Chapter 5

The shiny black Lincoln turned into the unshaped driveway fronting Station KTPQ at exactly 7:55, just as it did every morning. As the car braked to a stop, the driver's door swung open and a short, fat puffy-faced man wearing a wrinkled black uniform and a chauffeur's glossy peaked cap stepped out and smartly yanked open the rear door facing the station.

Old Foster descended slowly, taking hold of the outstretched hand offered by the driver, but turned it loose as soon as one foot gained a firm hold on the pavement. The other leg was warped, shorter, with a turned-in foot - the result of a World War II battle injury - which he steadied with a gold-tipped cane.

Suddenly he straightened his long gaunt form and began hobbling toward the station front door, moving swiftly for any man nearing his 60th year, not including one with a handicap. Part of the reason for his seeming vitality was the fact that the old boy had been secretively taking hormone shots. At first he had been skeptical, but for the last three mornings with his bedsheets looking like a tent... and right in the middle was the finest tent-pole in the world... one any 20 year-old stud would be proud of. Of course, his new virility and vitality had been quite disconcerting to his closest employees - those who worked on the hallowed upper floors of the television studio. And this morning, he was determined to give them something to really talk about!

Inside, Foster chuckled to himself as he bobbed and lurched down a long wood-paneled corridor, announcing his arrival with a staccato tap-tap-tap of his cane. In front of one door, a cluster of chattering girls slivered abruptly before one summoned up enough courage to call out, "Morning, Mr. Foster!"

"Good morning, lovelies!" he shouted back, the granite-like features of his face breaking into a lecherous grin as he ran his hawkish eyes hungrily over their upturned breasts and pert little buttocks. Tap-tap-tap.

"Good morning, men!" he boomed to a trio of men hunched over their desks in the news room. "If you run across anything hot, send her in." The men looked up and forced a nervous laugh not really sure what the old boy meant but pretty sure he wasn't talking about a female - then returned grimly to the task of culling a stack of news reports on their desks.

Old Foster turned a corner to his personal office and noticed Andy standing nearby, obviously waiting for him.

"Morning, Sir. If I could have a word with you?"

The gray-haired station president studied the newscaster's face suspiciously without speaking.

"Mr. Foster, it's about Rudy Dayton, my sister's brother... If I could explain..."

Foster reacted as if cold water had been thrown in his face. He whacked his cane sharply against the door and glared at the brown-haired younger man.

"That upstart! That insolent..."

Andy's face reddened. "Sir, I can explain..."

Old Foster whirled and shouldered his way into his office like a wounded bull. He made it to his desk in four or five swift bouncing, half-leaping movements, then plopped angrily in a high- backed burgundy leather chair. As Andy entered cautiously, the tall gaunt executive waved for him to sit down.

"Well, Mr. Taberon, you were saying about that jackass of a brother-in-law of yours?"

Andy bit his lip and shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Sir... I'll only take ten minutes of your time."

"Five." interrupted Foster.

"Five minutes, sir. What I have to say..."

"Then say it, Taberon. You've only got five minutes."

Sweating uncomfortably under the steady gaze of his superior's steel-gray eyes, Andy summoned all his courage. "Mr. Foster, Rudy is sorry, very sorry for the way he spoke to you that morning. He wanted me to let you know."

"He told me to get fucked."

Andy gulped hard and his swallow was heard across the room. "Did he, sir!"

"Right in this very office."

"This office?" blurted out the flustered newscaster.

"Taberon!" exploded Foster, rising wobbily on one foot and glancing at his watch, "you've used up too much valuable time already!"

The bespeckled announcer was jolted alert. "What he said to you was unforgivable, Mr. Foster. It was plain crazy. But Rudy wasn't himself that morning."

"Himself? You mean there's times when he's worse? Impossible!"

"I mean... well, to be truthful, he's having problems with his wife."

"His wife?"

"I probably shouldn't mention this, Mr. Foster, it being a family thing, but that's why he wasn't himself. You see, his wife won't... uh."

The gray-haired television executive leaned forward, for the first time that morning completely at attention. "Won't what... ?" he asked softly.

"Won't... let him make love to her."

Old Foster slumped back in his chair, snorting, "What's the matter with him?"

"Nothing, that is, as much as I can tell," replied Andy nervously, his face turning a bright crimson. "It's just that his wife won't let him touch her as long as he's not working."

"Not working, you say? Well, there's damned little chance of it here."

