Chapter 21: Oklahoma

Matt Czynchykski had been in my Special Ops unit a decade earlier; we'd both mustered out of the Army together: me with a bad leg injury, and Matt because he gave up that line of business when his third tour was over. No one could say or spell Matt's last name, so we just called him 'Matt C.' Matt's nickname had been Ghost; on our first mission in Kosovo, he'd come face-to-face with some guy wearing a bomb vest, and he'd turned white as a ghost before he shot the guy and kept him from detonating the device and killing all of us. We were near the same age – mid to late thirties, and he'd remained in good physical shape. He'd never married, but had a string of absolutely gorgeous women who always seemed to be in one photo or another that he'd email to me at Christmas with little explanation and rarely a name.

Matt had gone to work as a reporter for the Oklahoma United Press – 'The state's most trusted news agency, ' he always added with sarcasm as a tagline when we'd talked about his work. He did the hard and crazy stuff that no one else in the paper wanted to do: gruesome accidents, crimes, middle of the night fires, and court cases, at one end of the spectrum, and high school sports, proms, and PTA cookie sales at the other end. He'd also been the jack-of-all-trades in our Special Forces unit.

I'd been corresponding with Matt by email since we left the Army, about one email a quarter. When Karen had died, he'd been one of the few people I poured my heart out to over the telephone. He coached me through the first couple of months of my grief, and kept encouraging me to come and see him – to walk his beat with him, as he put it – until I got through things. More recently, his emails promised me a never-ending stream of 'Great Tail' as he put it. We'd soon see how real his brags were. I was probably getting more 'tail' than he was.

I called Matt from Salina, Kansas, to tell him I was getting close to his home north of Oklahoma City, and a few blocks off famous U.S. Route 66. He told me the red carpet was out and to hurry down and stay a long time. He said he needed my help, and that he'd explain when I got there.

Outside Blackwell, Oklahoma, I saw a beautifully landscaped cemetery. I took one of the small envelopes of Karen's ashes, and in the middle of the quiet place, let the breeze take the ashes away. I had left some of her ashes in every state so far. In this way, she would always be with me wherever I traveled in the country. I again had that feeling that Karen's spirit was making things happen in my life. If that were the case, I hoped I was learning the lessons she wanted to teach me.

Matt had a beautiful home in a heavily treed neighborhood. I noted he also had a storm cellar under his carport – an installation I learned later that had the strength of a wartime bunker. Matt greeted me at the door, no doubt due to on the sound the Harley Davidson motorcycle gave off as I pulled into his driveway. He was on crutches and had a cast on his left leg from his crotch to toe.

"What'd you do?" I asked before I even greeted him.

Matt grimaced and said, "Flipped my ATV out in the prairie two weeks ago – broke my leg in two places – one above and one below the knee. I was with a group of friends, and we were just screwing around. My bad. I'm laid up for at least three months before I get a slightly smaller cast, and probably three more months after that before the docs 'may' let me just use a cane. Damn leg's all full of metal pins too, plus I'll have physical therapy for months." He knocked on his cast with his knuckle.

"Bummer," I told him. We did the standard guy greeting of a fancy handshake and shoulder bump. I had to be careful not to knock him over.

Matt invited me into the house, and gave me a quick tour, showing me the guest room. As we got to the kitchen, a blond that looked like Jenna Jamison appeared in short shorts and a tight blouse tied beneath her generous breasts. To add to the conspicuous display of sex appeal, she wore a pair of white three-inch heels that accentuated the various curves of her magnificent legs and butt.

"Jim, I'd like you to meet Heather. Heather, this is Jim." I think I heard her last name go by, but my focus was elsewhere.

I went to shake hands, but Heather stepped inside my arms, plastered her voluptuous body against mine, and gave me a kiss that melted my rubber-soled boots. I smiled at her as we parted company. In only fifteen seconds, I was all horny again. She said in a sultry tone, "Nice to meet you ... Jim."

Matt led me to the back deck that looked out on a small swimming pool and a lushly landscaped backyard. As we sat down, Heather delivered two beers to us and then disappeared. Heather looked as good going away, as she did coming at you. I resisted commenting on Heather; Matt had his tastes and I certainly honored them – amazingly good tastes, the more I thought about them.

