Chapter 34

The tall, stiff backed brunette woman, strands of gray threaded through her bobbed hair, her face handsome if a bit dour, asked Harry, “The president wanted to know your purpose for him giving you complete access.”

Harry pulled his new novel from his shoulder bag and handed it to her. “I’m a writer doing research. I have a reading which brings me to Yale, and while here I wish to explore the inside of this great institution for my next novel, thus the timing.”

Her smile made her much more attractive. “He was curious as am I,” she said. “You have very important friends.”

“Friends are important,” he grinned.

“I heard about this book and I admit I’ve been curious.”

“Keep it.” He told her when and where the reading was and she promised to be there. She handed him the letter, his permission slip. “Do you have Professor Oglethorpe’s schedule by any chance?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, copying it off her monitor.

He had a map of the Yale campus and the schedule for the semester and he and Leonora sat in the commons dining room and looked it over. Of course the gorgeous Leonora was noticed, but it was a pretty, Jewish looking brunette who approached them.

“Are you Harry Lynch by any chance?” she asked.

“Guilty as charged,” Harry chuckled. “How did you know?”

“You played that villain in my favorite show. You looked enough like your sister, who’s like my favorite actor, to see if you were. I googled you to confirm, and then you ended up being this writer too and you’re doing a reading in New Haven.”

“How do you know all this?” Harry asked.

“It’s why I went to your reading,” Leonora said. “It’s in the press release your publisher sent out.” She took out her phone and found the release, showing it to Harry.

While Harry read it, Leonora invited the Jewess, introduced as Barb, to join them. “Can I bring my friend?” she asked, and Cara, a shy woman of mixed races, Asian and African mixed with Caucasian, as pretty as Barb with remarkable hazel eyes joined them.

“You seem upset,” Leonora noticed.

“I thought my publisher wanted to keep mum about my acting,” he said. “My agent must have contacted my sister, who he’s friends with.”

“She’s quoted,” Leonora nodded.

“It’s just weird how things have changed,” he muttered. “How secrets get let out all of a sudden. While I was incarcerated, she kept me a secret. And then my publisher and my agent seeming to want to disassociate me from my acting. And suddenly it’s all here in a press release. It’s sensationalist, isn’t it?”

“And it seems to be working,” Leonora agreed. “At least anecdotally.”

“You are quite remarkable,” Barb confirmed.

“A forty-six year old wunderkind,” Harry chuckled. “So what are you two ladies studying?”

“Comparative literature,” Barb pouted, “though I’m not sure that’s what I want. But now that I’m a junior I guess I’m stuck.”

“Then why choose it?” Leonora asked.

“Because what I want to major in, this school doesn’t take all that seriously.”

“Which is?” Harry asked.

“Media studies. I think that’s the future but this school sticks its head into the past. I glean what I can from what they offer, but more and more I’ve skipped over electives that I need to take, so maybe once a year I take a class that really interests me.”

“You’re at Yale,” Harry pointed out. “You can get into anywhere.”

“That’s true, but I’m impatient.”

“To say the least,” Cara said.

“And you?” Harry asked.

“Prelaw if you can believe it,” Barb smirked. “Imagine her a Clarence Darrow.”

“It’s not all trial lawyers!” Cara complained. “There’s research and writing and...”

“How did you meet?” Harry asked.

“A class on transgressive literature,” Barb explained. “Cara knew every writer, probably could have taught the class herself. I just loved her passion.”

Both seemed to blush at that.

“I ... just think the law ... it can be a weapon ... like the ACLU ... or like Thurgood Marshall with the NAACP ... like shouting against power ... but making them listen ... and ... I think we can be better at it. Like every victory ends up a compromise ... and maybe the truth can be convincing so it can win out in the end ... instead of two steps back all the time.”

“If anyone can it’s you,” Barb smiled warmly at her friend.

“Yale doesn’t seem the most liberal of institutions,” Harry pointed out.

“Who better to learn from than the enemy?” Cara pronounced boldly.

“Would you mind me trailing with you to your classes?” Harry asked.

“Me? Uhm,” Cara murmured. “I don’t know if that’s permitted.”

Harry showed her his permission.

