The Currency of Time
Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Violent,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Michael McCarthy grew up in the oil industry. He could have expected to die in a lot of interesting ways, but he didn't expect to fall in love with the spoiled heiress to a $250 million fortune, or to have her crush his marriage and heart for a first love. But stubborn Irishmen are hard to break. Before he's through, he'll give a lot of expensive attorneys heartburn. But he'll find the world is not wide enough to escape an Irishwoman who has laid a spell on his heart.

I could have expected a lot of things.

I could have expected to go down in a plane crash. It happens to a lot of those men – and lately women – whose business puts them in the air a lot, chasing the sweet smell of crude across oceans and continents, countries and mountains and swamps. And through some of the greediest, most gun-happy thugs you'll find anywhere in the third and fourth worlds.

I could have expected cancer. It took out my dad at 57. He'd been a strong, unstoppable workhorse of a man until lung cancer destroyed a man who, in the ultimate bad joke, never took a puff in his life. The doctors who detected it and treated it and fought it with him, told him it was probably exposure to all the chemicals you're exposed to hunting oil across the globe.

In the end it wasn't technically cancer that got him. When he was very weak, I gave in to his pleas and drove him out the airfield in western Jacksonville where his twin engine Cessna Crusader was kept waiting for him. I helped him into the cockpit, he gave me one last hug, said, "give them hell, son," and took off without clearance.

They found the wreckage of his plane in the Atlantic about ten miles off the Jacksonville Beach coastline the next day. They never found him. And that was the way he would have wanted to go out, not gasping for his last breaths hooked up to tubes and machines.

I went with some friends to O'Brien's, a Westside bar, and together with O'Brien who'd known my dad for 20 years, and some of his and my old friends, toasted his life and his success in ending it the way he wanted to.

I could more likely have expected to be shot by some jealous husband or boyfriend. I'm not particularly proud of my behavior as a young man. I fucked – as the expression goes – anything with a vagina that would stand still long enough for me to fuck it. Whether they were married or single was a minor consideration that didn't particularly bother me one way or the other.

As a married man, I looked back sometimes and regretted that I had hurt a lot of people, hurt a lot of men in a way that I would have hated to have been hurt myself. But at the time, I was a homing missile guided by my dick like most young men and I never once – as far as I can remember- worried about the men whose women I fucked.

I didn't expect what life had waiting for me.

I was twenty five when I met my Waterloo. She was red haired, with a slender body, milky skin so fine you could see the network of fine blue veins under the skin and a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I wouldn't have been surprised to see her in an ad for Guinness Stout on some Irish television commercial skipping across a field of heather in the brilliant Irish summer sun, clad in a summer frock, sunlight burnishing the halo of flame-red hair floating like a cloud behind her.

Everything was fine and delicate except that mouth. Wide and full lipped, made for laughing and downing pints of beer and chocolate covered cherries and long kisses and sucking a man's cock until he lost his mind. That last thought was the first one that popped into my head the first time I saw her staggering into her father's $20 million dollar St. Augustine waterfront mansion at 7 in the morning.

Assisted by two female friends who could also barely stand, all their clothing together would barely have covered one female body. There was enough skin showing to reveal a body that except for that mouth didn't appeal to me. She was altogether too slender and coltish – and young – to be my cup of tea. I preferred them older and more fully developed, meaning I liked tits big enough to fuck and asses full enough to get a good hold as you pumped.

Besides which, she was the only daughter of Orion I. Lancaster, founder, owner and head of OIL, Inc., one of the largest independent oil companies in the world and a hungry rival to the slightly bigger local Gate Petroleum Company. Gate specialized in bringing in oil to supply their own burgeoning chain of gas stations and convenience stores headquartered in Jacksonville and scattered around the Southeast. OIL Inc. found and supplied oil to dozens of buyers but hadn't gotten into the retail end of the oil distribution business.

That was the reason that the Gate owners had a net worth in excess of a billion dollars, and Oil, Inc. – meaning OI Lancaster – was worth only a measly $250 million. Even so, she was the sole heir to a $250 million fortune which meant old Lancaster was very protective. I knew all about this because my father had been one of the main oil men for Lancaster for a decade before his death and had become one of the old man's closest friends.

Because I'd grown up around the business, I knew and liked the old man and I think he'd always felt the same about me. His first wife had three miscarriages before Deirdre was born, and two miscarriages afterward before dying in a birth related disaster. That made him consider her a true miracle and unable to do any wrong. His second wife had a son, but it turned out that Lancaster hadn't been the father and when the truth was discovered, the unfaithful wife and the son by marriage were gone and legal documents stronger than steel had been drafted to ensure the fake son would never get a penny of Lancaster money.

I'd been dogging my father's footsteps in the oil exploration business since I was old enough to bug him unmercifully to take me along with him on his trips. That was at the age of nine. By ten he'd talked my mother into letting me go along with him. He brought along books I had to study and a tutor for when I was in the states. As long as I kept up my grades, he told me and my mother, I could go with him. Mom fussed, but he told her he'd grown up that way and hadn't ended up that bad. And then they vanished into a bedroom and Mom said okay.

Dad was a good father, and a good husband, but he'd grown up in the hardscrabble oil fields of Oklahoma and Texas and he never could see the harm in a boy becoming acquainted with booze and good cigars.

He drew the line at sex, because he knew he'd eventually have to come home and face my mother, but he couldn't keep an eye on me 24 hours a day in the field and in a little fishing port on the western shores of the Mexican coastline, I'd met an 18-year-old goddess. Raven haired, big hipped and with heavy breasts that I couldn't take my eyes off of from the time I met her in the home of one of his wildcatter friends.

I was 13 going on 20 and she was sweeter than honey. We stayed there two weeks and I fell in love with her and she broke my heart with a 20-year-old shrimper who came back in off a voyage and took her away from me with just a look and a smile. But 13-year-old hearts mend fast.

So I grew up tall and solid like my father, with a taste for big breasted Latin sirens, the same kind of hunger for the black gold that made the world go round and the kind of instinct for where it was and where it wasn't that had made my dad a millionaire three times before I was ten. Of course he lost it all every time, which was why he ended up working for OIL Inc. and a steady paycheck.

At the age of 25 I'd worked everywhere from Canada to Mexico to Indonesia to fields in Darkest Africa. I was gone more than I was home, but I'd gotten my diploma and I was making carloads of cash and entertaining ladies with a dick that never seemed to get satisfied or tired, so I was a happy man.

Until I had the misfortune of meeting Deirdre Lancaster. The misfortune? You'll understand later. The first time I'd seen her staggering into her daddy's mansion I didn't think much about her. She stank of alcohol and slurred her words and just stared at me when one of her blonde nearly-naked friends staggered over to me and grabbed my dick through the jeans I was wearing.

"Hey, DeDe, you gotta check this out. I think that bulge is real."

"I think..." DeDe began, and then started throwing up in a huge vase that held a massive growth of Elephant Ears. They're really pretty weeds, but Lancaster had always loved them, something about the wilds of Central America where he'd met the late Mrs. Lancaster.

"Oh shit," the blonde said, and I moved back just in time to avoid the projectile vomiting coming out of her. Their little brunette friend was quietly emptying her stomach onto an expensive Arabic rug. They obviously couldn't hold their liquor.

A phalanx of maids and butlers and chauffeurs swarmed over them and they vanished upstairs to be cleaned up and put to bed.

I had come in for dinner with Lancaster and to talk a little oil. We were through and I was thinking seriously about doing a little barhopping to see what kind of pussy was available tonight. Lancaster walked up behind me and I turned to face him.

"Could I talk to you for a minute, Michael?"

I was really getting antsy for some action, but like I said, I liked him, and he paid me very well for my services.

"Sure," I said and followed him into one of the mansion's libraries. That's another distinction between rich people and the Very Rich. The Very Rich have more than one of everything. He sat down in a very comfortable looking chair with padded arms and motioned for me to sit across from him.

"I'm sorry you had to see her like that. She's really a good girl. Just ... she was 10 when her mother died. I've dated a few women and I bought her the best companions and governesses, but they don't make up for the loss of a mother. She's gotten wild, and her friends are worse."

