Chapter 5

After a shower and for me a shave, Becky and I went out for lunch and to pick up steaks for dinner. When we got back the message machine flashed.

"You didn't tell me the chick had been murdered!" said Kenneth. "I got what I could from the Hilo police. It looks like a reporter named Danielle DeMarco plans on blowing the lid off the story and make a name for herself. I noticed it's been, to say the least, under reported. I'm e-mailing her info in case you want to help her blow it up. What else did you fail to tell me? E-mail me."

Going online, I went to Kenneth's e-mail with the reporter's address. I copied it and opened up files he had attached. It included police photos and Medical Examiner photos of the body. They took forever to download, their gruesomeness slowly revealed. "Oh shit," said Becky when the crime scene photo filled the screen. "Do you ever get used to it?"

"Never," I said.

I e-mailed Kenneth about Roger's disappearance with apologies for my distracted lack of thoroughness, noting he stumbled onto the murder without my guide. He probably already knew about Roger.

He had and e-mailed me back. Roger's current boyfriend Anders had filed a missing persons report when he hadn't heard from Roger in several days.

"I can't believe how fast he got the information," said Becky.

"The guy's a genius, there's no denying it."

"Got a camera?"

"Of course. I'm a PI. I got a darkroom too. I can only develop black and white though. Why?"

"I want to give Ken a treat. Grab a camera and let's go upstairs."

I grabbed my Nikon and a tripod from the closet. I handed them to her and grabbed a couple lights. Upstairs I set the camera on the tripod focusing on the bed and began setting up the lights. Once on, angling them equally on either side of Becky, she took over. "Lay down Joe. You got any filters for the lights?" Not needing professional images I didn't. While adjusting the lights at more extreme angles, one at 90 degrees and the other fairly close to the camera, she stopped to think.

"I've got it," she exclaimed and rushed out of the room. She returned with a high backed wooden chair from my dining area.

"Can you get the other one?" she asked.

When I returned with it she'd taken down the transparent blue shower curtain with rod and held it in front of the light near the camera.

"Set it here," she pointed. She balanced the rod on the chair backs and lowered the light. "Perfect. Got a light meter?" I extracted it from my camera bag and handed it to her. "Lay down." She checked the light from each side of my face. After making adjustments to the camera, "I like your wide angle lens."

She stripped to bra and panties. "Give me one of your dress shirts," she commanded.

Moving about lithely and giving me seductive expressions subtle enough not to be parodies, she eventually rid herself of bra and then panties and then shirt. "How many shots left?" she asked.

"Five," I said.

"Perfect. I want a shot of you clothed and one naked. I want two of us one naked kissing and one looking at the camera. Then one of Moe's portrait."

The portrait waited for us to sate our horniness. After a sixty-nine, edging towards climax, she jacketed my cock and I pounded her into the bed, both of us cueing the other to our impending climaxes. I reached it first, thrusting through it until she wailed her own. We held each other tight trying impossibly to enter each other's skin and become one, our mouths crushed together chaotically. Physically unable, psychically we melded.

She dressed only in my shirt while I loosely tied my light cotton robe around me, my shiny wet penis appearing through the gap from time to time. After adjusting the light so the camera didn't get its reflection, she photographed the portrait.

We headed to the darkroom and worked together to bring the images to paper. The shadow fill of the filtered light made every curve of her face and body delectably enhanced. She knew more than me about the developing process as well. "My first long term lover made love to me with his camera before we got physical," explained Becky.

"What happened?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

"Same scenario different girl."

"Girls. I knew and he knew I knew. Maybe we should have talked about it. Neither one of us wanted to lose the other. One day I saw the change."

"He no longer preferred you."

"I stopped visiting his studio where we made love most of the time. He called obsessively. Men are strange that way."

"We hate admitting defeat, even if we are the ones who give up the fight."

"Love is a fight?"

"We struggle with distractions and self worth and bullshit inner dialogues. We struggle with the truth. Even when the feelings die, we can't admit defeat. We hold on to what once worked well. We make the loss of love a slow death, a poison building in our system one grain at a time."

"How do you know?"

"I'm a man."

"But it doesn't sound like you."

"It's not darling. Don't worry. It once was though ten years ago. She's a friend now. She got me this house and Penny's."

"Do you still fuck her?"

"Not often. Every once in awhile we ... It's kind of weird ... We think of each other. One of us calls. The other somehow knows whose calling. We set up a date: dinner, clubbing and a night in bed. It gets a little kinky or crazy because more times than not we seduce an extra lover or two for the night."

"Thus the king sized bed," said Becky.

"How do you feel about that?"

"Are you asking if I want to try it?"

"Did any of your lovers ask about it? Did you exchange fantasies?"

"I don't think they wanted to risk it. It was hard enough starting a relationship. I suppose I acted like a prim and proper girl, a goody goody as George called it. I imagined it though when my boyfriends' eyes wandered to the backside of some girl. I ... I guess you'd say I was ambivalent. I might wonder what his intentions might be. Did he need someone new to enjoy our sex? Would he find another girl more to his liking? Not that our sex life ever seemed stale to me. We tried different things. When it started to get less frequent, I'd buy a new teddy. I definitely saw their lust when we went to bed. My last relationship did start to lose its passion I have to admit even before the stalker fucked it up permanently. If he'd still felt the way he had at the beginning, I think he'd have gotten over his fear of my fame and the horror it created. You heard about it didn't you?" I nodded. "Yeah, I blamed myself for a moment, but of course I had absolutely no reason to."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that."

