PFK1 (7 page)

loans at this rate. That is the reason why I will not and do not plan to

attend law school. To do it, I would have to borrow more money. I

say to hell with that shit.

So many people I run across wonder why I seem to be paranoid

about money. These comments invariably come from people who

have never been without it, people who have led very comfortable

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lives. In my experience, it takes a special person to be someone who

has money but does not treat everyone else like shit. I have yet to

meet such a person. Certainly no one in my acquaintance would

qualify.

Gotta finish my book.

Need to get some decent reefer while I am in Eugene. Maybe I can

ask John Thomas.

* * * *

The weekend turned out well for the most part. Got my original

manuscript back and made a date with Annie. Bought a little dope

from a guy John Thomas knows but I will have to wait to the end of

the month to get more. It is hard for me to do without cannabis sativa.

I use it to explore my inner self.

Went to a party. Saw a lot of Eugene people and had a pretty good

time. The bus needs some transmission work done, I am beginning to

suspect. There is a grinding noise in second gear. Got another letter

from Mick. Have already sent him a long letter, even before I got his.

May swap houses with Charles and Arianna the weekend of the 1st.

That could be fun. Only missed Saturday as a workday on the book

this weekend. Cranked out Chap. 30 on Sunday, bringing the page

total up to 92. I’d like to get this current draft completed before the

state Democratic Party Convention.

The book the book the book. I get so tired of working on it

sometimes I want to scream.

But it’s fun too.

* * * *

March 16, 1978

There was a certified letter notice in the mail today. I wonder if it

was about the tax refund Oxygen State stole from me. I wish they’d

send it. I’m almost broke again. I have about $12 left in my checking

account. I spent $9 on groceries today alone. The money slips away

so quickly.

Annie was here for a couple of nights. She’s going to make some

suggestions concerning the book. I’ve asked her to help me out.

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After all, Annie does have a master’s degree in comparative lit with a

special emphasis on French (or is it Italian?) literature.

Annie drove up to my beach cabin in her new Renault Le Car that

she bought earlier this year. I must admit it’s a cute little vehicle, and

Annie looked pretty darned cute herself behind the wheel.

The girl is a rising academic, poised to get ahead and looking the

part as well. As soon as Annie pulled up, she glanced out the window

to see me, standing on the porch. The warmest of smiles greeted me

as she pushed open her car door, saying.

"Your directions were perfect."

I opened the car door as Annie climbed out, and then waited while

she popped the hatchback.

"Mmmm…" I said. "You’re looking good."

"Thank you."

Indeed Annie was looking good, dressed in a white cable knit

sweater and a brown skirt that hugged her hips tightly. Her hair was

long and thick, cut in a flattering wavy style.

We kissed, and Annie’s kiss was a potent mixture of passion and

affection. Then she broke the kiss.

"Need help with anything?" I asked.

"You can carry my bag," she said, raising the hatchback door. "I’d

like to bring it in."

"I’d be delighted."

My initial impression of her loveliness was accurate in every

aspect. If anything, she was ten to fifteen pounds lighter than at any

previous time I’d known her. Additionally, Annie has this exotic

voluptuous beauty, with a pretty face and a surprisingly small, perky

nose hovering over a pair of sweet, pouty lips.

And then there are her big, deep, dark brown eyes. Annie’s eyes

radiate intelligence like a barbecue grill radiates heat.

Consequently, I tried to make it a point not to lie to her too much,

on account of the fact that she could always pick apart my

prevarications sooner or later (most likely sooner.)

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What I especially loved about Annie though, was her thick mane of

brunette hair, which she had recently grown long, cascading down to

the middle of her back.

It has a beautiful blue-black glow.

After Annie locked her car, I led her into the cabin, carrying her

overnight bag.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her, to tell the truth. Her hair was, as

usual, a gorgeous contrast to her flawless white skin. After careful

examination, I can report that she had only one mole that I was able to

discern, a tiny one on the small of her back, a flattish protrusion

maybe a quarter of an inch across, the color of milk chocolate.

Once I had Annie in the cabin and the door closed, we kissed.

She was the one who broke the kiss.

"So," she said, gently pushing me away, "when do you want to talk

about your manuscript?"

"Let’s start now," I said. "How about a drink first?"

"What do you have?"

"That white wine you like. Chablis."

"Sounds good."

I went to the refrigerator and got the bottle out, pouring us each an

extra large glass.

The other thing about Annie that I had to keep in mind was that as

far as sex was concerned, I had to go slow. She was definitely not a

"Fuck now, talk later," kind of girl. As poised and confident as she

was in discussing intellectual or academic subjects, she’s kinda

skittish about the dirty deed.

That didn’t mean that Annie wasn’t going to put out, once I had her

ensconced in my bed. On the contrary, it was evident that she wanted

to fuck and happens to be quite adept at it.

But before she would consent to giving her best effort in that

regard, she had to be well and thoroughly entertained. Having her talk

about my book, listening to her ideas, and responding to suggestions,

was a lot of fun for both of us.

I actually think she understands what I’m trying to do.

45

So far the things Annie has said are right on the money. She seems

to realize what I am trying to do here and I am very appreciative of

her help as an unofficial editor. Just the right balance must be struck

between comedy and seriousness, Annie says. Let the grim truth

emerge naturally as part of the jokes, the satire, the wisecracks, and

the parody.