"No need to apologize. I haven't been a saint myself, as I'm sure Dad told you often."

"The difference, Michael, is that he was kind of proud of your tomcatting around. No one wants to see their Little Angel drunk and throwing up in vases."

"Well, I guess I can see there would be a difference."

There didn't seem to be much else to say so I lapsed into silence. After a few moments:

"They tell me you have some trips planned to South America over the next month or two?"

I was technically an employee of OIL Inc., but, like my father, I didn't work under strict supervision. I'd go out on assignments when top management told me to, but I could go out on my own and had already sniffed out two major oil fields, one in Cuban territorial waters that was secretly being prepared for a joint Cuban/British deal, with OIL Inc. being the silent partner of the Brits.

"Yes, I think there's a major field that no one has looked at in the Brazilian rain forest. Of course, getting it pumping is going to require some miracles to overcome opposition from international tree huggers and the Chinese who'll use the tree huggers as their front, but I think the oil is down there."

He leaned forward in his chair.

"I appreciate your dedication, Michael, and I have as much respect for your instincts as I do for your father's, but I have to ask you for a favor."

"A favor?"

"Yes. I can't ask you as a matter of business to do what I'm hoping you'll do. This is not business, it's personal."

I put my hands out, palms up symbolizing both my lack of understanding and the importance of what he was asking me.

"We're not the only people who have gotten wind of the rain forest oil field, Mr. Lancaster. Like I said, the Chinese and the Russians and the Saudis are all hearing whispers. Everybody knows about the Russians and the Chinese, but the Saudis are prowling all over the world too. There are a few in the Royal Family smart enough to know the ocean of oil they're sitting on isn't going to last forever. They're going to have to control other oil resources around the world to keep their Crown going."

"We're in front right now because we've done preliminary studies, we've bought officials in the Brazilian government, and we've made friends with a few of the indigenous peoples in the area. But we only have a lead. We could lose that lead."

He stretched out one large, weathered hand with a thumb and only three fingers and laid it on my knee. He wore a suit now, but he had been a wildcatter and carried a lot of scars. He had lost that finger creating his company.

"I understand what you're saying and I have talked to people about your work down there. So I know what I'm asking and I know what we're risking. But I'm going to ask you to stay here in Jacksonville for a few weeks, maybe a month."

"Doing what?"

"My daughter is currently on break from the University of Florida. She graduated from Bishop Kenny two years early. She was always a very good student, and she moved another year ahead at UF. She's taking a few months off from grad school, but she should have her Masters in Business Administration within the year. I have enough people and safeguards in place in Gainesville that I think she'll stay out of trouble, and she's a good student when she has enough on her mind and on her plate to keep busy. But she has too much time on her hands here."

'"And what does that have to do with me?"

"She is a very intelligent and willful girl, and she's too beautiful for her own good. Men are always trying to get something started with her to try to get to my money. She's smart and charming enough to twist most of the male employees I assign to her around her little finger. And she usually gets the females I assign to her in enough trouble that she can slip away from them."

I couldn't help shaking my head.

"You want me to put a major oil field on the back burner so I can babysit your little girl?"

He nodded.


"I have no doubt the oil deal you're working would mean a lot of oil, and a lot of money for this company. But I have a lot of money. And I will have a lot of money no matter what happens in Brazil. But there will always be more oil fields, more discoveries. I only have one daughter."

I tried one last time.

"With all due respect, Mr. Lancaster, and you know I respect you if only because Dad, if he were here, would kick my ass if I showed any disrespect, this is not a good idea. I'm no professional bodyguard or nursemaid. There are tons of people you could put around your daughter who would be a lot better at keeping her out of trouble – and from vomiting into your vases."

He patted my hand.

"I know that, Michael. But you have some things going for you that they don't."

"I'm all ears."

"For one thing, you're almost family. I know I pay you, but you grew up in this company. I've known you since you were a little boy. Like your father, you're loyal, and not just because I pay you. You're a good man, just like your father. I can trust you, and I do.

"And, you're a hell raiser. I know how many bars you've been thrown out of. I know how many 'accidents' you've had with young women that your daddy had to buy you out of. I know how many times you've been arrested and how many times your daddy – and I – have had to pay to grease the wheels of justice to get them knocked down to misdemeanors or dismissed.

"I know how many fights you've been in, and the fact that you've never lost any of them. You're a big, strong guy who knows how to fight. Which counts for a lot.

"So far all we've got is that you like me, and I have a bad habit of getting into bar fights and getting women knocked up. Not the best recommendation in the world."

"True. But, it helps that Deirdre has always had a little crush on you, although she'd kill me if she knew I'd told you that."

"A crush? Mr. L, honestly, I barely knew she existed before tonight."

He smiled.

"I know. I know you've been busy and that she was a little girl and even though she's grown up, she's not your type. That's another reason why I want you. I know you like them busty and big-assed. It makes me a little more comfortable knowing she doesn't ring your bell. But, she's noticed you for a long time. I've caught her staring at you when you weren't noticing and a few of her friends have told me she's been – very explicit – in telling them what she wanted to do with you when you got smart and noticed her."

I shook my head.

"Now I really don't know if I want to do this."

He just grinned.

"You're not afraid of bar fights or married women and their jealous husbands, but a 20-year-old college student you could power lift with one hand scares you?"

"It's not the same thing."

"I know, but I trust you. I think you can handle the challenge. You up for it?"

What could I say?

So, instead of flying over the jungles of Brazil's rain forest the next Friday night, I walked into Pelicans, a new bar/disco on Jax Beach with Deirdre, three of her blonde girlfriends, and four guys who had to be college students judging by the way they looked at me as if I was an incredibly square uncle assigned as a chaperone.

I ordered drinks and flirted a little with her friends, which was the easiest way to blend into the group. One of the prettier ones and I clicked and when she dared me to get out on the dance floor I took her up on her challenge. She was a pretty good dancer, but hell, when you looked like her and showed as much skin as she did, all you had to do was move around with or without rhythm and nobody – guys especially – would complain.

When she started moving in close, rubbing her very hard nipples against my chest and giving me the equivalent of a hand job with her thighs, I had to back away a little. If she kept it up – I'm not made of stone and I couldn't watch the boss' daughter while I was off premises fucking her friend's promised land.

I made excuses to get off the dance floor and when I returned from a not-really-needed visit to a bathroom, she'd already been swept off by a tall young stud who was engaged in simulated or maybe not so simulated sex in a corner.

I went back to Deirdre's table. She sat sprawled in an adoring ring of her four admirers. There were a lot of empty shot glasses, wine glasses and bottles scattered around the table. She seemed a LOT more drunk than any of the four guys. They were all having a good time, laughing and teasing her. I looked around and noticed that her two female friends had vanished onto the increasingly crowded dance floor. I didn't like the way things were going.

I grabbed a chair and pushed my way next to her, crowding out the nearest drooling guy. He gave me a dirty look but I gave him a dirtier look.

"Deirdre, sweetie. You look like you're about to pass out. Why don't I take you somewhere for some coffee and air. I think you'd feel a lot better and we can come back in later. Okay?"

She raised her head to stare at me bleary-eyed and said, "Do I know you? Oh, you're tall, dark and a house servant. You my chaperone tonight? Thanks for the offer, but my friends, my buds, will take care of me. They take care of me so good. Don' you guys?"

A good looking blonde, who might have been legal – barely – reached out to squeeze one of her small breasts which brought a squeal from her and stared at me with a confident sneer on his face.

"Yeah, Captain Do-Right, we take REAL good care of her; we'll bring her home when we're done with her."

Two of his friends backed him with the same shitty grins that almost dared me to argue with them. The only one of the four who gave me even the slightest moment of concern was a dark skinned kid with straight black hair, Asian and Caucasian features intermingled and the kind of thick body you sometimes see on Polynesian football players and wrestlers. He didn't run his mouth, just kept observing me coolly.

Deirdre let her head hit the table with a thump. I shook her shoulder but she just drooled onto the table. She was out of it, and she hadn't drunk THAT much.

Now I knew what was happening. I could have called the cops but to get her away from these guys I'd have to put them down first, and if the cops came when we rumbled, there'd be reports and calls to parents and all the embarrassing things I didn't want to happen.