“You know the president?” she asked.

“Indirectly,” Harry chuckled.

“I’ll go taunt Oglethorpe,” Leonora smirked, grabbing the piece of paper with his schedule.
“Can we meet back here?”

Everyone agreed on six o’clock.

Harry enjoyed shadowing Cara, and her shyness gradually disappeared, replaced by the beginning of a friendship. A few of the students recognized Harry. Most were surprised Cara was bold enough to be accompanied by him. None of the professor’s appreciated his presence, but the letter told them to get over themselves.

Perhaps the best part was a gathering of fellow prelaw students in a conference room in the library, Cara’s study group. Both before and after they met, Harry asked them about life at Yale, both classes and dorm life. He invited them to the six o’clock dinner to continue the discussion.

After eating the dinner which Harry bought, they went their separate ways, Cara agreeing to meet with Harry in the morning for him to see those classes which met Tuesdays and Thursdays.

In the hotel room on Harry’s publisher’s dime, Leonora set up a monitor with a camera in it on a table that would film them, pulled back the covers on the king sized bed and stripped naked. A keyboard beside her brought her live to her website.

“Welcome all you horny intellectuals,” she started. “Tonight we begin something different for you, a series featuring a wonderful, multitalented and, as you will soon see, quite handsome man. He has generously allowed me to accompany him on his book tour, so each episode shall be a different town, beginning with New Haven, Connecticut. Harry Lynch!”

Harry climbed into the bed wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. “Hey beautiful,” he said, kissing her.

“So tell us Harry why we’re here,” she asked, her hand on his crotch already revealing hardness.

“Besides being in bed with Mistress Leo?” he grinned.

“Besides that,” she smirked.

While he advertised his novel and the tour, Leonora had images cut in of the book’s cover and of the tour schedule. She questioned him about the book’s content and origin, and other questions came up on the monitor, a couple mentioning his part as a villain. “Let’s leave his acting for another episode,” Leonora said. Others wrote in requesting sexual things, some of which Leonora obliged, like fingering herself and Harry going down on her. She went down on him as well, but kept her ass in the way of the audience seeing his cock. Harry essentially kept clothed, albeit with an obvious hard-on beneath his pants, since he’d entered the bed commando. He did, in the end, fuck her, but with a dildo and his mouth on her nipples. Her cumming essentially ended the broadcast.

As soon as she shut off the camera, she removed his pants and covered his cock with a condom and rode him. He flung off his shirt and enjoyed the motion of her breasts before quieting them with his hands and then his mouth.

Once she yelled out her orgasm, she lifted off his cock and took the doggy style position. For a while, instead of reinserting his cock, he applied his mouth to her cunt, and only switched when she neared cumming again, and she soon came when he plunged his cock in. He continued fucking her and she continued cumming until he finally did too.

She joined him in the bathroom where he got rid of the condom, and they shared a shower before going out into New Haven exploring. They found a quiet jazz club and settled back with drinks, but made an early night of it, wanting to wake up fairly early. They actually rested in bed, Harry writing on his laptop and Leonora reading his book which she’d read nearly half of already. They shut off the lights and nestled together, Harry wearing the same clothes in which the webcam had been shot, but instead of being nude, Leonora wore one of his t-shirts.

In the morning, they had breakfast with Barb and Cara. “You going to go tease Oglethorpe again?” Harry asked.

“That letch,” Barb muttered.

“Exactly,” Leonora responded. “I actually bonded with one of his students about that very thing. Plots of getting revenge though unfortunately probably just for fun. You want to meet her for lunch, Harry?”

They agreed on 12:30, Cara included, though Barb, because of her schedule, wouldn’t join them.

“Is there a nice restaurant off campus where I could buy you guys dinner?” Harry asked. “Your study group included, Cara?”

Barb suggested a fancy steakhouse. “The lounge is a notorious upscale meat market,” she giggled.

“That might be interesting,” the novelist chuckled.

“And any vegetarian concerns, they have really nice salads too,” Barb added.

“I’ll make reservations,” Leonora volunteered.

“Let’s meet there at 6:30 whenever the reservation,” Harry decided.

“You want to scope out the lounge,” Leonora realized.