We went through the expected first half hour of catching up, what I'd been doing along my trip, talking about a couple of the people we knew in common, and my newfound fame in the music industry. He savored every detail as I told him about meeting Crystal Lee, getting on the cover of People magazine, doing recordings and concerts, and becoming boyfriend-girlfriend with Crystal.

I reminded Matt that he'd asked me to do a favor for him. He laughed and said, "Oh, yeah. This is one I think you'll like." He paused and asked, "What do you know about debutantes?"

I responded, "Debutantes? You mean young ladies who are presented to society at some bash at a country club or such?"

"Exactly," Matt said. "I need you to appear at the upcoming Debutantes Ball in Oklahoma City, get your picture taken with some of the gals, dance with a few of them, and then give me a full report so I can write up a story about what happened. I can give you a checklist of stuff I'll need to know to write the article. I can't get around well, and I promised some matron of the whole affair that I'd personally cover the event. If you go, that'll let me off the hook and still satisfy her. It's an important gig around here."

On that basis, I said, "Sure. When is it?"

"It's Saturday night and starts in the late afternoon at the City Golf and Country Club; lots of presenting and marching around the ballroom, some dancing, dinner, more dancing, and the thing ends at a decent hour – ten o'clock, I think, although there are parties afterwards you will probably want to attend. I have the details inside. By the way, it's black tie. Heather will get you suited up tomorrow. She was a deb a few years back and knows the ropes. She'll go with you."

The thought of spending some time with Heather under any circumstance appealed to me. Heather had been listening to our conversation through a pass-through from the kitchen. Occasionally, she'd come closer to the window; sometimes even waving to me her approval of something that was said.

Around seven o'clock, Heather appeared in the doorway and announced that dinner was ready. Matt hobbled inside on his crutches, and I followed. He had trouble sitting at the dinner table, but somehow managed.

Heather had produced veal scaloppini for dinner, with all the trimmings. I've had the dish at some highly rated restaurants, but she'd outdone them. The sauce was superb. The veal had been marinated to just the right point and then precisely cooked. The presentation made the whole dinner five stars. I told her so, and she basked in the praise.

Heather also proved to have a brain atop the magnificent physical assets she'd been endowed with. She carried a good part of the dinner conversation, regaling us with some comic episodes she'd heard about various debutante's galas, after a solid discussion on the role of the G-8 in the Nation's economy. She also asked exceptionally intelligent questions about my new foray into the music industry, even giving me some insightful observations about my transition and how to capitalize on it in other music markets. Matt joined in with some of his latest 'reporter' stories.

I offered to help clean up dinner, but Heather shooed us back onto the pool deck where she served us after-dinner coffee before heading back to the kitchen to clean up.

Matt told me, "Heather likes you. That's good."

I commented, "I find her delightful. I didn't want to presume, but is she your current steady?"

Matt laughed, "Well, in a way. We picked each other based on an ad I placed. She's been around three months now, and we're very comfortable with each other, including our kinky habits. I really like her. She is a dream to have around, always dresses sexy, is smarter than Einstein, and loves to fuck. The fact that she likes you, probably means she'll turn up in your bed tonight."

I sputtered, "But ... what about you ... you're her ... boyfriend."

He laughed again, "If Heather wants you, Heather gets you. I'm happy, if she's happy. With my cast, I'm very disadvantaged in the sex department – very frustrating. Heather keeps the edge off, but she really wants ... well, you know ... to fuck ... and I can't so long as I have this cast on." He paused, thought for a moment, and then confided in a low voice, "She's a nymphomaniac."

I said in disbelief, "You're kidding, of course. Is there even such a thing, or is the word the term men use for their fantasy women?"

"No, not a bit. I broke up with my last girlfriend about five months ago, dated a bit, and then decided I wanted something more permanent. I put an ad in the personals section with a lot of detail in it – I get free ads in the paper so word count didn't matter. I specified a highly attractive, sexy, horny, woman of independent means who could cook, didn't mind sharing household duties, had a liberal mindset – particularly about sex, and had a high IQ. I said a lot more, but that's the gist. Three days later, Heather answered the ad – along with about two-dozen others. I interviewed them all, but not at the house."