I stood up and grabbed her shoulder and tried to lift her up, but she slid through my fingers like mercury back into her chair. I motioned to a waiter and when he came over stuffed a $100 bill in his shirt pocket. He bent forward,

"This drunk young lady is Deirdre Lancaster, the daughter of one of the richest men in the city, probably the state. He is a very protective and grateful father. I'm her bodyguard. If this guy or anyone else tries to leave here with her in tow, tell the management to call the cops and her father because she's been date rape drugged. I'm going outside with these three gentlemen to discuss the matter. Back in a few minutes.

I kept my eyes on the Polynesian but he sat quietly.

I walked ahead of the three motor mouths who were happily telling me what they were going to do when we got outside. I hadn't taken a full step when I felt motion behind me and half turned, caught the arm of the guy trying to crack a beer bottle over my head. I half hoisted, half threw him over my shoulder. I made certain that he came down face forward on a wooden packing crate that had contained expensive bottles of booze at one time.

I couldn't decide if the cracking and splintering sounds came from the thin boards of the crate, or cracking of teeth and facial bones. Whichever, he didn't try to get up and gain revenge. He just lay there bleeding and crying.

Behind him came the other two. A wild swing led the first one to stumble past me. As the second one came at me rearing back a big fist, I stepped into him and poked my finger into his eye, he gasped which turned into a choking gasp as I struck him in the throat with a knife hand thrust. He couldn't catch his breath which made it hard for him to block the first shoe I buried in his crotch. But he was pretty tough. He didn't go down. The second kick left him rolling around on his back in the alley trying to curse and catch his breath at the same time.

"You fucking son of a bitch, I'm going to break your neck and feed you your balls," the third guy said as he completed his stumble and came back at me.

"Okay, but I'm not going to drink anything you give me so it might be tougher for you than it usually is."

He swung at me but was careful not to overshoot and leave anything for me to grab on and pile drive him. He came at me and at me and I kept swatting his punches away with no great degree of difficulty. We could do this all night but the Polynesian kid might decide to dive in or some of his other friends might show up. So I stepped forward and left myself open. He stepped inside, tripped me and holding my right arm tried to slam me down in a modified wrestling or MMA submission move.

Unfortunately for him, as he was moving I spun around with the goal of putting him in an arm lock submission. Now when somebody is behind you with a good grip on your arm and you have no leverage to break the hold, anybody who's ever done this with a live partner knows you go with the hold and try to make an escape or tap out after you go down.

You DON'T try to throw the guy behind you over your shoulder. If your opponent isn't ready for it or quick enough to ease up on the pressure, what happens is you hear this sickening CRACK which is the sound of an arm being torn out of the shoulder socket shredding bones and tendons and giving an orthopedic surgeon enough work to send at least one kid to college.

I'd been in a couple of training matches when something equally stupid was tried so I had just enough warning to let go and he caught me with one arm and threw me over his back. I didn't hear anything crack, but I did hear him scream. The arm had probably been pulled out of socket, or close enough to hurt like hell. I looked around and saw the Polynesian kid headed my way.

I focused all my attention on him and made myself loose and ready to move in whatever direction was necessary.

I studied his face, particularly his eyes. You can usually read an antagonist's moves and intentions from his eyes better than any other tipoff.

"We going to go round?"

"You've had some training," he said.

"Some in a gym. Never messed around with belts. Mostly street fighting. Learn as you go."

"I guessed. I've got black belts in karate and judo. Started when I was four. My dad pushed me, but after a while I got to like it."

"I'm impressed. I've never kicked the ass of anybody with your credentials. But there's always a first time."

He looked me up and down, and said,

"I can take you. No doubt in my mind. But you're good enough, and wild enough, that you might accidentally hurt me, or I might accidentally kill you. This was supposed to be a fun night out, not a battle to the death."

I set my body in a defense posture.

"Your definition of a fun night out and mine are completely different. Drugging a woman and taking her somewhere for a gang rape she's helpless to resist, that's not a fun night out. I don't have to rape women to have fun. I feel sorry for you fuckers if you think that is fun."

I glanced over at the ruin that was his friends.

"Whether you kill me or I hurt you, cops are coming into this. I've told people inside you were date rape drugging her. If there's a death back here and a lot of people saw us come back here, the cops will be all over you. And when her daddy finds you that you drugged his daughter, he won't need 'no steeenking cops' to handle you. You'll just vanish. Guys that got rich in the oil business are not your typical buttoned down business types."

He bent down beside the guy with the arm out of socket.

"Bobby, Bobby, hold on a second. Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Go limp."

An instant later he did something and Bobby screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Then he went limp for real. The Polynesian held his head and lowered him to the floor of the alley. After a moment Bobby raised his head and said weakly, "What'd you do. That almost feels right."

"Just gave you some relief from the pain. I need to get you guys to an emergency room. Beaches is probably the closest."

Bobby looked over at me.

"Kill that fucker, Mo. Tear his arm out. I can wait."

Mo gave me a studied look, than turned back to his friend.

"I think the cops will be here sooner rather than later and we don't want to be hauled in for a brawl. Besides which, her daddy will back him up and he's a very rich and powerful man. I don't want to tangle with him."

"You afraid of this fucker, Mo? I've never seen you back down from anybody."

"Not afraid of him. But ... you've got a beat up arm that can probably be rehabbed and you'll still have a shot at the minors. If he hadn't let go of that hold, your arm would be gone. You might still have it but it'd be dangling at your side for the rest of your life. All your dreams, all your plans, would have gone up in smoke, all for a piece of ass. That's crazy. I kill him and my life is over. What the fuck kind of night out is that, Bobby? You're risking everything for a crazy bitch. You might be willing to throw everything away for her, but I'm not."

Mo turned to me.

"I know what you did for Bobby and I appreciate it. Walk away from this and no hard feelings."

I stared at him and tried to take in his words.

"No hard feelings? You stupid bastard. You were trying to drug and gang rape the daughter of a man who's been good to me. You expect me just to forget about that? No way in hell. I'm waiting for the cops and if you want to try and kill me, come at me. You might not be as good as you think."

He shook his head.

"You really don't know what the hell you're talking about, do you? You think we were drugging her to get her to someplace private and have our way with her virginal bod?"

"Well, yeah."

"Go in there and talk to some of the waiters, a bartender or two. Take her somewhere and have them do a tox screen on her."


"Yeah. The light begins to dawn. The tox screen will show she's got enough in her to be relaxed, but she's faking the rest. And some of the waiters and bartenders will tell you we've carried her out of here blitzed more than a few times in the last six months. She knows every one of us and she's willing going every step of the way. When we get someplace private every one of us will fuck her, two and three at a time, and she'll be begging for more. Your sweet little virginal maiden loves it up the ass, loves pulling trains, loves playing a victim of rape who gets carried away and really gets into it."

"You're saying she-"

I tried to get my head around it. I was more than familiar with role playing in the bedroom, but this sounded far beyond any kinky I was familiar with.

"Yeah, I'm saying none of us are rapists. We just found a really kinky bitch who likes to party, and we're more than happy to party with her."

He looked down at his friends.

"Your call. You bring the cops in and it'll be embarrassing for us until the lawyers prove this was just consensual rough sex. But it will come out. But your little friend is going to be a hell of a lot more embarrassed. Bobby down there has a father who's been a big contributor to Republican and Democrat governors for 20 years. He's not going to let Bobby take the rap for this and he's big enough that he can cause her daddy a lot of grief. You still want the cops called in instead of just letting us walk away? You could take her somewhere you can sober her up and figure out a story her daddy will buy?"

If he was lying, it would be easy enough to prove and I could always find them again. But it was a smarter move to get her away from here and the cops.

"Take your friends and get the hell out of here. I'll let this pass unless I learn your story is crap. You seem like you might have some brains, so you ought to know this kind of shit can't end well, no matter how much money Bobby's daddy or any of the rest of you have. Even if this is all a game, all you need is one accident, a little too much drugs or somebody that reacts badly to what you feed them, and you'll still find yourself with a prison record. I know it can't be that hard to find bitches to party with. You don't need to be doing this."

He bent down and carefully helped Bobby to his feet.