"He would make a fine roving reporter, or a sportscaster. I'm sure of it. If you would give him a chance to prove..."

"He told me to get fucked."

"What he said was... rash," came back Andy, weakly. "He wasn't himself. When a woman holds back on a man, sometimes he's not himself."

The television executive sat studying the younger man in silence for a moment. Slowly he began to realize there might be some advantages in the situation for him. That young expert's sister was the sexy weather girl... Lola Dayton. Dayton had one very nice ass and too very nice legs and tits on her. Was she interested in getting her brother a job? Yes... it just might work out. At the thought of the delectable young girl, Foster felt his long dormant penis beginning to show some signs of virility. He twisted his hands together in front of him and finally said, "Taberon... you really want me to give that red- headed harebrain another chance?"

"He would make a fine reporter," Andy said quickly, "I'm sure of it."

"I wish I were," answered Foster somberly.

"But you will consider giving him a try?"

"I will consider it," replied the gray-haired executive. "See me again in two or three days..." He stood, supporting himself with one strong hand on his desk. "Now if you will be good enough to let me get some work done."

Andy got up and headed for the door. "Thanks so much Mr. Foster, I'll tell Rudy."

As soon as the door closed behind the young man, Old Foster left his desk and began hobbling back and forth, thinking. After a few moments, he glanced out the window, still lost in thought. Well, by God. There was really only one way to make sure the hormone shots were really doing the job. Give them a test-run!

He was breathing rapidly - panting, actually - when he pressed down the intercom to his secretary and said with deceptive gentleness, "Get me the weather girl on the phone..."

Andy headed straight for his office as soon as he left Old Foster. There were things to catch up on that he had been putting off for weeks, but most of all he wanted to phone Lola. She would be happy to know that he had convinced the station's president to give her brother a second chance.

He was humming as he entered his office and had already dialed the first three digits of Lola's number before his nose picked up the faint Jasmine scent of perfume that hung in the air.

Cradling the receiver, he whirled and saw Rudy's wife demurely ensconced in the black leather couch, an impish smile playing across her pretty face. A short navy blue skirt was hiked high, revealing the sleek curves of her nylon-encased legs, and she wore a sheer white satin blouse which fitted snugly across her lushly ripened breasts.

Andy paled and glanced nervously at the door. Abruptly he decided he wasn't going to go through the worry routine again, so he moved over to the door, locked it, then turned to face her.

What he saw made his jaw drop, his eyes widen. Just within that short space of time, the young housewife had risen from the couch and was unbuttoning her blouse... slowly and teasingly - like a strip teaser. Then, her eyes locked on his, she removed her blouse, let it fall carelessly to the floor.

"Andy," she said, hoarsely, "help me with my brassiere?"

"Denise," he said, his hands trembling. He knew he should tell his beautiful young sister-in-law to leave, to get the hell out. Instead, though, he found himself drawn to her, slowly at first, then his steps quickening until he was at her side, his fingers fumbling at her brassiere snaps, his entire body coming alive - heart pounding, penis elongating and beginning to throb in anticipation.

She caressed his shoulder and ran her fingers in little circles on his back under his cock as he removed her brassiere and tossed it quickly to one side. Then she arched her back slightly, letting him run his eyes hungrily over her proudly upthrust breasts.

Without warning, she pulled him to her and kissed him voraciously on the mouth. Then, she began flicking her wet little tongue in and out of his mouth as he cupped her nakedly offered breasts in his hands and began stroking and squeezing them.

"Harder, lover, harder!" implored the panting brunette, her breathing coming in short, quick gasps of delight.

Andy tweaked her spiked-out nipples and then began squeezing and kneading the soft resilient mounds of her breasts more vigorously.

"Yessssss... ohhhh... that's it!" pouted the pretty brunette.

Of their own accord, Andy's hands dropped and his trembling fingers began unzipping her skirt. As soon as it fell in a swirl of cloth around her ankles, he hooked his thumbs in the elastic band at the top of her white sheer panties and pulled them down over her flaring buttocks. He watched with bated breath as the nylon undergarment slowly revealed her dark-haired pussy mound before sliding down her firm young thighs and legs.

When she was completely naked, the ravishing brunette sighed and leaned back on the couch, pulling the older man with her. He crouched between her legs on his knees and began running his hands against her sleek inner thighs, holding them wide apart. The sparsely curling pussy hairs framing her little pink vaginal lips made a mouth-watering sight, and she watched with a small gasp of anticipation as he lowered his head slowly to the base of her belly.