“Either before or after,” Harry nodded. “What are you going to do, Leonora?”

“Maybe check in with Bridgette, maybe ghost her like you’re doing with Cara or hang out at the library and read if that doesn’t work. But I thought maybe you could see her side of things being a philosophy major and a sophomore.”

“Tomorrow and Thursday,” Harry agreed.

“What about Friday?” Cara asked. “I have my longest class then, and it’s a mock trial.”

“I just need to be in Southhampton around seven,” Harry said.

Leonora looked it up on her smartphone. “About three hours.”

“That’ll just work,” Cara grinned.

“Cool,” said Harry.

A statuesque, full figured blonde greeted Harry and Cara when they arrived at the commons for lunch. Harry could see what caught Oglethorpe’s eye, because Bridgette was plentifully female, with a beautiful rounded face. What Harry could tell of her body reminded him of Peg, that classic cheesecake look.

“She’s brilliant too,” Leonora whispered into his ear.

“That obvious?” Harry asked.

“Just a gentlemanly glance,” Leonora softened the blow. “And a bit of popping of the eyes,” she giggled.

Harry purposely brought out her brilliance, asking Bridgette about her current studies which had her talking about phenomenology, which, though Harry hadn’t read a lot of philosophy, more surveys rather than in depth, had caught his attention at one time. Of course her understanding of it went well beyond his, and he enjoyed being educated by her. They both were reluctant when it had to end.

“You’ll be at the dinner tonight?” he asked her.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she smiled. “Free dinner.”

Harry chuckled.

Of those students who joined him for dinner, only Bridgette brought a date, a handsome first year graduate student in business with the smooth attitude of a salesman. Harry disliked him immediately, and not because it made Bridgette unavailable, though the attitude ended up making her all the more available. He disliked the young man because he was an arrogant cad, showing his stripes by hitting on Leonora.

But Harry bit down his dislike because he wanted to know this man who could be a model of the main character of the book he’d been researching. So while Leonora was a distraction, Harry essentially drilled him with questions.

After dinner, which Leonora had managed to reserve for six-thirty, things got moved to the lounge. It was then that Bridgette nudged Harry aside while both watched her boyfriend sit next to Leonora.

“He’s an asshole, isn’t he,” Bridgette said.

“What are you doing with him?” Harry asked, gesturing for her to sit at a smaller table.

A waitress approached wearing the classic white shirt and black slacks. “Put all the orders from the large table on my tab,” he told her, to which she nodded. Harry ordered bourbon straight up with water back and chose Makers Mark when the waitress listed them, and Bridgette ordered a white Russian, sighing when the waitress walked away.

“I’m underage,” she told Harry.

“She would have carded you,” Harry replied. He saw that the waitress was actually carding the large table, all of whom were old enough.

“Christopher’s a smooth talker,” Bridgette finally explained. “And look at him.”

“Unfortunately he’s no stranger to a mirror,” Harry said.

“Why were you interviewing him so much? I mean you’d glance at me and ... it wasn’t like you were fascinated or anything.”

“Believe me, you’re much more fascinating. I really enjoyed talking to you at lunch.”

“Me too,” she smiled. “So why?”

“Research,” Harry told her. “Chris reminds me of the main character I’m writing, a narcissist and a user.”

“He used me,” Bridgette realized.

“How did you meet?”

“He caught my eye while walking on campus and had the perfect funny line to get me interested. Some bullshit about exploding the myth of the dumb blonde bombshell. He got me talking about me just like you’re supposed to. He had his own room. He’s got a great body, lacrosse at Rutgers. I never witnessed him socializing all that much except for the stupid joshing with his roommates. We’ve mostly fucked to be honest. Eventually whatever pillow talk we had was all about him.”

“And the fucking?” Harry asked.

Bridgette laughed. “About him too. He’d get me off at first, looking proud about that, but eventually it was all about blow jobs and him lasting longer because of it, though not always lasting long enough so I’d fake it.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. But him going after Leonora right off the bat even if it was obvious she was with you.”

“Probably figuring she could do better than an old fart.”

“You’re not though. I’m generally not into older men, but there’s something about you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry grinned. “Tell me more about Heidegger.”