"You take care of your girl and let me take care of my friends."

I walked back into Pelicans and found Deirdre at a table toward the back, head slumped on the table. A couple of waiters who'd been standing near her approached me, one asking, "cops?"

"No. We'll just handle this privately."

I shook her but she just rolled her head back and forth and mumbled. I didn't know if she was acting or if she'd gotten a touch too much of the drug in her system. I gave a waiter a parking slip for my car and bent and hoisted her over my shoulder with as much effort as it would have taken to lift a child. The only real concern I had was if she was going to throw up all over me. Fortunately, she didn't and I got her out to my 2001 Jeep Cherokee Sport. The parking attendant opened the passenger door for me and I dropped her inside. Then I found a motel on Atlantic Boulevard heading away from the Beaches after hitting an all-night coffee shop and buying three large coffees and then two Big Macs at an all-night McDonalds.

I got her inside, then brought in the coffee and hamburgers, locked the door behind me, and sat down on one of the two double beds beside her. Her flaming curls lay around her on her pillow. They were so red they looked unreal. She was snoring, her small chest rising and falling. Between the snores, her lips moved and I could almost make out pieces of words. She wasn't my type, in almost any way, but her lips were swollen and wet and somehow that made me hard. Her skin was freckled, lightly patterned and so white it looked like ivory parchment. I looked at her chest above her breasts. The skin there was almost translucent, showing a network of light blue veins under the skin.

The only light I had on was the table lamp beside her bed. Under its soft glow she had an ethereal appearance, like something not quite human. I liked my women fleshy, solid enough to hold and fuck and possess, but there was no denying she was a beautiful woman if your tastes ran in that direction.

"Deirdre ... Deirdre."

I patted the side of her face and she blinked. After what seemed like a struggle she pried her eyelids open. I don't know that she was seeing anything, because she looked at me and said, "Bobby?"

"No, Bobby's gone. I kicked his ass and sent him to the hospital."

She blinked a couple of times.

"You hurt Bobby?"

"Not as bad as I could have, but yeah, I hurt him."

"You asshole."

"Sorry about that, but when I think a girl is being drugged to take somewhere and rape, it tends to irritate me. I had no idea you guys were partying."

She tried to raise her head but fell back immediately."


"That's what can happen when college kids are messing with powerful drugs. Sometimes it works like a dream. Sometimes you end up with a dead party girl."

"I repeat – you're an asshole. I would have been fine"

"Maybe so sweetie, but when you're planning on doing this kind of shit and you know your daddy has a guy watching you, it would be nice to give a heads up so I don't wind up in jail or kill some of your friends."

She lay back, breathing slowly.

"You're not going to throw up on me, are you?"

With her eyes still closed, breathing through her mouth, she said, "I don't think so."

I sat on the bed beside her and put my left hand under her neck and lifted her up and toward me.


"It's easier to drink hot coffee sitting up. And I think you need hot coffee right now to come out of this."

"I don't want any."

"Listen to Dr. McCarthy. Hot coffee is THE wonder drug, elixir of the gods, good for what ails you. Humor me."

I picked up a cup of good, strong generic black coffee and held it to her lips. She spit.

"That's HOT!"

"It's supposed to be. Blow on it a little bit to cool it off, but swallow a sip."

It took a couple more attempts, but she finally managed to swallow a good-sized mouthful.

And spit it out.

"Goddamn. That's black coffee. BLACK coffee. Who the hell drinks their coffee black?"

"I do, sometimes. But it is great for clearing the fumes out of your head. Hold your nose and drink some more."

"I'm going to tell my father you took me to a motel room while I was drunk to have your way with me. He'll fire your ass and NOBODY will be hiring you in the oil business, no matter how good you are."

I held the coffee to her lips again.

"Two things. He's not going to do anything to me when I educate him as to what a cum guzzling, train pulling slut he's raising. He might put you in a well-guarded nunnery somewhere. And the second thing ... much as I love your father, if he blackballed me there would still be a hundred places I could go that would pay me what he's paying me – and more. Oil companies don't give a shit about blackballs."

"Think you're pretty damn smart, don't you?"

And then she spit hot coffee in my face.

I didn't even think because if I had I would not have done it. But my hand shot out and I backhanded her. Her head bounced off the pillow and she stared at me in shock. Those luscious lips dripped blood onto the pillow.

She rubbed the blood off her lips with one slender finger.

"I cannot believe you did that."

"People don't spit hot coffee on me. Even beautiful women."

Her eyes widened for a second.

"You're a brute."

"And you're a bitch."

I went into the bathroom and came back with a wet cloth and some tissue paper.

I patted the blood off first with the cloth, then the tissue paper. Her lip was cut but not severely. It would heal.

"You're not going to apologize?"

"Are you?"

"I shouldn't have spit on you"

"I shouldn't have hit you. I am sorry for that."

She reached up with the cloth and wiped the remnants of the coffee off my nose and cheek. It stung. If she had spit in my eyes it would do more than sting a little.

"Are you okay? That was reflex."

"I'll live, now drink and don't spit on me anymore. Try to get that cup down and we'll see if you're nauseous. If you can hold it down, a hamburger would put something solid in your stomach."

"I don't know if I can."

"I want you to try. I really should be taking you to an ER or an all-night Doc In A Box. The stunt you pulled was stupid and it might still have an effect on you."

"I'll be fine."

"Because you've always been fine before?"

She didn't say anything.

"Mo said you've done this before. You call this 'partying'?"

"I'm legal and I can party any way I want to."

"Letting guys drug you and bang you like a drum until you can't walk straight?"

"Different strokes."

I looked at that sweet, innocent, ethereal face and still found it hard to believe.

"You really are a slut, aren't you? I feel sorry for your father."

"What you think of me doesn't matter. YOU"RE not my father, or my parole officer."

"Thank God."

She put the coffee away and a few minutes started on one of the Big Macs and polished it off. She stared at me for a moment as I finished the last of my Big Mac."

"I gave you a hard on, didn't I? I could feel it when you carried me in here. For such an upstanding young man, you got pretty hard pretty quick handling an unconscious young woman."

"Purely physical. Had nothing to do with you. You're not my type. Not enough up top."

"A stiff cock doesn't lie."

"You're a pretty girl with a nasty mouth. Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't touch you. Too much chance of picking up some strange bugs."

She just shook her head.

"You are such an asshole. Are you sure you weren't born back in the 1950s?"

I just held my hands out, palms up in confusion.


"How many women have you fucked, Mr. McCarthy?"

"None of your business."

"I've had sex with 50 guys – and given out a few hand jobs. How many women have you had?"

"Still none of your business.

"I can remember eavesdropping on your father and mine talking about some of the scrapes you got in. I know you banged a lot and got a few women – including some married ones - pregnant before your dad got you out of it. I know you fucked a lot more women than I did men. Question. Have you ever been with more than one woman at a time?"

She stared at me and laughed. A low, musical laugh. Something about the vibration got me harder.

"Don't bother answering. It's in your eyes. Was it fun? Did you switch from one pussy to another, have three or four mouths sucking you at the same time? And I know you hated it. You fucking hypocrite."

'Who I fuck- and how many – is my business. And I'm a man."

She bounded up next to the bed. I braced myself. She still carried coffee and while I didn't think it was boiling anymore, it was still coffee.

"Bulletin, you big asshole. It's the 21st century. Women don't wear veils and walk behind their men. We fuck who we want to, when we want to. Just like men. And I, Deirdre Lancaster, as the only heir to an oil company, can fuck anybody I want to, standing on my head if I want to, and no one is going to throw rocks at me or light the pyre. I'd rather my father not know about this. But not because he's going to put me in a nunnery. Because he's my father and I'll always be his little girl and him knowing about that stuff would be – icky."

"I should still tell him. Just to keep you safe. You keep running around doing shit like this and one day you could wind up in real trouble. Why don't you just find some nice respectable businessman boyfriend who has a few friends and do your partying with alcohol and coke like everybody else?"

She moved closer and I stood up involuntarily, instinct telling me to watch out. She stared up into my eyes and said, "Could I see your driver's license?"


"I think you're really 50 and passing for 25. With a lot of surgery, I think you could pass."

