Chapter 30

After making love to his wife and joined by Chrissy by the end, the three finally relaxed in Peg’s bed.

“So, Jenny?” Peg asked.

“More friends and less benefits,” Harry said. “I think the two tough lesbians have welcomed her into their bed. I worried that would be more of the same for her, extorting sex for work, but she genuinely likes them.”

“But I bet she’ll still need cock,” Chrissy decided. “And she definitely favors yours.” Illustrating it was her favorite as well, she moved down to his penis and began sucking, much missed and wanting more of it.

“When did you talk to her last?” Peg asked.

“Thursday morning,” Harry admitted.

“Harry! Call her.”

“It’s late,” Harry reminded her.

“Two hours earlier there,” Peg returned, getting out of bed and getting his phone.

“Harry!” Jenny yelled when she answered the phone. He could hear the sound of the bar. “Give me a second.”

He waited and heard the background noise disappear. “You’re in Minnesota, right?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, I should be sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“I know. How’s it going?”

“Really great! Heather’s almost convinced me I won’t be dependent on the kindness of assholes.”

“I hope she’s right, but I hope you’ll still be my Velda.”

“Of course,” Jenny giggled, the first hint of her possible drunkenness.

“You’ve become a regular at that round table,” Harry asked.

“I guess so, but I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Oh?”

“When Genna practically had to carry me out, she told me how she nursed a drink. I guess she’d been where I’d been, but holding court she needed to be at least somewhat sober. But I learned I tend to drink things down without thinking, so I switch to tonic without the gin. I guess I’m ready to switch, probably should have already, but I’m okay.”

“Good.”

“I’ve never really been a bar girl. Too vulnerable, you know? I guess I feel less vulnerable, so it’s revealed something about me I didn’t really even know. That I can’t handle alcohol all that well. I think my mom snuck drinks and got tipsy, probably another reason my dad got rid of her. Maybe I’m like her more than I thought.”

“Not a great thought,” Harry responded.

“Not the way she treated me like I was supposed to be her brother’s whore or something. She really was a bitch.”

“And you definitely are not,” Harry insisted.

“Thanks. I miss you.”

“I’ll be back Wednesday night.”

“Maybe I could pick you up instead of Melly.”

“I’d like that. I’ll text you the time.”

“What’s going on?” she giggled. “I hear I hint of a moan.”

“I just got home,” Harry reminded her.

“Chrissy?”

“How’d you guess?”

“She just seems more the type to blow you while you’re talking to one of your girls. Tell her I intend to return the favor.”

“I will,” Harry moaned.

“Enjoy,” Jenny giggled and ended the call.

When he set aside his phone, Peg commented, “That went well.”

“Yep,” Harry moaned, pulling Chrissy’s pussy onto his mouth, suffering his semen inside it, but not all that much. Her sweet taste soon took its place. Peg simply settled onto her side and watched. Harry had already gone above and beyond sating her missing him. She did gently stroke herself, because it was hot watching him pleasure their girlfriend, which he did for at least a half hour, fucking Chrissy into oblivion from behind in the end, and him too with him passing out soon after.

The next day, Harry visited Marisol at her dorm, his young Indian lover introducing him to her shy blonde roommate, a little on the plump side but cute, and others on her floor. He saw that nobody could quite figure out his relationship to her, Marisol introducing him as her benefactor, but couldn’t disguise how intimate she felt about him. They toured the theater building next and he met other students, not many since it was Sunday and still early in the semester. The dance building followed. Apparently she had a movement class there. She poked her head into one of the studio spaces and must have been waved in because she pulled him inside. An older student, blonde and a little on the thick side, but very pretty and even charismatic especially when she smiled at Marisol, tilting her head, worked on choreographing other older students, a mix of both genders and races, five in all. She went to a laptop and shut off the sparse jazz music with a complicated time signature.

“Maybe you could deal with the music, Mare?” she asked. “I’m Lindy by the way.”

“Harry,” Harry said.

“I know,” Lindy gave him that smile with tilted head.

“Show me what to do,” Marisol said.

Lindy showed her how it worked and what she should do with different spoken cues and nods.

They spent a couple hours at Lindy’s rehearsal before Lindy called quits.

