Chapter 1

Akron, Ohio

The smoke oozed through the room as if it were a rational being. It so filled the space breathing became labored. Light was so limited by the black haze that it became difficult to see the next table without the light spill from the stage. The lack of light did, of course, obscure the ratty furnishings and decaying walls. The peeling black paint of the walls and ceilings also helped to hide the dirt and spills on the unpolished wooden floor.

The stage was simply a few boards of plywood set on concrete blocks. On each side of the stage pillars of speakers reached the ceiling. Reverb speakers were tilted upward to reach the back ceiling. The drums were set on a second step of the stage in a precarious balance that amazingly allowed the stage to shake without falling apart.

"Some people call this atmosphere," thought Paul through his growing headache and burning eyes.

The pounding amplified bass from the band created shock waves that could be felt in the deepest part of the body and inundated the senses. The bass hid the lack of talent exhibited by the lead singer whose sole job seemed to be to scream obscenities into the microphone without moving the lyrics more than 3 notes from an off-key "C". The drums reached back to the base rhythms generated by the natural progression of propagation.

A look around the room gave notice that the music was having the desired effect. Urges were bubbling up from the group's primal being. Couples on the dance floor were so lost in the pagan sensations that their wanton dance almost became fertility rituals.

The combination of alcohol, tobacco smoke, marijuana smoke and barbaric sensual rhythms created an atmosphere of enhanced sexual tension and reduced inhibition. Each man became the man he dreamed he would be, and each woman became the goddess of desire she knew she was. The artificial barriers of society that restrain nature began to break into a thousand insignificant pieces as the natural drives that propagate mankind began to resume their rightful place. The dance became an orgy of raw nerved movements. Cleavage became exposure. Touching became stroking. Clothing became superfluous. Dance became sex.

From this magical fog, she materialized. Her eyes came first. Those eyes, oh God, those eyes! The blue, so deep that it reinforced itself as a thousand opposing mirrors, drew men's eyes and hid the slight stagger of too much tequila in too short a time. Around those eyes were long curled eyelashes that were framed in a face reflecting a perfect blend of intelligent exposure to the sun and flawless skin. Her nose rounded to counterpoint her eyes, and rested over thick well-formed lips of liquid red. The skin flawlessly merged into a long sensual neck and faded into the loose curls of golden hair that reached just below bare shoulders.

The dress of a blue matching her eyes snugly fit to a body designed to stop traffic. The top of the dress visually went from open cleavage to covered breast without notice in a manner reminiscent of nudity, but with much more excitement and mystery. The smooth flow of her waist flared around a solid 5'8" frame, and highlighted muscles gained in obvious hours of exercise. From the waist, the dress continued to barely cover hips so beautiful they should have never been covered.

Out of the bottom of the dress her two bare legs seemed to be as long as she was tall. The tan on the legs eliminated the need for stockings or any other enhancement. Her modest high heels caused her legs to tighten those already impressive shapes into an almost airbrushed perfection.

As she passed the table, she tripped just enough to lose her balance. Paul quickly reached out to support her elbow and prevented the rest of her fall. "Looks like you need to set down for a moment or two," he suggested.

"Yeah, guess you're right," she replied in a deep raspy voice that melted Paul's heart. "You mind?" She inclined her head to one of the two empty chairs at Paul's table.

"No, please make yourself at home." Paul stood and helped her to the chair closest to him. "My brother was just called away by his baby sitter to an emergency at home. His daughter is sick, so I am alone for the rest of the evening. I'm Paul. You alone?"

"No, I'm here with my twin sister. This must be sibling night. Her divorce finalized this week, and we went out to celebrate. She's doing more crying than celebrating, though. I'm Cindy."

"I am not crying!" came a slurred voice from behind Paul. "I just got a nasty reaction to the smoke. Got any cigarettes, Sis? I gotta smoke in self defense."

"Heather, I thought you quit smoking when you married Bill. You even badgered me into quitting. You made me quit, now I'm not going to let you start again."

"Shit! Nothing worse than a reformed smoker!" she said in exasperation. "Don't hold that against me. Cin, that was before Bill screwed me in court. God knows he didn't screw me in bed. That mother fucken butt fucker just beat the hell out of me. I'm so desperate. I haven't been fucked in a year. I can't stand it." Just then, Heather seemed to notice Paul setting in front of her.

"Hey Stud, how big's your dick?"

"Heather," shouted Cindy. "You can't talk to people like that!"

Paul turned to look at Heather. She was almost a duplicate of Cindy only with a pageboy haircut. She wore a white shift that would have been a little more conservative than Cindy's except that a spilled drink had turned part of the top of the dress translucent and showed the outline of perfect breasts. He tried to be gracious without staring or stammering.

"Why don't you join us, Heather? I'm Paul." Paul stood and reached out his hand.

Heather turned a bright red in the face, knocked his hand away, and hissed, "Paul, uh, are you a Goddamn butt-fucken fisherman?"

Paul was stunned at her change in mood. All he could get out was "What?"