I put my hands on her hips to move her back and froze. She saw it and smiled.

"I guess I could try to be as 'respectable' as you, but I'd really have to work at it. I've been hearing stories about you and your exploits - stories I wasn't supposed to hear about - for years. How many women have you gotten pregnant and your daddy had to pay off to have abortions? How many 'girlfriends'? So, how many? One hundred? Two hundred?"

"Who knows? Who cares?"

"Exactly. I've fucked – maybe – 50 guys. I like to fuck gangs of them at one time. But I'm a slut, and you're just a red blooded, all American boy."

"Yeah. I didn't make the rules. Letting yourself be drugged, pulling trains ... you're a slut."

"I get tested regularly and my guys use condoms. You ever get yourself tested?"

I looked at her face reddening in anger, the crimson of her lips and thought of her lying in a bed while cocks entered all of her holes in a rhythmic fucking and felt myself getting hard. I didn't let it bother me. It was like sitting in a hotel room with a porn star having seen her getting massively fucked. It was just a natural male reaction.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I get tested regularly even though I always use condoms since I grew up and developed a few smarts. I haven't gotten anyone pregnant in years, since my father beat some sense into me."

"You ever think about all those little McCarthys who might be running around now if your daddy hadn't been so quick to pay for abortions? Or if you'd been man enough to accept responsibility for your wandering dick? You ever think about what it would be like to play daddy, if any part of you was grown up except your dick?"

"Somehow those words of wisdom ring hollow falling from the lips of a whore still dripping cum."

A small smile played on those ruby red lips and somehow that pissed me off even more.

"Ooohh, I think maybe I hit a nerve, Mr. McCarthy. You ever think about them in the long hours of the night? Women are supposed to be the ones haunted by the ghosts of children who will never be born. Men don't care about that. Not real men. You're not – SENSITIVE – are you? It's okay. I'll keep your secret from your drinking buddies.

"No, I'm not sensitive. How many abortions have you had?"

An expression came and went so quickly on her face that I couldn't identify it.

"However many I've had, that's my business."

She was right. It was her business. And this conversation was deeper and more raw than I had ever had with a woman. I preferred my women light and air headed and their only interest in depth was how deep I could bury myself in them. All I'd been doing was a favor for an old man who'd been good to me and my father. All I needed to do was make sure she was in good shape physically and get her home.

Which I did an hour later. There was a parking area behind the main house between it and a series of guest cottages for special visitors and partying. A series of pools of varying sizes dotted the landscape between the cottages. It was near 1 a.m. and older types were in bed and the younger were still out partying.

She approached the nearest pool. It was relatively small, maybe10 yards long and five across, but it was at least 20 feet deep with frescos and a few small statuary scattered across the bottom.

"It is so fucking hot. Let's go in, McCarthy."

"Sorry ma'am. Not dressed for it and I'm ready to head to bed."

"You are sooooo old to be so young."

She threw me a look of challenge that if she had appealed to me at all, would have had me stripping down and in the pool. Fortunately, she didn't.

She stripped out of her top, slid off the bra that covered those small breasts topped with what looked like Maraschino cherries, pulled her dress down and followed with a thong like dental floss, revealing that, as I'd thought, she was a true redhead.

"Your loss," she said, laughing, then turning and diving into the pool.

She came up dripping and glistening in the lights over the pool. I found myself regretting that she wasn't my type.

"You sure?"

Jesus, but she was hot. If she'd only had more by way of tits. But...

The more I thought about it the more I realized I couldn't leave her out here alone. For all I knew, she had other guys she could call and hook up with. And then we'd be right back where we started. Not to mention that my name would be shit with Lancaster after he'd asked me to watch out for his baby girl and I'd lost her after learning what she was up to.

She splashed me. And then splashed me again. After the third time I slipped off my shoes and dove in after her. I didn't strip because there was no way in hell I wanted anybody coming out and finding me naked and frolicking with the boss's daughter. Not that I couldn't explain what was going on, but still...

Naturally she slipped out and up the far side of the pool. She leaned over the side of the pool and taunted me. Damned if her breasts didn't appear a lot more succulent dripping water off the hard tips.

"Why don't you try to come up and catch me, McCarthy? You're a grown man and I'm just a little girl."

I just stared at her, treading water in the center of the pool, my drenched clothes dragging and forcing me to tread with a lot more effort than I would have otherwise. She stood there shimmying which made her slim body shake in fascinating ways.

"What's the matter? Those big muscles might be nice for attracting certain kind of bimbos, but it makes it hard to move quickly, doesn't it. You're a behemoth, but quick little mammals can run rings around a big dinosaur like you, can't they? You couldn't catch me if you tried."

She expected me to try to climb out and then as soon as I had dragged my waterlogged clothes and body out, to dive back in and keep the game going. I surprised her by staying where I was.

"No sense of adventure, McCarthy? You like those big soft cows that throw themselves and their udders at you? Not used to dealing with anybody but bimbos? Well, I think I'll slip away before you can get out, call some friends and find a party. And you can explain to my daddy why you let me slip away when he sent you to keep me on the straight and narrow."

I looked into her beautiful eyes in that face set off by wild red hair and wished she was about ten years older. When she grew up, small tits or not, she'd probably be the kind of woman that got under your skin. But now she was just a pain in the ass.

"I'm not chasing you, Deirdre. If you want to jump back in and engage in some water games, I'm up for it. If you want to run off somewhere and fuck the night away, go for it. I'll tell your daddy what's going on and let him worry about you. If he wants to fire me, let him. I won't lack for work."

"You're no fun, McCarthy. I'll give you another chance, just to be fair."

She dove in and circled me like a silver, red-haired fish, laughing at me until I reached out when she came too close, grabbed a wrist and brought her to me. She fussed, but I put my arm around her waist, grabbed the ladder into the water and hauled myself out. I carried her under my arm toward the main house while she kicked, scratched, hollered and called me all kinds of bad names.

I stomped into the main house, squishing as I went, a red haired harridan screaming and hollering 'rape', 'kidnapping' and 'call the police'."

Butlers and maids and security men started swarming and when the first two big men grabbed me to force me to release her, I let her go. Many of the people here knew me, but she was the Lady of the Manor.

She was talking to a couple of the maids and getting ready to get out when Orion Lancaster, dressed in a evening gown worth more than most working men would earn in a year and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, walked in.

"What the hell is going on out here, Michael?"

"Daddy, he manhandled me and he's going to tell you a bunch of lies. Don't believe him."


"Can we talk privately? And have your men hold onto Deirdre."

When we walked into a library, he turned to me and said, "talk to me."

I told him the story and I could see the pain and shock in his eyes. She might think of herself as a grown woman, but she was still his little girl.

"Honestly, Mr. Lancaster, if she was just partying and screwing around, I wasn't planning on telling you. She's not doing anything that a lot of girls her age aren't. But what she's doing is dangerous. They're playing with date rape drugs and probably worse. Like I told the guys who were planning on partying with her, people make mistakes. Sometimes drugged women never wake up. It's dangerous for her to keep going on the way she's going."

"You swear you're telling me the truth?"

"On my father's grave."

Two security men brought her into the library. She had a hard time raising her eyes to meet his, but when she did I could see that she was his daughter. The same iron will, the same strength.

"I suppose he's filled your head with lies, daddy? And you believe him without hearing me out?"

"Tell me the truth."

She lowered her eyes again and then raised them.

"Alright. I was partying. I wish I could tell you I'm still your virginal 12-year-old daughter, but I can't. People grow up. I like sex. And I like men."

"You play games where you let these 'friends' of yours drug you into unconsciousness and then rape you?"

She stared daggers at me.

"It isn't rape. It's consensual. It's ... a fantasy. No one gets hurt. I date nice guys, students and sons of people running empires almost as big as yours."

He stared at her and I was glad I didn't have children. Nobody to break my heart.

"Do you always use condoms – in these games?"


The look on his face changed.

"So not only do you take a chance of dying by taking untested drugs, you risk AIDS and God knows what else."

She refused to answer him.

He walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands.

"You're the only thing I have left of your mother. You will inherit a fortune and a major company when I die. And you're willing to throw all that away for ... a few thrills in the bedroom?"