"But then the whole thing turns on its head, the fantasy of bringing a girl into a relationship. It feels kind of nasty and tempting like a fudge brownie sundae. I imagine feeling soft flesh, exploring the difference between hard and soft, smelling the sweet smell of arousal from a different woman. Even imagining watching my boyfriend fucking some girl turns me on. I imagine staring into her eyes, seeing what I feel when I get well fucked. Watching her cunt foaming and filling with jism, although that probably wouldn't happen since he'd have to wear protection. Watching how her breasts bounce and touching them and caressing them and making her sigh. And crawling between her thighs and tonguing her and tasting her and bringing her to climax as her tongue finds me perfectly with the knowledge only a woman has and her soft clean cheeks never scratching and chafing. Oh fuck!"

My shaved face had to do as I slid her to the edge of the stool and lapped between her swollen labia and sucked her hard clit. My fingers entered her and found her g-spot, my tongue vibrated her clit. She squeezed her nipples and rocked precariously on the small stool.

"Lay down goddamnit," she growled, pushing me away.

Riding my cock, she moaned, "Don't cum in me."

I rolled her nipples as she rode me in a fury until seizing up and squealing.

Letting her finish her orgasm while under her, as it began to abate I coaxed her off me. My cock popped like a champagne cork and caused a complaining sigh until I placed her on hands and knees and took her doggy style.

Pressing her finger with mine above her too sensitive clit, my other hand gripped a breast as support. Slapping against her petite ass with steady applause, I stayed the course, coaxing another quieter cum from her, until my balls swelled with the threat of release and I pumped speedily thrice and pulled out.

Quickly she guided me to sitting against a cabinet and took my painfully engorged cock in her mouth. I didn't need much, but her new sucking skills made it better.

"Now!" I warned throatily. The explosive pulses of ejaculation shook me like the most pleasant electrocution ever. Having cum so much that day, I'm sure the lesser amount of semen helped her experience an easier swallowing than her first.

Once completing her liquid repast, she straddled me and we kissed with quiet hot lips and lazy loose tongues.

"Should I call my friend Kitty?" I quipped.

"Not tonight, darling. Sometime. Too bad you and George don't fuck. I'd be willing to pay. I want to spend the evening though like you do with Kitty and get to know her."

"It's a date."

Once the shots we chose from the contact sheet had been exposed and developed, we let them hang to dry and went back to training her to be me as a PI.

Nearing five o'clock, we dedicated ourselves to the case of the six murderesses. While in its midst she chuckled.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"I can't believe how insatiable I've been. I'm sore, but I can't keep from wanting more."

"Perhaps you're making up for..."

"No. It's ... I've never loved and lusted equally before. I want to be naked with you always."

"Speaking of which, we better clean up and dress before our guest arrives. We can pick this up later."

In the bathroom I realized Penny might enjoy getting to know Becky better. "Invite her," said Becky. "I don't eat much steak and you bought some mighty large pieces, so I'll share."

I left her to finish her cleaning (we used wet hand towels to get to the areas coated with the scent of pleasure having had too many showers) and called my neighbor. "Grant can throw something together for the kids," said Penny on the phone sounding subtly eager. "I'll make the salads. Anything you need?"

"I bought lettuce and tomatoes," I said.

"I'll fix that. Be over in a sec."

"Let yourself in," I said. She had a key to my house.

"Of course," she said.

I managed not to burn the steaks and even cooked them how my guests wanted ("I like 'em bloody," requested RJ and he seemed pleased with the nearly uncooked center.) and with Penny's perfect salad and RJ's expensive Beaujolais, we had a memorably satisfying supper.

Dinner conversation centered on Penny and the case which brought us together. RJ hardly had any stories to add. A sad one regarding the accidental drowning of a drunken friend that eventually turned into a hilarious yarn about less deadly carousing with the gentleman became a tangent from the real Penny's murder. His one and only experience smuggling marijuana came from the ending shootout at the airport. We had to stop eating for a minute to recover from laughter.

After dinner the ladies and gentlemen separated. I brought RJ upstairs ("It smells like a whorehouse in here," said RJ.) and introduced him to Moe.

"He definitely has a sadness about him like he shoulders the woes of the world," I said.

"I can see that," RJ nodded. "Tell me about his son."

"I don't know much. My stepmother Kim knew Moe best. He protected her and her sister before her sister got murdered. He sends her letters every once in awhile." I showed him the family picture from my wallet.

"She's pretty young for the old stud," said RJ.

Taking a breath, I said, "It's a long story."

"Hey kid," he said. "You know me and stories."

For the second time that day I told the little sister case.

"This whole thing with the Vietnamese family interests me," said RJ. "I like it as a back story. Maybe I went and got some girl pregnant and fell in love. She'd be considered a whore and her kid less than purebred Asian. But of course she's a sweet girl, a hard working girl, and I miss her and being father to my kid and I feel guilty about it. But the kid somehow does okay and we correspond. Maybe I hear the mom's sick and go visit and make it to her sick bed and I stay until she dies. I want to take my kid with me back to Hawaii, but he insists he's needed in Vietnam."