Annie agrees that it is tough balance to strike.

We were near the bottom of our second glass of wine when I

suggested that we go to a restaurant on Bay Street called The Manly

Mussel. Annie was more than agreeable.

Our beer-battered halibut, fries and clam chowder had not yet

graced the table when Annie began talking a blue streak about this

graduate program she is in at Case Western and the politics involved

in getting ahead in academia. From time to time I interjected with

appropriate responses.

After the food arrived, Annie turned again to my manuscript,

having read the copy I had sent her. She offered a wide variety of

additional observations.

Then the conversation switched back to the subject of her career. I

teased Annie mildly about her area of study, Romance Languages.

The simple truth is that I admire the hell out of her intellect, and view

the pursuit of an academic career as a truly worthy occupation.

I, of course, would have no patience for it, having expended all my

educational energy on my paltry little four year degree.

Smart as Annie is, what I dig most is that she is a hot babe of the

first order, and realize that I have yet to mention her most outstanding

physical feature, which happens to be a large and decidedly luscious

upper rack.

Annie is the proud owner of two hefty, solid, and very shapely

breasts. Atop each squeezable item is a pink and perfect nipple,

which I would have been happy to kiss and suck far past the ten

minute span she allowed me.

Nevertheless, we had good sex while she was here, the best since I

have known her. Only the regular stuff, though. Nothing too exotic.

She is quite conservative on that score.

46

My strategy with Annie and any woman of her sophistication is to

get her slightly drunk, make her laugh, feed her a delicious meal, and

then start kissing her with passionate abandon.

Thus it was with Annie, who returned my kisses after we came

back from the restaurant, sitting on the sofa in my living room/dining

room.

"You make me so hot, Patrick," Annie said.

I pulled Annie’s hand down to my crotch, gently, not trying to rush

things, but to keep them going forward.

"Feel this," I said.

Annie felt me, rubbing her academically inclined fingertips against

the swollen head, and then down along the shaft.

"Oh, yes, Patrick," Annie said, surrendering to more of my kisses.

"Oh, yes!"

Not too long afterwards, we were in my bed. Annie was on top of

me, my cock buried in her to the hilt.

Like a pair of windshield wipers, my lips went back and forth

across the milk white expanses of her lovely breasts, to kiss, lick,

suck, and generally anoint the tiny crowning points.

"Oooooaaahh..." Annie murmured. "Aaaaahhh..."

Oh, it was heaven. This went on, I estimate, for maybe ten, twelve

minutes, until Annie indicated that she wanted to roll off and get into

the missionary position.

"It gives me the best feeling," she explained.

"Okay," I said.

I got in between Annie’s soft thighs and eased my cock in about

half way. She is very sensitive upon penetration, as I have learned

from my previous times with her.

Gripping my hips on either side, Annie carefully drew me up inside

her, until I was sunk all the way. Then her hands grasped my butt,

gripping me tightly.

"Oooohhh ... ahhh ... you’re so big," Annie said, her eyes closed,

twisting her head from side to side, her nails digging into my rump.

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Annie’s pussy was hot, tight, and sweet. My cock felt like it was in

a small, silken sleeve, a chamber that could clutch and ripple in

response to each of my gliding pushes.

Usually, the first time for a couple who have been apart for a while

is not all that great. Such was not the case for us.

After about another ten minutes of diligent humping, Annie brought

her mouth to mine, her tongue going into my mouth. It was a sign

that she was about to cum.

Sensing her impending orgasm, I redoubled my efforts, pounding

my cock in and out as fast as I possibly could.

We had a satisfying mutual orgasm, crying out as we tumbled into

it. Thank heavens, Annie isn’t a screamer, certainly not like Polly

Ellsworth was in the throes of orgasm. Annie just does this incredible

tensing thing, accompanied by a whine/whimper that is very exciting

to hear.

In harmony with her whimper, I made my usual barking

exclamations, with both of us more or less nutting ourselves off into

the stratosphere.

Afterwards, we sat up in bed and talked. Annie had a pack of these

Indonesian clove cigarettes and we each smoked one. I told Annie the

old joke about the woman who was asked if she smoked after sex and

was surprised to learn that she had never heard it before.

"Go ahead," Annie said.

"A woman was asked if she smoked after sex. She replied that she

didn’t know because she never looked to see."

Annie laughed. "That’s funny," she said.

As usual, Annie refused to let me eat her pussy but showed not the

least hint of reluctance to restore me with a nice long sucking after our

first fuck.

Too bad, too. Annie has a naturally hairless pussy. Oh, there are a

few thin sprouts over her clitoris, which she keeps shaved. So there is

none to speak of, really. It’s very unusual, but sexy as hell, in my

opinion.

However, Annie is very sensitive about her nearly bald pussy and

won’t let me (or anyone else, I imagine) apply tongue and lips to it.

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After our second session, we must have slept for about six hours,

and when we woke up, we must have felt pretty good, because we did

it again, with me giving to her doggy-style, with no switch to

missionary position this time.

That was by far the longest round of three fucks that first night.

Made a big wet spot on the pillow I stuck under Annie’s belly to raise

her butt up.

The next day we took a drive up the coast, stopping to take in

several viewpoints. Then we headed up to the north jetty to look