“I’m starved,” she told Marisol.

“I’m buying,” Harry volunteered.

After putting on warm-up pants and an untucked chambray shirt, Lindy stashed her laptop in a bag and was ready to go.

They headed to the commercial area of the West Bank and decided on Korean, both cheap and delicious Harry decided.

“How do you know each other?” Harry asked.

“Lindy teaches the movement class,” Marisol explained.

“You’re a teacher?” Harry asked Lindy.

“As a grad student,” Lindy said. “MFA.”

“They have a masters program in dance?”

“It gets deeper, beyond the BFA I got at Goddard. Things like kinesthesia, arts administration, movement theory, more analytical history, sort of more seriously academic. But also I’m required to create short form pieces for a concert my first year and a full length piece for my thesis at the end of my second.”

“And what were you working on?”

“An exercise really with complex rhythms. They were all seniors and actually invited me to work with them. It’s for an impromptu concert, something the seniors wanted to throw together mid-semester. It’s sort of a joke.”

“Seemed pretty serious.”

“That’s the point. It’s supposed to devolve into something more fun, like them saying, fuck this hard shit, let’s get loose. You know, jazz dance, hip hop, line dancing, ballroom, even burlesque,” Lindy laughed.

“So how far are you along?” Harry asked. “Sorry if I’m interrogating.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be working on my long form piece this year, though I’m not sure what it’ll be. I have a few ideas, and I do have a composer friend. He composed the music you heard and played it along with his mad friends. Jazz is his strength but I’m not sure if that’s what I want.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. I’m too white? And the long form. I’m more Merce Cunningham than say Agnes De Mille. Abstract rather than some story ballet or something. I’ll figure it out.”

“Harry’s great at advice,” Marisol grinned.

“Any ideas?” Lindy asked.

“What comes to mind is starlets and #me too,” Harry shrugged. “Kind of pervasive lately.”

“Hmm. Timely. You were just in Hollywood.”

“Not my favorite place. When it’s not abusive it’s manipulative. Every actress I know has dealt with casting couches.”

“Even your sister?”

“Yep, but thankfully just at the beginning of her career, and it probably stalled a bit because she wasn’t willing to repeat that disgusting moment. This villain I just played had three minions, essentially brainwashing them, like a pimp but worse, a Svengali I guess. But all three women were still being victimized.”

“Why couldn’t they fight back?”

“It’s complicated. Two of them are escorts, essentially trying to afford life between acting gigs. The third has a history of S and M porn.”

“Makes sense.”

“Doesn’t make it any better for them.”

“Just makes it harder to fight back.”

“Impossible basically. The no means no defense is a lot harder to defend with shady backgrounds.”

“No doubt. I mean, you’re not saying actresses are a bunch of prostitutes.”

“No. Coincidence I think or maybe what the producer prefers who recommended them. I’m working with someone now who is anything but a prostitute and is going through her own shit. My sister definitely isn’t. I’d say it’s the exception rather than common, circumstances notwithstanding. But who knows what starlets end up doing when their hopes are dashed?”

“All attractive women, and it’s not enough.”

“Yep. Even talent isn’t all that’s needed. It’s something intangible combined with looks and talent.”

“Which Harry has in spades,” said Marisol.

“You too, Princess,” Harry returned.

“Princess?” Lindy asked.

“I’m his Indian princess when I’m not his Indian slut,” Marisol smirked.

No offense taken, Lindy laughed loudly instead. “You really are something else, Mare,” she said.

“She definitely is,” Harry agreed.

When they finished eating, Lindy asked, “Could you give me a ride?”

“Of course,” Harry replied.

Having a car available, Lindy asked to do some shopping. At the supermarket, Harry noticed the two ladies conferring quite a bit. He found out why soon enough.

Lindy lived in a house, like many in South Minneapolis, built before the depression, so a hundred years old, a two bedroom with sturdy walls to defend against the cold, hers the bigger one, the other occupied by a beautiful Mulatto woman who looked much more like a dancer, slim and tall.

“Harry, meet Lana,” Lindy introduced them. “She preceded me in the MFA program and hopefully in professional work.”

“You’re in a dance company than?” Harry asked.

