly on her head to push her applied vacuum off. She really believed the propaganda about sucking a man off. Either that or she was hypnotized by the jerking roll of meat which had ceased jerking.
I thought, over here, baby, because I was standing at the sideboard with a dandy of a hard-on that needed only a flip or two to start acting like a fire hose. I stumbled back to bed, less careful about how I secured the covers.
There was eventually some mumbling between them. She lay with her face to Charlie's neck and he developed some enthusiasm for her soft ass and the ivory orbs of her breast, and some other secrecies between her quivering thighs, high up. She played with his lethargic cock, once in a while swooping down to kiss its flaccid head. Pretty soon she started to giggle at what he said, paying no attention to me.
He rolled her over and screwed her. He looked like a giant caught rhythmically between her slim legs, trying to finish the splitting. When she raised her legs up over her head and exposed her little nates, neatly parted for the lunge and drive of his miraculously hard cock, I saw he wasn't going to split anybody. She was hunching to his drive, and not fighting at all. He gave it to her good. Seven in and seven back and she began the moaning again and some gymnastics of her own.
They varied it. He'd pull it out of her couzy and snake up her diminutive body so she could suck the crust off of it before he went back to the seemingly adequate aperture. Presently she murmured something frantic to him and Charlie nodded without breaking his speeding undulations. I thought she came from the flurry of activity she suddenly exhibited but I wasn't thinking too clearly so I may have been wrong. Anyway, it looked like the genuine thing to me.
It took Charlie longer the second time. She was lying still, not helping him at all and I guessed her natural enthusiasm was depleted. Charlie was banging the hell out of her and the bed was jumping. It came rather quietly, except that Charlie slid his cock out of her pussy and shot his load into the crack of her ass. I supposed she'd asked him to because she cooed at his consideration for the facts of pregnancy. He sagged in exhaustion and she reached down and under their pressed bodies and smeared his jism all up and down between the cheeks of her ass.
Charlie rolled off of her, his cock limply huge. Mabel sat up and brought her legs reluctantly together. She had red finger marks on her tits, which had coasted to a respectable flatness.
"Oh, darling," she husked dumbly. "How wonderful!"
"Not bad," he mumbled, his eyes closed. "Give my friend some."
He grinned without opening his eyes. "Well, you can see if he's ready first, but if he's not, he'll never be ready! Okay, Jimmy? Bang her good!"
Mabel looked my way with doubt in her inspection. "Oh!" she said as if I were a total stranger.
I threw back the covers and showed her my stinger.
"Oh," she repeated with a different inflection. Then she scrambled out of bed with Charlie and came over to my bed. "Shall I d-do it with my m-mouth first?"
"Be my guest," I laughed. "But for christ sake, hurry up!"
With a gleeful yelp, she leaned over and grabbed my cock. Not roughly but eagerly. She skinned it well back and let the head stand out, free and clear of the thick, loose foreskin. I wondered what kind of a mixture my juice would make with Charlie's; it was a problem for her digestion, not mine.
"Go, kid," I whispered as she caved down and took it in her mouth. I had time to turn my head and look over at Charlie. He was apparently asleep. Then she claimed my undivided attention.
I won't say she did the best job I'd ever experienced, but after eighteen months in the boondocks and having voyeuristically applied myself to her performance with my buddy, it was good. I gave her a hell of a load; she was now aware of what happened and she was prepared. She caught the first charge with a closed mouth but it was a little too much for her aplomb. She half choked and I'm damned if an incipient stream didn't start out of her nose. This gave her an excuse to rub her upper lip and cheeks with the head of my steaming cock, but not before she was sure I was through ejaculating.
Then it was my turn to murmur things to her and kiss her. It was her turn to play with my cock while she murmured things back. I thought she was a hooker so I said, "Baby, they ought to refund your union dues! What else are you so good at?"
"N-nothing," she suddenly whimpered. "I just started tonight!"
"I n-never did it before. Not professionally, anyway. For the k-kids, maybe. It was d-different. They just stuck it in my c-cunt and flew like mad! I'm so ashamed!"
"How many times?"
"Well, twice at least. Maybe three times," she said.
I thought about that. Also it was her first revertal to vulgarity in conversation. I say revertal because she had done it all and only spoken about it once. And she hadn't hesitated nor stammered over the word. It had sounded very natural coming from her small but adroit mouth. I suddenly wasn't interested in her professional status. She was warm and wriggly against my sun-whipped hide and there was a subtle quality of sensuousness to her slim body.
"Let's fuck," I suggested with appropriate lethargy. She giggled and snuggled. "I'm kind of messy," she said, nodding toward Charlie's sleeping figure on the other bed. "I ought to take a bath first."
"Okay. The bathroom is right there."
She scrambled up, chipper as a released sparrow. I got up and followed her into the bathroom. I closed the door. While she adjusted the water, I fondled her ass. She didn't seem to mind, in fact she did a funny little kinking of her back. That did it for me. By the time she had the water the way she wanted it I had a hard-on a cat couldn't scratch.
Now there is something about being nude in a shower with an equally nude chick that is not conducive to peace. If the water is pouring over little tits and a lot of rump, it is destructive. Anyway, she was messed between the nates because I'd seen Charlie sock it to her. I naturally washed her first there and the kink came back, only more so. After a little, I had her pretty well covered with scented soap suds. She giggled and squirmed and whacked at my dong which had to wave and bob because it wouldn't bend. Then she turned around again and I went back to washing the crack of her ass. She liked that.
Somehow she got bent over so I could stick my cock in her pussy despite our height difference. I had to spread and bend my legs but it went right in. That was good but it crossed me up. All of a sudden, there was her bare bottom, neatly divided and turned up so I could look up her asshole, all clean and softly enticing. I got to thinking that all would be better if I could get my cock in the neat rose bud. I punched it with my thumb. Sure as hell, it was pliable.' Leaning against the shower wall under the cascade of water, she grunted. Not a grunt of protest or complaint but one of surprised glee.