"I'm young. And it didn't have to be this way. You could have let Julian stay with me. He loved me and I loved him. I wouldn't be doing all this if you hadn't scared him away, if you'd let me pick my own man."

He tightened his grip on her face and she winced.

"The piece of shit made you kill your own child so I wouldn't know what was going on. He got a 16-year-old girl he was supposed to be tutoring pregnant. And I didn't have to scare him away. I offered him a flat million to dump you and go away and he was gone before the ink was dry on my check."

"He left because he knew you'd kill him if he didn't go."

"It doesn't matter. You're on complete lockdown. Security will accompany you everywhere you go, whether it's to the bathroom or to the movies or back to classes. You will be drug tested every day."

"You can't do that. I'm over 18, an adult. You can't keep me here against my will. I have rights."

"I can Baker Act you for up to 60 days, maybe longer, after drug tests confirm that you're a threat to yourself. I can get a friendly judge to commit you for six months for treatment and therapy at a private mental facility. There won't be any days at the beach, movies, barhopping where you'll be going. Choose. You can stay here and follow my rules and you'll be tutored by a fat old grandmother, or as God is my judge, I'll lock you up for as long as I can."

"You would do that to me?"

"To keep you alive, yes."

I barely had time to get my hands up before a whirlwind of nails and teeth descended on me. Fortunately, I outweighed her by a hundred pounds and it wasn't hard to keep her off me. The two security guys pulled her off me.

When they'd removed her, Lancaster looked at me and said, "I know she's royally pissed right now, but she'll get over it. Thank you."

"It made for an interesting Friday night, anyway."

I thought about making a late night run by some of my favorite spots and seeing if I could bag something for the night, but I wound up showering and hitting the bed. Somehow, I had the feeling that anybody I found would be just plain dull compared to what I'd already experienced.

Time passed. Another Friday. I had just flown in from Miami after four days of sniffing around rumors of an undiscovered oil field close enough to flood Miami Beach with oil if things went wrong, but it appeared to be just another of those will-of-the-wisp rumors that made the oil business funny, if frustrating.

I had managed one too-short, session with a very bilingual Cuban who was able to tell me what she wanted in two languages. I'd had about 12 hours sleep in 96 hours and I was living on coffee. My bed looked very inviting.

I was sacked into my condo on the Lancaster estate when I heard the knock at the door.

"Go away. I'm off the clock."

The knocking resumed. I'd kept in contact with Orion so I doubted it was from him. I opened the door. Deirdre stood flanked by two attractive women who attempted to play down the fact that they were carrying, but it was obvious. They looked to my eye like female cops, so they had to be security.


"We apologize for disturbing you, Mr. McCarthy, but Ms. Lancaster insisted on seeing you, the shorter blonde said. It was clear that this wasn't the most fun assignment they'd ever had.

"What do you want?"

"I apologize for trying to gouge your eyes out the last time we were together."

"Feeling bad about that now?"

"A little. Can we put that behind us?"


"I need a favor."

"I know I shouldn't ask, but what?"

"Can we go out and get a drink at Jax Beach. They've got some really cool bands playing there tonight."

"Are you insane? You think I'll take the chance of taking you out and losing you?"

"I give you my word, I won't try to run."

"That counts for a lot."


She examined the two women and said, "Nobody who takes me out has any idea about music after 1995 and they have no sense of fun at all. It's more fun staying in and reading."

I looked at the security women...

"This is okay with Mr. Lancaster?"

"He said he trusted you."

I could barely keep my eyes open and the bed looked so inviting. I never could figure out why I said yes, but I am sure that that was the start of the collapse of my life.

We drove down from St. Augustine on US 1. The closer we got to Jax Beach, the heavier the traffic got. When we approached the Beach community, it took 30 minutes to get through four blocks of partiers. I found a spot after paying a guy $50 for his spot in one of the walkways to the Beach. We were only two blocks down from a row of four bars and night spots, each one offering an array of bands.

I didn't hold onto Deirdre but she didn't bolt. I just kept an eye on her. We walked into the first bar which didn't have standing room only; it was more like breathing room only. You couldn't avoid getting a contact high by taking deep breaths.

After three beers and two runs by bands I'd never heard of, but which weren't too bad, Deirdre leaned over and said, "I have to go pee."

She made her slinky way through the crowd. I watched her enter the bathroom. I dropped a few 20s on the bar to settle our bill and made my way outside. I walked around to the back and walked back up the alley that ran the entire block. I passed four or five drug deals but when I got hard looks I just returned them and the buyers and sellers returned to their business.

I came to the back of the bar we'd been in. A tall shaggy blonde guy looked at me and must have recognized me. He raised his hands and made what he thought was a karate stance.

"Go away. She's not going to be available tonight."

"If you don't get your ass out of this alley, I'm going to hurt you."

I stepped into him and hit him as hard as I could in the nose. I felt a satisfying crunch and he fell to his knees. He held his nose and cried. Being hit hard in the nose when you're not used to it hurts. I grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet and sent him on his way. I stepped to one side and waited.

A couple of minutes later, a brunette in a miniskirt slipped out the door looking around. I stepped up behind her.

"Hi, Deirdre. Your friend is gone."

As I spoke I snapped a handcuff on one wrist and the other on my left wrist.

"What? McCarthy? What are you doing?"

She looked down at her wrist and exploded.

"Handcuffs? Handcuffs!"

"You wanted a night out. Now you can have it and I don't have to worry about you slipping off."


"You forget I'm older than you and I've hit a lot of bars, including this one. I know that that bathroom has an exit to the alley. I've used it. It wasn't hard to figure out what you planned. Were you really that damned sex starved you were going to sneak out to another orgy? With that zero?"

"No, believe it or not. He thought we were going to have sex, but probably not. I just wanted to get away from you and have one night to have fun without feeling like I'm a prisoner under observation. Now I expect you're going to drag me back home and narc on me to my father."


"Handcuffs. That makes it pretty obvious."

"It's up to you. We can go home, or we can listen to some more bands, have some drinks. I wouldn't mind that. But, like I said, it's up to you."

"The handcuffs stay on?"



We went back in and drank, listened to bands bad and good, she talked me out onto the dance floor and while we were dancing she flung her arms up high enough for everyone to see the handcuffs. It took a while for people to notice, but after a while there were cheers and laughing and the dancers started to clear a space around us.

"I need me a pair of those," I heard, and there were more comments of that general nature.

We kept dancing, drinking and moving from bar to bar. Finally at 4 a.m. when I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, I had to tell her, "I'm all in. We've got to go, or you'll have to carry me out."

She didn't object and within a half hour we were back on the estate. I called ahead and the two blonde security women were waiting as I drove up to my condo. I unsnapped the handcuffs.

"That was fun." Deirdre said. Her hair was swirled around her face, her face flushed, lips redder than crimson.

"Glad you enjoyed it. Now get out so I can get some sleep."

"Okay, but first..."

She reached over and placed her lips on mine. It was a soft, tentative kiss, but it made her seem like a different person for a moment. Then she opened the door and went to the security women. I got out and went into my condo and barely made the bed. I didn't bother undressing. I think I was awake for a half second after my head hit my pillow.

But even in that instant, I had a sudden bad feeling. Things had changed, and even if I wasn't quite sure how, I knew it couldn't end well.

I didn't see her for two weeks. I thought about her once in a while, and when I did I wasn't sure exactly how I felt about her. I was back in Jacksonville on a Saturday morning and at loose ends. I had no work, no plans. I drove out to St. Augustine Beach and walked the dunes. I felt oddly restless but I didn't know what I wanted to do.

I drove back to the Lancaster estate. I had a great dinner, ribs that literally melted in my mouth, roasted asparagus and the best crab cakes ever made. Lancaster had never spared any expense in making sure, if you were on his estate, your tummy was going to be happy no matter how the rest of you felt.

I sat on my bed and sipped at the quality Bourbon that was available in the bar, again courtesy of Lancaster's largesse. I didn't want to watch television, go out to the movies, head out for drinks and I didn't really feel like hunting fresh female companionship. It was unusual, but everybody has to take a night off once in a while to re-charge the batteries.