"And Heather really stood out?"

"Actually, three women did. I had each of them come for an evening, and invited them to cook one of their favorite dishes. Each one outdid herself, but I couldn't decide. After dinner, not surprisingly, we ended up doing a little foreplay in the living room – dancing, kissing, touching. Again, a tie, and then we made it to the bedroom. Heather is unusual, and it shows. She's vocal, and I don't mean she's a screamer or anything like that. She knows what she likes, and she talks about it. She figures out what you like, and describes it to you in a very sexy way – lots of details."

"So you picked Heather?"

Matt answered, "I told her the morning after we spent our first night together that I would be privileged to have her live and love with me. She then turned the table on me."

"What do you mean?"

He went on, "She started to interview me, probing into my ideas about money and expense sharing in our potential relationship, and then she shifted to my views on women; she asked how my father treated my mother – a role model she called him, and what my part of a 'living together bargain' would be. She wanted to know what I thought about politics and religion, and about any psychological 'luggage' I carried. After I thought she was satisfied with my answers, she started asking questions about our potential sex life: 'How often would I like to have sex?' 'How would I feel if she brought another guy into the relationship occasionally, and we had a threesome?' 'Did I mind bisexual women – did I know any – had I had sexual experiences with any in a threesome or such?' She went on and on. She even asked about my vision of a perfect family, and whether I ever wanted children in my life."

"Fascinating."

"I should tell you we were doing this on my bed after we'd just fucked our brains out first thing in the morning. The longer we talked; the harder I got. Even as she asked me questions, I started to paw at her breasts and finger her cunt. Soon, she had me telling her stories about my fucks with the other women who answered the ad, and then past girlfriends. We started to fuck again, and Heather kept right on asking these really erotic and sexually provocative questions and using really dirty words. When I ran out of steam, she started telling me about some gangbang she'd had, and then some of the unusual sexual situations she'd encountered. It all made me horny, and I already had my dick in her."

Matt paused before continuing, "Heather finally told me that she liked me and the parts of our living together that we'd talked about. That was when she told me she was 'Nympho.' I'd heard stories, but I'd come to believe no female could be that oversexed. I mean all the women I've known I usually had to spend hours, days, or weeks in foreplay. Not Heather, she has a high sex drive – and I'm blown away. If I whisper sex, she's there and ready to go anyway at all. She would like sex at least a couple of times a day – everyday – and wants several orgasms in each session."

"You're kidding?" I said, with a high degree of skepticism. I had started to think Matt was just cranking me up for the hell of it. To keep him talking, I asked, "So, you started to live together? What was the first month like?"

Matt caught my eye and said, "Un-fucking-believable! She moved in, and I made sure I offered her lots of private space and time. I didn't want to come on too strong. Instead, she cozies right up to me. We get up in the morning, and we fuck for an hour. I go off to work usually, and Heather fires up her computer and taps into the foreign currency markets for the day; she trades currency futures as she mentioned over dinner; that's how she makes her money. She has family money too, but hasn't shared too many details about that. Anyway, I come home, she's fixed a meal that is healthy, filling, non-fattening, and five-star cuisine; I'm eating like a king. Then, we fuck away the evening, and she's teaching me how to please a really horny woman. Now, there's less teaching and more fucking. I love it – or I did up until I crashed the ATV. She is sympathetic, and told me she'd stick around despite my infirmity; she said, 'That's what good partners do for each other.'"

"What about the multiple partner thing she mentioned?"

Matt shook his head in disbelief and said, "The second week she was here, Meredith – a friend of Heather's – came over to join us for dinner. The three of us end the night in a mind-blowing threesome. Meredith is almost a carbon copy of Heather. A week after that, Hank, a really nice guy closer to her age than I am joins us for dinner. Afterwards, she orchestrates a threesome where we turn her any which way but loose – even DPing her all over this patio, and she has more orgasms that I can keep track of. We end up all happy and exhausted; he leaves, Heather takes me to bed, and proceeds to milk one last fuck out of me. I tell you the woman is positively fantastic."