“Waiting for Lindy to graduate and start our own,” she smiled.

A blond man on the short side with a scruffy blond beard emerged from a door leading to the basement.

“And this is Larry, the composer I told you about,” Lindy explained.

“Harry,” Harry said.

“We’re L cubed,” Lana smirked.

“Now that your curiosity is sated, excuse us,” Lindy said.

“I’ll finish putting away the groceries, Mistress,” Lana bowed.

All three housemates laughed.

Lindy led Harry and Marisol to the bedroom. “I’m going to shower first,” she said. “Enjoy yourselves.” She closed the door behind her.

Immediately Marisol embraced Harry. “God I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Princess.”

“I missed your tongue most,” she giggled and began to strip.

“And my tongue missed your sweet cunt too,” Harry chuckled and stripped as well.

She beat him to nakedness and spread her lanky body open for him which he soon enjoyed, delaying the promised tonguing to enjoy her embrace and kiss, and she embraced him with her long legs, and genitals pressed and rubbed, moistening and hardening.

The promise of entrance the rubbing suggested would wait for that first promise, Harry finally, slowly, kissing his way down to her pussy, skipping it to tease her and enjoying her thighs before reaching where she wanted.

“At last,” she moaned.

Her orgasm arrived fairly quickly and he delayed the next one until he finally fed her his cock and a few strokes in that second one arrived.

She urged him to turn over afterwards for her to ride him, and Harry learned why when another naked pussy moved atop his mouth. He’d glanced at Lindy and saw a solid body that was beautifully built despite the thickness, with perfectly formed moderate sized tits and a strong, firm, full ass.

The ladies leaned towards each other, sharing kisses and caresses, Lindy even lowering to lap carefully at Marisol’s clit, but mostly her fingers strummed her there, especially when Marisol became rushed and chaotic bringing forth yet another orgasm.

After that, and Lindy had cum on his tongue at the same time, she moved off him and spread open wantonly as Marisol had done at the beginning. Marisol lifted off his cock, found his condom stash since she was familiar with it, rolled the condom on, and led his cock to Lindy’s more than ready slit.

She remained between the two fuckers, kissing Lindy and caressing her nipples and clit while Harry thrust at medium pace within a pussy that seemed built for his cock, the walls pressing but not impinging, the cervix just whispering of contact.

By the time he felt the irresistible urge to cum, thankfully Lindy felt the same, and when Marisol gave her space to breathe, she pulled his lips to hers for their first kiss, intense but without tongue, until she pulled away in order to let out an extended growl reflecting her profound orgasm, and Harry pushed deep at that moment, no quick thrusts needed, and let the milking of her pussy draw out his ejaculate.

“Wow,” Lindy murmured.

“Told you,” Marisol smirked.

Harry lifted his deflated penis from Lindy’s sopping cunt carefully and found just enough room to roll onto his back.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he murmured.

“You’re not...” Lindy started.

“He’s fine,” Marisol said. “Just curious.”

“You tell him then. I need to catch my breath.”

“So Lindy came up to me after my first class and wanted to know if I was a dancer,” Marisol began. “I did take ballet when I was a kid.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry said.

“Why would you? But there was this group of little bitches in the class probably prompted by their mothers that told me no brown skinned injun should be dancing ballet.”

“Helen Twelvetrees,” Harry shook his head.

“I wish I knew about her then,” Marisol agreed, “but I just told my mom I didn’t want to dance anymore, just that it wasn’t as fun as I thought. But that was back when I was ten, so not since then.”

“Dancers pretty much dance continuously usually since they’re young,” Lindy continued. “Partly training the body and partly getting obsessed. Starting at eighteen can be ... difficult, but she does have this wonderful body.”

“Not just for dance,” Marisol giggled.

“I admit I was attracted, a lot of it I admit was how exotic you are to me. Not so many Native Americans in New England. I guess I was fascinated, wanted to know everything about you. The more I learned the more I liked.”

“Same here,” said Marisol.

“So we’d chat after class, it being our last class, we could spend some time. We became friends.”

“Yep.”

“So one time she’s complaining about her roommate.”

“She’s cool, but way too straight,” Marisol explained.