There was a knock at the door. I had a sudden intuition who it was, but if she wanted to go out again tonight I was going to have to pass. The mood I was in, I wouldn't be good company.

She stood there, dressed in scarlet short-shorts, a scarlet scoop-necked peasant blouse, looking like a walking flame. She held a paper bag in one hand and a stack of DVDs in the other.

I looked around for her handlers. They were there, as unobtrusive as they could be, but they were there.

"I'm afraid this is going to be a bad night, Deirdre. I'm not in the mood to party."

"That's good. Neither am I. I was hoping I could hang with you, smoke some weed, get drunk and watch some DVDs."

"I don't know."

"I promise I won't spit any hot coffee on you. I'm bored. Maybe if you smoke a little bit and get drunk, you'll feel better."

The story of my life is a gradual descent into the abyss. I should have declined her offer, but I said, "Come on in."

We smoked and drank and watched two movies that wouldn't be released until the next year, "Men in Black II" and "Jason X." One was okay and one sucked. We made bad jokes about the one that sucked. I realized that when she wasn't being a spoiled brat who liked fucking multiples of men, she wasn't a bad kid.

At some point during the night, she wound up curled against me. She felt good against me. I wasn't sure when she started rubbing up a huge erection, but there it was. I grabbed her hand and said, "Stop."

She looked up at me with eyes I'd never noticed were a brilliant green and asked, "Why?"

I couldn't come up with a good reason so I remained silent.

Sometime later she was sucking, licking and nibbling the head of my cock. I have had a lot of blow jobs, but at that moment I really thought I was the recipient of one of greatest blow jobs in the history of the world – if not the single greatest.

She put a condom on me, mounted me and rode me like a bronco. I had enough presence of mind to ask her if she was safe to fuck and she informed me that her father had had her checked for every STD in the history of the world and she was clean.

We rested and I realized that itchy restlessness that had hung over me all day had vanished. It could have been the alcohol or the pot, but I had a feeling it was her.

It was hard to hold onto my thoughts, but I managed to say, "This doesn't make any sense. You're not my type. Women like you don't appeal to me."

"Could have fooled me," she said with a grin. She bent down to go after my cock again and I grabbed and stopped her.

"Stop. I don't understand. What is happening?"

She climbed on top of me. We had AC but no ceiling fan so I didn't understand why her hair flamed about her in ever-changing patterns.

"I shouldn't tell you, but I will. I have placed a Geis on you. Think of it as an Irish love spell. When I was a little girl, my father would tell me how we were descended from the gods of the Tuatha De Danann, the Celtic deities of Ireland before Christianity. He told me at times I could wield magic."

She leaned down to kiss me and her green eyes glowed in the dim light.

"I have placed a Geis on you and you are mine forever. You will be my man until you die."

The rest of the night drifted away in memories of soft female flesh, plunging into female openings, climaxes each stronger than the last, and then oblivion.

I woke Sunday morning to find a warm bundle next to me. I rolled out of bed to go pee and she was awake and staring at me when I came back.

"You sorry you didn't go out?"

"No, but I have to admit, you kind of creeped me out."


"I didn't know I was bedding a witch."

She thought about it for a second, then burst into laughter.

"The Geis, Tuatha De Danann, all of that? You believed that?"

"It was all pretty – impressive. And your hair doing that floating thing, and your eyes glowing..."

She laughed again.

"I suppose being stoned out of your mind had nothing to do with all that? I'm surprised you didn't see leprechauns, or fairies. I've heard the stories of the Tuatha De Danann and the other Irish legends since I was a little girl. I was just having fun with you."

She rose naked out of the bed and swayed over to me.

"Does that mean you really think you're in love with me?"

"Don't push it. I'm just stunned that we wound up in bed together."

She turned and walked back to the bed and began to slip on her clothes.

"Okay, but next time you've going to have to come after me. I won't be throwing myself at you again."

Later that day I received a summons from Lancaster. I'd been expecting it. I walked into an open solarium centered on an Olympic sized swimming pool with glass walls that allowed a great view on the marshes behind the main house. There was a time, I'd been told, when the marsh had been dotted with clumps of oyster beds, but they had all been wiped out years before.

I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed at what had happened, but she was his little girl.

"Sit," he said gesturing to a pool chair. When I did, he just looked at me for a little while.

"I know what happened," he said. "I just don't know what, if anything, it means."

"That makes two of us. I don't know either."

"Is it just physical, or..."

I looked him in the eye.

"It's definitely physical, but she's gotten under my skin. I told her she's not even my type, but I've been thinking about her. More than I ever expected to."

"I'm not going to tell you not to see her. Honestly, I trust her more with you than anybody I can think of. I don't think you're going to use her, but try not to hurt her, if you can."

"I think you ought to be telling that to her."

'I think you can handle yourself."

"I used to think so."


It is early 2004, Orion has been dead a year from a sudden stroke, and Deirdre and I have been married for two years. She had gotten under my skin and I couldn't get her out. I still have a suspicion that she possesses magical powers because I've never been able to figure out how I could fall so hard and so fast for somebody who wasn't my type.

But I did. I always thought that when I married I'd probably keep a woman or two on the side because I could never imagine one woman keeping me satisfied. It didn't work out that way. We don't have sex every night when I'm home, but it's a rare week when we go three days without hitting the sheets. And I still do a fair amount of flying to various spots so coming home is always a party.

It's a good life, even though it's very different from anything I ever imagined for myself.

I have a wife, a job that now is more than a job because my work is for both of us, and I have learned that I want children. It just seems that now that we're both orphans, one or two chubby red-headed babies would make us a family and carry on for both of our families in the future. But so far, we haven't been lucky. We keep trying. It's a pleasant task.

Lately, though, there's been a faint undercurrent of ... something. I can't put my finger on it, but I think I've been spending too much time away from home. I had already decided that when I flew back home, we'd take a month's break on some tropical island, swim in the surf all day and drink tropical alcoholic drinks and spend all night making love.

I had been in one of the Russian Republics I'd rather not mention when I got an urgent phone call from one of Deirdre's assistants.

"Mr. McCarthy, I – I don't know how to tell you. Ms. Lancaster has been in an accident."

"What kind of accident? When? Is she hurt?"

"An automobile accident. She crashed into a power pole on I-295."


"Night before last."

"Two days ago? Why the hell didn't somebody call me? And was she driving herself? Why?"

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Why wasn't I called? Is she hurt?"

More silence.

"What the hell? Are those hard questions to answer? Talk to me. Was she hurt bad?"

"I – we were told not to contact you..."

"You were told not to contact me? Who the hell told you that?"

"I'm afraid I did."

I recognized the voice of Daniel Goldman, Deirdre's chief administrative assistant. I had met him many times over the past year since Orion died. Deirdre was the owner of the company - no Board of Directors - it was hers, lock, stock and barrel. But she didn't know the business and Goldman had worked for her father for five years before his death. So he handled the day to day operations. He was a hard man and he didn't suffer fools, but we'd always gotten along.

"You told them not to call me and tell me my wife was in an accident and in the hospital?

Who the hell do you think you are? She's my wife."

"I run Lancaster Oil at her direction and I'm also responsible for her welfare as the chief stockholder in the company. I made the decision not to notify you."

"What possible reason could you have to keep me in the dark about her condition?"

"I'm not going into detail about that. I had reasons. I have a doctor's warning to keep you away from her, and her direction that she does not want to see you."

"That's impossible."

"It's very possible, Michael. She does not want you coming back. If you agree to continue working on your current project, we'll maintain your current pay scale. If you try to come back, all your credit through Lancaster Oil will be cancelled and you'll be left broke and you won't be working for us any longer. Try getting out of the Soviet Republics with no money and no official backing."

"I don't know why you're doing this, Daniel, but you're making a damned bad mistake. One you're going to regret."

"Don't try to come back. This situation may change and everything will be explained to you. You'll understand. But if you try to get back to Deirdre, we'll stop you."

"Good luck."

Within a half hour I found that all my company credit had been frozen. I could borrow money from friends, but they'd probably find another way to stop me. So I went to an acquaintance in the government who'd already made a good amount of money on the suspicion of a possible new oil field and called in a favor.