"Any love, or is it all lust?" I ask.

"Both. It started as lust, but we're falling for each other. She's changing me and conversely. I feel like we're domesticating each other, yet the over-riding feature of our relationship is still the sex. I never thought about marrying anyone until Heather, now I'm getting serious. I think this one's a keeper for the long term." As we talked, I felt sure Heather could hear us from the kitchen.

After our coffees and some more conversation, I brought my gear in from the motorcycle and made myself at home in Matt's guest room. I showered, and then crawled into bed au naturel. I no sooner had shut my eyes, than my door opened. Heather slid into my room wearing a diaphanous top and a thong. She turned on a dim light on the dresser and said, "I like to see what I'm doing." She gave me a lecherous grin, slid onto the sheet I had over me, and we started kissing.

Heather said in a sexy tone, "I know Matt told you all about me, and you are a very attractive man, and I am so horny right now I'd fuck a doorknob, but you are so much better than that." She licked up my neck. "I hope you don't mind having a little interlude with me." As she talked she rubbed one of my legs through the sheet; almost immediately the sheet started to tent; as it did her stroking changed to contact through the sheet with my inflating cock. When I'd achieved some degree of fullness, Heather leaned down and wrapped her lips around the lump in the sheet. Even with the layer of linen, the sensation was awesome.

As Heather started to fondle and fellate me, I rubbed and massaged her breasts through the gossamer material her top was made from. Instantly, her nipples hardened into large pencil erasers that I pinched and pulled much to her delight. Her full globes shimmied and shook as I jostled her breasts.

"Suck on me," Heather implored as she tore the fabric from her body.

I leaned in and bit one of her nips, causing her to jump in the dual sensations of pain and pleasure. Heather moaned. Heather shifted to masturbating me through the sheet – jerking my cock up and down aggressively. She was going to be a challenge in the nicest of ways.

"Do you like oral sex? Giving and taking?" Heather asked.

I pursed my lips and pulled one of her nipples out about three inches, part of the breast following. I let go suddenly, and said, "Oh, yes." I briefly wondered if she'd ever had oral sex in Indiana.

Heather smiled, "Then, eat me."

She rearranged us, threw a leg over my head, and settled her pussy down in front of my face. She bent over and inhaled my cock. Heather's large breasts dragged and moved across my midsection, arousing me further as I felt her nipples shift around over my groin. We fit so nicely in the "69" position she'd chosen.

Heather didn't have a hair to be found in her pussy area. Some laser technician somewhere in the world must have really enjoyed the hair removal treatments this nymph had gone through.

I drove my tongue into Heather's slit, running it back and forth at full extension up and down. Each time, as I passed over her clit, Heather's body would jerk or spasm. She called her clit her 'little man.' Her little man came out to greet me, swelling in response to my tongue action. I sucked her labia and clit into my mouth, massaging both with my tongue and lips. I bit, twisted, tugged, licked, and sucked on her hardening clit with great abandon. Heather had an orgasm ... and seconds later another. I think I'd found Heather's number.

For a second, I thought Heather wanted me to push my head up her vagina, not an unpleasant idea at that moment. Instead, she just wanted me to keep my tongue active and hard against her as her spasms passed.

"Ooooh, you are good," she whispered. "Matt can do that to me, but you're only the second person to understand my buttons so quickly." I smiled as my tongue danced along her clit again. I explained that my cunnilingus skills were part of our Special Ops training. She laughed.

I drove a couple of fingers into Heather, massaging and probing her inner surfaces. I found her G-spot and rubbed hard, taking Heather into the stratosphere of pleasure. I slipped another finger in, then another, and then all five fingers. Her vagina expanded until it accepted my entire hand; I slipped up inside her, fisting the gorgeous blond as she writhed on the bed. Heather moaned as I fisted her, doing erotic things inside her quim with my fingertips and knuckles. I aimed two fingers at Heather's A-spot, a unique place hard to find than the G-spot. I knew I'd found it when Heather orgasmed again, this time erupting with a generous quantity of girl cum that squirted all over me. I didn't mind; I lapped at the clear liquid as it ran down our bodies.