While they talked, Harry always fascinated, he followed the transactions around him, the phenomenon of pickups of these higher class and often proper people. A slow night for it, but still happening.

Eventually, three drinks in for Bridgette, two for Harry, Leonora walked over to him and leaned into his ear. “You can use the hotel room. Christopher wishes to show me his room.”

“Okay to drive your car?” he asked and she handed him the keys along with giving him a quick kiss.

“Bridgette,” he said to the voluptuous young coed. “Am I being presumptuous, or...”

She moved her chair beside his and kissed him. “Let’s go,” she said.

He waved the waitress over and paid the bill, giving her a significant tip. “Any left are on their own,” he told her.

“Thank you!” she cooed at his generosity.

On the walk to the car, Bridgette a little unsteady but not completely inebriated told him, “I think Cara is jealous.”

“Oh? I thought her and Barb were together.”

Bridgette shook her head. “I think they’re both bisexual, but Cara’s the more enamored.”

“Are you bisexual too?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. Did you want to invite them too?” she giggled.

“To be honest I’ve been living a weird life lately where more than one woman in bed isn’t all that unusual.”

“You are a sexy man,” Bridgette responded.

“But tonight is about you.”

“I appreciate that,” she giggled.

When they reached the car, Bridgette commenting, “Nice,” and Harry responding with, “It’s Leonora’s,” he told her about his open relationship with his wife and that part of it was taking a picture of the woman he intended to be intimate with.

“Go ahead,” Bridgette agreed, and leaned back provocatively on the car.

Harry sent the photo, and Peg responded with a text saying, “Oh my. Enjoy.” Harry showed that to Bridgette making her giggle.

“Can I see a picture of her?” she asked.

“When we get to the hotel, and I’ll show you our lover too.”

Which he did, and the drawings as well, Bridgette wanting one done of her.

“You need to be in the proper frame of mind,” he grinned and kissed her.

He discovered she was very good at kissing and pretty much everything having to do with sex. A great blow job in which she swallowed, and he surprised her by kissing her after. An extremely responsive body, Harry enjoying the exploration, the soft resilience of her flesh, from her full breasts, to her brownish pink nipples that stood higher than most, to her abdomen and inny navel, to her legs, the thighs bordering on thick, and finally to her pussy, smaller than anticipated on her voluptuous body, the pubic hairs shaved at the edges and trimmed other places, and a clit both sensitive and somehow able to receive at least some direct contact. Her pussy juices smelled and tasted divine, and seemed to have a potency to them as if her pheromones were particularly powerful, although it might have been her writhing responsiveness, and her body seeming built for sex doing the writhing.

Fingers added after her first orgasm found a narrower passage than expected, echoing the smaller than expected slit, making him wonder about penetration.

After another orgasm and approaching a third, all quicker than he normally experienced, she begged him to fuck her, and his cock, surreptitiously covered already, introduced itself to her damp cunt, wetted by the abundant moisture before he carefully pushed into her tightness.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Slow.”

“You’re tight,” he told her.

“You’re bigger than any I’ve had,” she said. “Just take it slow.”

“I will.”

They both watched the slow disappearance and reappearance of his shaft. The advantage he had was her abundance of natural lubricant. Opening up didn’t hurt her. The opposite actually.

“Oh god Harry. Oh fuck. So fucking good. Keep fucking going. I want all of that big fucking cock. Fuck Harry. God!”

She actually climaxed before he’d entered her fully. Her interior pulsed and shimmered around his cock, and while she’d become lost in it, he pushed all the way in and pulled out, seeming to intensify the orgasm.

Once deep again, and despite the narrowness he felt no cervix, he ground into her.

“Oh god Harry,” she murmured. “You’re all the way in aren’t you?”

“I am,” he grinned. “Feels like heaven.”

“Me too!”

He kissed her and her arms and legs wrapped him, pulling him even closer. Eventually they loosened, letting him begin the thrusts and retreats of a slow fuck, although the kiss remained. As the fuck proceeded, his thrusts gradually quickening, his finger experimented rimming and penetrating her anus, and that too was remarkably sensitive. Soon he was fucking all three holes, his tongue curled and thrusting between her clinging lips.