I took my cock out of her pussy and found a gob of lather with one hand. It was slick and fuzzy, kind of, and my cock went right up her dirt chute. I don't think she'd really expected it because she did a little dance and a lot of moaning. But she pushed herself back and that raised the devil with my spirit of gentility. I socked it to her.
I don't know whether she had orgasm or not but she seemed to enjoy the two minutes of brunzer-fucking I was able to give her. I was so exquisitely stupid it didn't seem to me I managed more than two or three strokes until the lid came off.
"Yeow, damn it!" I hollered and she replied with a stuttering giggle. My cock was suddenly so fuck-sensitive it felt like I was peeling it when I dragged it out. I damned near fell down with weakness. I just stood there looking at her neat butt with the asshole that looked like a brown-tinted cabbage rose. Almost at once, she started to wash her ass, straightening up a little.
"That wasn't very nice," Mabel said, her face streaming water.
"Damn the nice," I muttered. "Was it good?"
"K-kind of," she replied. "Ooh! It stings now!"
"I wonder why," I said, looking down at my cock. It was swollen and inflamed from the glorious two minutes. I got out of the shower. Stupidly, I washed my cock in the washbasin, then stood there drying myself with a big Mark Hopkins towel. Mabel sat down on the toilet and made the customary noises before she flushed the toilet. She was still sitting there when I turned around and she latched onto my limping prick. She skinned it back and popped it into her mouth and I pushed her away before I pissed in her face, pissing being a necessity to a man who is just about fucked out of his mind.
She got off the toilet and I had a hard time because she'd managed to stiffen it well up and what man pisses well with a hard-on?
"Gee, men look funny when they try so hard," she giggled.
I tried harder and made it. She wanted to fiddle with the feeble stream with her fingers and that didn't help me a bit. "Oh, for christ sake!" I sputtered.
"For ten more dollars I'll quit," she said with surprising sobriety.
"Ten more?" I asked with typical amazement.
"Sure," she said. "Your friend gave me twenty and I'll cut you in for another ten. Cash. Okay?"
"For christ sake!" I muttered. But I gave her ten when she was dressed, marveling at her histrionic ability. I let her out of the hotel room and went back to bed. I was too tired to wonder whether she was an inept professional or an adroit amateur. Before I slept, I consoled myself with the knowledge that the more you fuck, the more you can fuck, and outside of a couple of rounds with an Indian squaw from the reservation I'd been on a kind of wagon for eighteen months.
Before you ask what's so great about a couple of raunchy studs spending thirty mutual bucks with a young hooker, pause. The statement I made about Charlie's other half may not be immediately obvious but there's more.
"Mabel?" he mumbled sleepily when he awakened in the morning. "All right, but she turned me off after a little. No class. I picked her up as she was leaving a sex movie - you know, one of those sexploitation things Frisco is apparently famous for. Painted red and a five dollar fee for watching eight girls suck off ten guys. In some cases, two at a time. I guess she was taking a post-graduate course."
"She seemed kind of lost when you brought her in," I remarked.
"She was willing enough, wasn't she?"
"Well, yes," I admitted, thinking about the asshole route to her heart. Or at least, to her medium bowel. I hadn't mentioned that to Charlie and I had no intention of talking about it. A private matter, so to speak. My cock was still swelled up as if it had gotten caught in a wringer, but the memory was delicious.
It was eleven before we got slicked up for breakfast. Afterward Charlie said he was going to look the city over and we split. He went off on the downhill side of the hotel and I retired to the lobby with a few other in-between guests.
Not reading the paper which I held very intellectually, I thought about Charlie. Everything was the same but it was different. A man who had conducted himself with some decorum for eighteen months and a couple of days had picked up a very youngish hooker in front of a sex show and gone the route with her. It wasn't something to write home to mother about but it didn't seem in character, as I knew Charlie. It had seemed - careless was the only word I could think of. He hadn't cared about Mabel or much of anything else. Hooker or not, she had been young and tender and I felt that her willingness had been somewhat of a facade. I didn't think he was required to be a soul-brother or anything like that but there had been a monstrous indifference in his voice when he spoke to her.
Beginning with "Well?" while he held his cock out to her, and taking it through the "Give my friend some," he had taken her entirely for granted and not kindly. He'd fallen sound asleep the moment she had scrambled over on my bed like go play with your dolly and let me alone. I wondered what he would have done if I'd been a shepherd dog. I had a feeling the only difference would have been Charlie's complete disinterest in voyeuristic delights.
Not being a psychologist, I was not worried. I went for a walk and amused myself with the city for a while, rubbernecking. I had a cup of coffee in the mint-oriented coffee shop. At two o'clock I had a slug of bourbon in the bar and went up to our room to take a nap. I lay there, feeling akin to the King of Siam; nothing needed doing and I had a pocket full of money. My back ached pleasantly from the undue labors of the evening before.
I heard Charlie's key in the door about three. I half opened my drowsy eyes but it wasn't Charlie - at least it wasn't he who came in first. It was a nicely dressed, mature woman with a round smiling face, a round neck spangled with jewels - in fact, she was round all over with tiny points of jewel light to establish her setting. Charlie followed her in, with precisely the same lethargy of face and figure he had had the evening before, introducing Mabel to a life of sin.
"Hi, Jimmy," he said over her very rotund shoulder. "Oh! Mrs. Smithson, meet James Kilborn. He's an engineer also, and a good guy.
Jimmy, Mrs. Adele Smithson."
"How do you. do, Mr. Kilborn?" she chirruped, rushing forward.
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