Heather swore as she came, "Oh, you fucker. Your fingers feel so good inside me. Do you know ... Of course, you know what you're doing?" She studied me over her shoulder. "You know how to turn a woman on, and then how to keep her cumming and cumming. My kitty loves what you're doing. Here's a statement I don't say very often, 'You can fuck me anytime you want.' You like that wide open invitation? And we haven't really started fucking yet."

I shifted around so I could kiss Heather. I acknowledged her open invitation, but admonished her for not even knowing me. She countered that she already knew me better than I thought; she said, "Don't you think I pulled out of Matt everything there is to know about you. Moreover, you're a bit of a celebrity, so there's now a lot about you on the Internet, Mr. Jim Mellon, country music singer, ex-computer engineer, and ex-Green Beret. Now, I can add 'expert lover' to the list, and I'd definitely fuck anyone like that without much of an introduction but I know so much more."

"So what would you like now, Miss Heather?" I teased.

"Oh, a dozen orgasms from that big cock of yours driving in and out of my hot cunt as fast as it can go as it drags across my big clit, and then about a gallon of your milky cum gushing out of there because I can't hold it all. That's what I'd like." She gave me an engaging smile.

I yanked my hand out of Heather's warm pussy. It was drenched in her fluids. We both lapped at my fingers when I held it between us, and that led to about five minutes of some of the hottest kissing I'd every experienced in my life.

Amid more kisses, I moved over Heather and massaged her twat with my rigid dick, rubbing it between her labia, sometimes dipping only a little into her hole, and then stroking her again with the shaft; and then I made penetration.

Heather started to have trouble getting one or two words out as I maneuvered around her pussy with cock and fingers. "Oh, fuck. You really do know what you're DOING. Most guys just want to get off, but you are a maestro of foreplay and FUCKING; you know how to deliver a good fuck to a lady, and, OH! ... this might be the best fuck I've ever had in my LIFE! My cunt is very happy with your cock inside ME, plus all the other stuff you're DOING. Oh, I can feel the little ridges on the side of your dick ... and you're hitting my hot clit. FUCK MEEEEEEE."

I pumped into Heather at increasing speed until my whole body must have been a blur to all but the fastest camera. Heather came a couple of times in rapid succession. I pulled out, flipped her over, and drove into her pussy from behind her. My speed increased to Mach ten. Heather came again, almost falling forward on her face. I yanked out of her cunt, and lathered with her juices and slowly slid into her ass. She groaned in that delicious mix of pleasure, discomfort, and naughtiness. Once I was in, I pumped inside her for a while as two more climaxes rushed past her. I had one of my non-cum orgasms; this was fun. Heather was as energetic about having me in her, as I was being there; our bodies slapped together in pleasure.

I realized I'd taken Heather on as a challenge. If she was a nymphomaniac, she must have a lot of experience with men. My ego came through, and I wanted to be the best fuck she'd ever had in her life. Without asking her, I figured if I maximized duration and number of orgasms that might put me the running for that title. We played around together for another half hour, fucking in different positions, and even having Heather amuse my ass with her talented fingers and – a first – a cock-shaped vibrator she produced from a bedside table that I allowed her to use to penetrate my ass, but only a little.

At one point as we were shifting positions, Heather sucked on me some more and then nestled my cock between her two perfectly shaped large breasts. I tit-fucked her for a while, her tongue lapping at my cockhead each time it appeared in front of her mouth.

"Fuck me some more," Heather begged.

I took the vibrator, put it on high speed, and pushed the vibrating pliable plastic shaft deep into Heather's ass. Her eyes got as big as saucers. I then drove my entire shaft into her pussy, and began pumping into her in earnest. Heather came and came – one huge, long orgasm. Her cunt had spasms around my cock without ceasing, plus I could feel the stimulation of the vibrator humming away in her ass. The combination was irresistible, and I could no longer resist my own climax. I exploded deep inside Heather, my balls emptying their huge load in a series of forceful jets of cum. The sensation of the orgasm lasted much longer than usual, as I arched upwards over Heather's beautiful, sexy, erotic body in my minute of ecstasy.