In an hour I had flown out on an unregistered private jet taking a path mostly over ocean waters, first the Mediterranean, then the Atlantic and we flew south to Cuba. We spent 20 minutes on a Cuban airfield where I transferred to a helicopter and it delivered me to a Norwegian freighter bound for Miami. A short hop on a private plane dropped me on a small private airfield in North Jacksonville where a rental car was waiting. It's good to have friends.

I called Goldman. It was 9 a.m.

"Where are you?"

"Keeping tabs? Back in Jacksonville. Let me see her. I'm going to get in. Whatever is going on, I deserve to know."

"You're not going to want to, Michael. Trust me. Just give it a few days and I'll be able to tell you everything."

"Okay. See you at the hospital."


I hung up on him.

At 11 a.m. somebody identifying himself as Michael McCarthy entered the hospital and made his way to the third floor looking for Ms. Lancaster's room. At 11:05 somebody else identifying himself as Michael McCarthy entered the hospital looking for Ms. Lancaster, managing to elude hospital security and was spotted approaching from a different direction. And at 11:10 a third Michael McCarthy made his appearance and took hospital and Lancaster security on a merry chase.

At 11:20 a nurse wheeled a patient in an oxygen mask on a gurney into the Lancaster room. Lancaster security descended like a swarm of angry bees on the nurse, who apologized for the mistake. While she was doing that, I sat up, slipped off the oxygen mask, and placed the barrel of a Colt Python in the back of the nearest security man.

"If everybody is real calm, nobody has to get hurt. Get the hell away from my wife, Daniel."

He had been standing at her bedside. I saw her as I saw him. Her face was swathed in bandages, but that flaming red hair wasn't covered. Our eyes met and I saw surprise and shock, and something else.

"Deirdre, what's happening? Daniel tried to tell me you didn't want to see me. Talk to me. If your – face – got messed up in the accident, you know it doesn't matter. I love you."

Then I saw the tall man standing next to her and holding her hand. I'd never seen him in person, but I'd seen a picture of him from the days when he'd gotten a young girl pregnant. He had long hair down to his shoulders and a diamond stud in his left ear. He looked like a matinee idol or rock star, not an English tutor. And he was holding my wife's hand, while I'd had to con my way into her room. Something was wrong here.

"Gutman, you asshole, get your hands off my wife."

There were three security men, besides the one who had stiffened with the barrel of a Colt Python in his back. Daniel made a gesture and they closed in on me.

"Don't be stupid, Michael. You pull that trigger and you'll wind up in prison. Don't throw your life away."

"Okay, you're probably right."

I brought my knee up as hard as I could between the legs of the security man in front of me and pushed him down. The closer of the three men swung but I leaned over, caught his wrist, heaved him on top of the gurney and kicked it away. The gurney made it out the door with its unwilling passenger before I heard the sounds of machinery crashing into passersby.

The bigger of the security guys lunged at me, arms wide to grab me in a bear hug. Obviously he figured the safest way of getting me down for all of them to take a crack at was using the weight of his body to bring me down. I tried not to break his jaw but I whacked him pretty good with the butt of the Python.

I wheeled around and found the last security guy coming straight at me arm out like a running back. I feinted left and when he moved in that direction I got past him and had the Python barrel snug under Daniel's chin before any of the men after me could lay their hands on me. I didn't see but sensed everybody coming to a sudden halt.

"Don't, Michael," he said while holding his hands up and out in a silent command for everybody to avoid doing anything stupid.

"You keep everybody back and I won't do something crazy like blowing your brains out. But you never can tell, Daniel. You guys have been pushing and pushing and I feel like pushing back."

Everybody froze. After a moment I said, "You're not going to keep me away from my wife. I don't know why you're trying. I don't know how that asshole Gutman wound up in here."

"Maybe I can explain," came a voice from behind me. I looked back and saw a six-footer, slim and dressed stylishly, standing in the doorway. He wasn't in hospital dress or carrying a stethoscope but everything about him screamed out, 'doctor.' His hair was a silver gray without one hair out of place. On second thought he looked more like a Hollywood actor playing a doctor.

"I'd love to hear your explanation."

"I'm Dr. Mayfair, your wife's psychiatrist, Mr. McCarthy. Two nights ago she suffered a traumatic head injury when her car hit a power pole. The facial injuries probably won't be long lasting because she threw her hands up at the time of the collision when she smashed into the windshield. But she suffered a concussion and, we later learned, amnesia as well.


"A particular type of amnesia. She knows who she is and most of her basic memories are intact. What she's lost are the last three years of her life up to and including the accident."

"Amnesia? Is this a bad Movie of the Week?"

"It's a very real phenomenon, Mr. McCarthy, regardless of how it's been portrayed in lots of bad movies."

"The last three years? So, she doesn't remember..."

"Anything about you, your marriage, your time together. The death of her father. That part of her life has been wiped away."

"But she remembers him," pointing to Gutman who was grinning at me.

"Yes, Mr. McCarthy. She remembers him as the person she loved in the last period she remembers. She called for him when consciousness returned and became very disturbed until he could be found and brought to the hospital."

I stared at her where she held his hand as if he were the only thing keeping her from being swept away in a storm.

"Okay. She forgot about me. But she's known me a lot longer than three years. And you must have told her that we've been married for two years."

"She doesn't remember you from the past. She was shown your picture and told what had happened. But ... she didn't react well. You have to remember that she awoke to a world radically changed from the one she remembered. She became so agitated that I suggested that her staff wait at least a few days, maybe a week before allowing you to see her. To give her time to adjust to her new reality. Extreme agitation could actually cause the amnesia to worsen."

"Could you take that barrel out from under my chin," Daniel asked, touching the barrel very, very carefully. Then...

"I know you from the past few years, Michael. There was no way in hell you'd stay away if I'd told you that the doctor said to stay away from her until she was feeling better. It was heavy handed, but I thought if we tried to keep you stuck in Eastern Europe, it might give us some time to get her and you adjusted to what's happened."

He smiled at me.

"Stupid of me, I guess. I knew you were hard headed, but I forgot that you've been involved in dicey and illegal actions since you were a teen. It would be hard to pen you up, but I didn't think it would be impossible.

"Look, Michael, regardless of how pissed off at me you are right now, I hope you know I did this because the doctor said she needed time away from you to get better."

I kept the pistol where it was and turned back to Deirdre.

"Is all this true, Deirdre? You don't remember me and even thinking about me is causing you upset?"

"Yes, Mr. McCarthy. They told me we were married and showed me pictures, but it's not real. I don't remember you, remember getting involved with you. I don't know why I married you. You don't even appeal to me. I can't imagine your touching me, much less..."

She closed her eyes and her voice rose.

"Please, get him out of here..."

Mayfair said, "Get him out. Her blood pressure is spiking. We can't afford anything that might impact on her brain and nervous system. Now."

"We need to go," Daniel said.

"Okay. But Deirdre, they told me you didn't remember me at all after you woke up. Is that true?"

She opened her eyes.

"No. I have no memory of you at all."

I handed the Python to Daniel, butt-first and let the security men manhandle me out of the room. There were uniformed police waiting for me. Daniel motioned to them.

"This was just a little misunderstanding, gentlemen. There's no problem and I apologize for calling you out here."

When they had left, Daniel said, "I'm going to hold onto this," gesturing with the Python, "although I know you can come up with more. You're free to go, but if you return to the hospital, I will have you arrested for assault on my security personnel and trespassing. Don't come back to the Lancaster estate. You'll be escorted off. Your employment with Lancaster Oil is terminated. Your pay is terminated. I'm sure you'll land on your feet."

I shook his hand.

"I appreciate you not filing charges and letting me walk away. Let me know if there are any changes, or if her memory comes back."

"You'll be the first to know."

I walked out of the hospital accompanied by an honor guard of three security men. I looked back one time.

Right now all the odds were against me, but I had one advantage. I knew she was lying, which meant this whole amnesia story was a crock. I wished I didn't know. I wished I could believe she had really lost her memory and MY Deirdre might someday return to me.

But now I knew that was only a hopeless dream. I was going to have to learn to live my life alone.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Heterosexual / Fiction / Cheating / Violent /