Cindy broke in; "Heather's ex husband is a fundamentalist TV preacher. Every time she hears the name Paul, she remembers that she walked into Bill's study in church, and caught him with his dick up the choir director's ass. They called it going fishing. Of course, in divorce court both men denied that it ever happened. The judge was a right-wing fundamentalist Republican and believed the brothers Bill and Paul.

"They claimed Heather was doing everything up to and including selling her body to buy drugs and alcohol and that when they confronted her with her affairs, she made up the story. They had witnesses from the congregation talking about the cross Brother Bill had to bear with that Jezebel who tricked him into marriage. In fact it went so bad that Heather lost Bill Jr., her son, and has to pay child support and alimony to Bill."

Paul, somewhat stunned from Heather's attack and the explanation for it, tried to get back into to a lighter mood. "I am sorry this happened to you, Heather. Why don't you call me something else, your choice."

"How 'bout Stud?"

"If you want, but don't take that to be a measure of my performance," Paul replied still trying to keep it light.

"Fuckin' story of my life, poor performers," came the reply, as Heather sat on Paul's lap, reached her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips. "Shit, if I'm going to be called a slut, I might as well get something out of it. Right, Stud?" She went back to the kiss, and her tongue probed Paul's lips as she pulled his head to her. He finally opened his mouth, as Heather's tongue explored his mouth.

In self-defense, Paul returned the probe with one of his own. After several minutes of the embrace, Heather swooned "Oh shit, Sis, this boy can kiss." Without warning, Heather's hand reached between Paul's legs and grabbed hold of the growing bulge in his Dockers. "Oh yes, we have a winner here. We've got to take this boy back to the hotel. He's gotta have 12 inches down there. I want him in my mouth, between my tits, up my cunt, and up my ass. Let's go! I'm gonna fuck his brains out! Come on baby you're worth getting a beating for. I know men like to beat their women when they take their pleasure, but I bet I could get some pleasure from you too."

People around them were starting to turn their heads and look at Paul with some disgust. Violence against women was one of Paul's pet peeves. Paul was offended and somewhat embarrassed. "Wait just one damn minute! Listen kid, I don't know where you are coming from, but I don't do violence with sex or any other way unless I have to. I may be some kind of chauvinist, but a man who beats a woman is not a man. I am a man!"

"BOY, you can say that again!" cried Heather.

"Thank you, Heather. Why don't you let me buy you a cup of coffee, and we can talk about sex when you have the presence of mind to do something about it and know you are doing it. Let's put this discussion off till then, OK?"

"Are you saying you don't want to fuck me? You're queer, ain't you," shouted Heather as she reached behind her to unzip her dress. "Is there any man here with enough balls to fuck me? I gotta have it!"

Paul quickly took her hand away from the zipper and tried to calm her down. "Heather, I don't think you want to do that here."

Heather shook her hand out of Paul's grip and slapped him across the cheek. "Get your fucken hands off me, queer boy!"

Cindy's quiet voice came through the noise, "I am so sorry, Paul. I hope we did not ruin your evening, but I think I had better get Heather back to the motel. She is a little under the weather. I'll go call a cab."

"No need to do that. I was leaving anyway. I'll drop you off. Where are you guys staying?" Paul asked.

"Some little place called the No Tell Motel over on South Main. I live out of town, and came to help Heather get through the divorce. When Heather was thrown out of the rectory without any clothes or money, she had to go somewhere cheap until we could find an apartment and get her set up."

"Tell you what," replied Paul, "that is a bad part of town in daylight. After her display of charm, I would not feel right about you having to take Heather to that hotel at night. She might get thrown in jail for soliciting. I have extra guestrooms at my place. Why don't you let me take you home."

Cindy's distraction created the chance for Heather to unzip her dress and uncover one bra-less breast. When Heather heard Paul's word, her mood seemed to change back to friendly as she squealed, "Oh boy, I am gonna get fucked by that big dick! Let's go, Stud."

Cindy was a little more cautious. "Heather, zip up your dress!

"Just because my sister is having a bad time, I am not going to let you take advantage of us. Heather is not like this normally. She is no slut. No way in hell are you going to get either of us into bed!"

Heather interjected, "That's ok, there's more room on the floor anyway. We'll need the room if Cindy is going to help me fuck your brains out. You got a hot tub, Stud? How about a pool?"

Paul hugged Heather and said, "I have both." Then he turned. "Cindy, I do not need to seduce drunks in bars. My offer has nothing to do with sex. My brother just went through something like this in the other direction and lost prime custody of his daughter. I know what she is going through, so I feel sorry for your sister.

"You obviously don't have a lot of money or you would not be staying where you are. Let me do my good deed for the day, ok? My house is very safe, very big, and there are several rooms. If you wish, you won't even know I'm there."

"Well, OK, but don't you even think about getting to Heather like some male dog going after a bitch in heat. I won't let it happen."

"Listen, what part of non consent do you not understand to be rape? I am not a rapist! I do not violate people who cannot help themselves. You sure do make it hard to show how real Christians work. We are not all hypocrites like your Brother Bill."