Heather finally gave me the gratification that I sought; "Jim ... Wow! That was positively the best fuck I've ever had in my life. Man, you are a keeper. I hope you don't plan on leaving soon, I have great plans for us." She kissed me passionately.

Saturday afternoon, Heather stood next to me as we looked at ourselves in the floor-to-ceiling hall mirror. I hadn't had a tuxedo on since I'd married Karen seven or so years earlier. I really did scrub up well, plus the haircut Heather had given me helped. Heather was my escort for the ball. Heather looked like a million dollars naked. In the dress she wore and the way she wore it, she looked like a billion dollars – a real knockout. I hoped the police didn't arrest her.

Matt ignored Heather's sex appeal and reclined on the sofa with his leg elevated giving me the low down on the Fine Arts Ball we were about to attend at the swish Oklahoma City Golf and Country Club. The purpose of the ball was to present to society thirty young, upper class women who aged from eighteen to twenty one. He had typed up a list of questions he hoped I'd get answers to as I wandered around the festivities and mixed with society's hoity-toity members. He ran down a list of who would be there; I didn't recognize a single name. He told me the important thing to remember is that in one way or another everyone in the room had something to do with oil; he spelled it out for me in a loud voice: 'O – I – L.'" I got the message. He followed that up, saying if they weren't in oil, they were in 'G-A-S.'

Rather than take my motorcycle to the event as I offered, Heather had arranged for a white stretch limousine to deliver us and pick us up at the end of the evening. I liked the way she thought. As we rode, Heather added to what Matt had told me; it turned out that she knew more of the people attending than he did."

A bevy of portly older women, matrons of the club and part of the committee that had selected the debutantes of the day, met us at the entrance to the club. We were early, since as 'press' we were part of the background instead of part of the event. I warmly greeted each of the women, one of who clearly stood out as the leader of the festivities. There were all clearly aware of my celebrity status.

"Mr. Mellon, I'm Agnes Stapleton, the head of the Fine Arts Ball Committee this year. I know this is sudden, but then so is your substitution for Mr. Cee. I hope he's doing all right in his recovery by the way?" I smiled at her use of his shorthand last name. We assured her that his leg was healing. She went on, "We are hoping that you would say a few words to the audience today, and maybe even be available to dance with some of the young ladies after they've been presented?" There was a question mark at the end of her sentence.

I told her I would be delighted to assist, but to know that I'd never been to such an event before, and so I needed some counsel or forgiveness if I violated some social rule I didn't know about. All the women standing around laughed. I got assured there was no need to worry about either.

By four o'clock, when the event started, about five hundred people had gathered in the ballroom of the Club. The men all wore tuxedoes, some with tails, and some with roses in their lapels. Heather explained that the red roses indicated that the man was the father of one of the debs that would soon be introduced, and that the white roses indicated a young man that would be one of their escorts.

The women were decked out in their finest. I didn't think anyone held a candle to Heather, but there were many gorgeous women there and a plethora of ball gowns, taffeta, and diamonds, the likes of which I've never seen at any event except on television at the Oscars.

A permanent stage occupied one end of the ballroom. A string quartet played light classical music as the attendees in the hall milled around greeting each other. Heather maneuvered me around the edge of the room until we were near the stage. During our traverse, she greeted several dozen of the people on a first name basis.

When we were alone and waiting for the festivities to start, I asked her, "I have the feeling you sort of turned your back on all this, yet you know everyone."

Heather nodded, "This is too artificial for me; it felt that way when I was a deb too. The debs are all supposedly introduced to young men considered suitable for marriage at these events. Often, the debs and their escorts have already fucked their brains out in some two-bit motel – probably been doing it for years, and neither would think of marrying the other but the sex is good. Their contemporaries know at least half the debs are sluts; and their parents think they are all as pure as the white driven snow. This event holds too much hypocrisy for me to attend regularly. This is the first one I've been to since I 'came out.'"