Eventually she needed her mouth free to let out gasps, moans and expletives, and Harry too found himself climbing to the heights of pleasure, just managing to hold back for her intense and loud orgasm, his name stretched out as her exclamation of ecstasy.

His cock remained deep as she once more held him tight to her, making it easier for him to hold her and for them to turn over.

“Harry,” she murmured, her head on his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Marry me?”

He laughed. “You’re a very sexual being aren’t you?”

“I am,” she admitted. “Thus ending up with that asshole. Are you ready to draw me?”

“I am,” he said and carefully extracted his penis while she rolled onto her back, her legs spread wide.

“How’s that?” she asked while he retrieved his pad, his penis still covered.

“Just a second.” He propped her head on a couple pillows giving more substance to her tits with her closer to sitting up. Her hands went above her head as if surrendering. “Perfect,” he said.

He drew her quickly as he tended to do, kneeling at the end of the bed. Her gaze looked both sated and wanting more. Once finished he handed it to her and went to the bathroom to remove the condom and clean his cock, already hardening again.

“I love it,” she said when he returned. “More fucking?”

He lay beside her, head to the foot of the bed. She clued in, straddling his head and taking his cock into her mouth. Once fully hard, she grabbed the condom packet on the bedside table, rolled on the condom and settled slowly onto his cock, again letting it slowly penetrate her. And once fully in, she rode him slowly, Harry enjoying the view of her torso, but especially of course the contorting of her tits when she bounced. Stilled with his hands, his mouth soon joined them, again accelerating her pleasure because of her almost universal sensitivity, and accelerating her ride because of it, until pleasure removed any restraint and she bounded atop him until she stilled and shivered, her still tight cunt electric with its pulsing. It had been a much quieter fuck, mostly heavy breaths, a growl this time expressing her ecstasy.

Once the orgasm abated, she lifted off him. “You’re still hard,” she pouted.

“And will be for a while.”

“I think I’m starting to get sore.”

“I thought you might be.”

“I can suck you if you want.”

“Of course I want,” Harry chuckled. “It’s up to you.”

Peeling off the condom, her mouth embraced his cock. She really was great at it, though not to the point of being able to handle him in her throat. It took a while, and she was almost methodical about it, fisting him to let her mouth rest, but lips remained on when he warned her, “almost there.” Her lips gave him their fastest and hardest rubs across his glans while she fisted his shaft and bobbled his balls, everything needed for him to release his semen into her mouth.

After she swallowed, he borrowed from the overpriced items in the fridge, fixing her up with a vodka and cranberry juice and him with just cranberry juice.

They relaxed on the bed, sitting up facing each other.

“Tell me about yourself,” Bridgette asked.

“You first. I’m curious how things are going with how sexual you are.”

“Not as well as I thought being in college would be like. I had a boyfriend when I was in high school. We took each other’s virginity and were very much in love. His parents were cool with us experimenting, so we had a place. And experiment we did, and we ended up discovering how much I love to fuck, maybe even more than he did. But he was a year older than me, a junior when I was a sophomore when we first started dating so almost a couple years with him, but he ended up getting a scholarship at Stanford a million miles away and we decided it was best to just end things, being practical I guess.

“I was pretty wild my senior year, even sneaking into student events at Johns Hopkins finding a college boy to sneak off with.”

“So you’re from Baltimore?”

“Yep. My mom got back into nursing and my dad’s an admiral.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Part of the reason I’m an only child was my dad was off at sea a lot and my mom didn’t want to be stuck with any more than one child to take care of alone. Once he became admiral it was bit late for another kid, obviously.

“Anyway I thought, college, more of the same, but maybe I got serious with school or Yale was filled with arrogant assholes or silly nerds or I got sick of sleeping around. Freshman year was a serious dry period, but I’d get horny such that I almost thought about taking up with Oglethorpe.”

“He couldn’t be all that ugly considering Leonora fucked him.”

“He’s handsome enough, but he’s such a letch and has a reputation of having students fuck him for grades.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah. Worse than being a slut, and I don’t really care about that fucking double standard. Luckily me and my old boyfriend ended hooking up all summer. I mean we still love each other, but it was more practical than anything. We were each other’s best fucks after all.”

“So Christopher was fear of another dry spell,” Harry speculated.

“Probably yeah. Not to worry, one of his roommates is kind of cute.”

“How many roommates does he have?”

“Sorry, housemates. Some home just off campus probably bought by some alumnus for graduate housing or something. They even got maid service there so it’s not some complete mess most student houses would probably be. But yeah, one of the guys was kind of checking me out, but not like the other assholes there and not so much into their masculine camaraderie. Since Christopher traded me for your lady, he has no right to give me shit if I go after his housemate like I would have preferred to do anyway.”

“How is this hook up supposed to happen?”

“Hmm. Good question. I know what room he’s in. I suppose I could buzz him, but like I said, he’s cute, so he might have hooked up already, though he does seem on the shy side.”

“What’s he studying?”

“I’m not sure. I see him reading texts with all sorts of complicated looking equations, but that could be anything from physics to engineering. I don’t remember ever seeing the cover. I suppose he does have that nerd vibe of social awkwardness.”

“The opposite of Christopher.”

“The residents of the house all seem to have different studies, but they’re all graduate students which seems to be the only criteria. Maybe need? Like a financial consideration? Christopher never talks much about his family because maybe they’re too middle class or something. You’d think there’d be pride with him climbing a rung or two to a potentially higher class, and one thing Christopher’s not lacking is pride.”

“I don’t know if I see pride or even self-confidence disregarding you for another notch on his belt.”

“What do you see, because that’s all I see in overabundance?”

“Which defines arrogance. But I see arrogance as a weakness, like a bully hiding cowardice. I mean, for all appearances, he’s an idiot pulling that shit on you, a beautiful and brilliant woman, not to mention wonderfully oversexed. But maybe he senses you pulling away, and instead of trying to make it work, like for instance communicating with you, he takes the easy way out by making the first move, however cruel, which tells you his character.”

“Lacking in sympathy.”

“Like it’s a weakness, something he thinks gets him away from what he wants.”

“A perfect corporate raider.”

“Or conman.”

“Confidence man,” she nodded. “You’re confident.”

“An artist has to be to motivate creation, having the nerve to express himself, to think his unique expression could be meaningful to the world. But what keeps it from being arrogance is what happens in between those expressions, having the humility to absorb things, to know that there’s things you don’t know and be always eager to learn, to be sensitive, even vulnerable, to what’s going on around you.”

“I can see that about you and how you are with me when we make love, probably more than anyone else I’ve been with except maybe my first lover.”

“It reminds me of mine,” Harry told her. “We also explored, which had a lot to do with my sexual education, keeping open to whatever might work instead of letting repression or male ego or whatever get in the way.”

“Christopher’s mistake was the male ego trying to be in control when it would have been better if he gave up control and opened himself up to my needs.”

“It’s obvious that it’s a lot easier for a man to cum than a woman, so her desire takes precedence.”

“But,” Bridgette realized, “you did have control in that you have the skills to make women cum.”

“I could say the same for you and your amazing blowjobs,” Harry chuckled. “But I think it’s more nuanced than that, because every woman is different, so in a way you do remain in control in what I can find that pleases you.”

“I guess that makes sense. Every blow job isn’t the same. But there’s something I’m curious about. You said an artist needs to be sensitive and vulnerable. How does that work for a man who’s been in prison for over two decades?”

“Osmosis,” Harry said. “It took twenty-five years to absorb things through my thick skin. Maybe that’s why it took so long to be a novelist. All I had was my drawing and to a much less extent acting. Maybe I took the opposite tack of being at my most sensitive when I was performing my art, what I learned slowly, what I absorbed being expressed, and I had to open myself up to the expressing.

“Perhaps it was a sudden explosion of vulnerability when I was released, like a bird in a too small cage to suddenly be let free to fly.”

“A particularly large bird,” Bridgette smirked.

“Six and a half foot wing spread,” Harry agreed. “An eagle I suppose.”

“Definitely a raptor,” she chuckled.

“I hope you don’t...”

“I’m here because I want to be here, Harry, just like Cara wants to be here. You’re an alluring man, a very sexy man. I think your wife...”