Chapter 2

"My house is only a block away," I explained. "We can walk it."

"I got a awful big suitcase," she said.

"No problem. I'll carry it for you."

She hadn't been exaggerating. It really was a big — and heavy — suitcase. This was in the days before people had wheels on their traveling gear. We ended up walking down the (paved) alleyway with both of us lugging the suitcase between us. When we got there, it wasn't any picnic carrying it up three flights of stairs either.

"If I'd known you lived in a walkup, I could have just grabbed a toothbrush and left the suitcase back at your station," she said.

"No sweat," I told her. "It wasn't all that bad. In the morning, I can drive you back before I go to work."

"You work at that bus station all day Saturday?" she asked.

"No. Only part-time, four to nine p.m., weekdays and Saturdays. But I've got a morning paper route, too."

"Jeez! Mr. Industrious! Must cut down some on your high school hijinks," she said. But we were at our apartment's door and I didn't have to respond to her comment.

I unlocked the door and Mom was waiting for us in the corridor close by. I introduced her to Donna Johnson and lugged Donna's suitcase into my bedroom. We didn't have a guest bedroom, but Mom had already changed my sheets for our guest and had turned on a small bedside lamp so that the room looked cozy and inviting.

The room was neat and uncluttered, but it was decorated in such a way as to make it obvious that it was not a guest room, but my room.

Donna protested at once. "This is your room, isn't it?" she said. Then, calling down the hall to my mother, she said, "Mrs. McKinney, I can't sleep in Chuck's bed! Let me sleep on the couch. I'll be just fine!"

"Chuck can sleep on the couch," Mom told her. "You'll have a lot more privacy in there, and he'll survive all right for one night. Oh, and Donna, we've only got the one bathroom. If you've got to leave first thing in the morning, I suggest you might want to shower tonight and try to avoid the morning rush in there."

As usual, Mom had a light supper ready for me when I came in from work, and she'd set a place at the kitchen table for our guest. After she'd assured Donna that it was no trouble and that there was plenty of food, we both sat down to eat.

"This is wonderful!" Donna Johnson told my mother. "I didn't have anything since lunch in Chicago, and my stomach was grumbling about it by the time the bus got here, but I was expecting to have another two hours on the eastbound Greyhound before I could eat anything."

"I'm glad it hits the spot," Mom told her. "You know, this is the first time this has ever happened — Chuck's bringing someone home who missed a connection."

"There aren't that many people who try for a connection here," I explained. "We're just a minor stop on both bus routes. But the two lines do intersect here, so it can happen."

"I guess a hotel room would have been easier to get, most weekends," Donna said. "Chuck tells me there's some kind of local event going on."

"Yes," Mom said. "Canal Days. They celebrate the town's history, back when the canal was operating, oh, hundred-odd years ago."

"Closer to two-hundred," I told them both. "Early 1800s, it was, when this was a stop on a major canal route."

We sat around the table talking for a while, but just after ten p.m., Mom said she was going to get ready for bed. "It's been a hard week at work," she explained, "and I've been looking forward to catching up on some sleep. I'm not going to shower until morning. I have Saturdays off and can sleep in if I want to. I'll be in and out of the bathroom in minutes tonight, and then you two can clean up at your leisure."

After Mom went to bed, I encouraged Donna to go ahead and shower and prepare for bed next, while I checked out the Late Show on television. "I'll get some stuff out of my room while you're in the shower," I told her.

When Donna came out of the bathroom, she had a towel wrapped around her head and a thick, conservative robe around her body. Even in the robe, I could tell she had an incredible figure. I imagined her naked.

I imagined, naked, just about every woman I met between the ages of thirteen and sixty. It's something that seventeen-year-old boys are wont to do. But I imagined that Donna was truly superb, when naked.

She stopped briefly in the living room to say goodnight, and I maybe stared at her for a little longer than was, strictly speaking, polite. She was probably imagining that I was imagining her naked.

But if she was, it wasn't just her imagination.

Not long after Donna turned in, I showered and cleaned up the bathroom, brushed my teeth and laid out my outfit for Saturday morning — clothing I had retrieved earlier from my bedroom.

Mom had put sheets and pillows on the couch and I turned off the TV and settled in.

In the wee hours of the night I awoke and, feeling the urgent need to urinate, wandered into the bathroom in the darkness.

There was a nightlight in the bathroom, and I made do with that, knowing that turning on the lights would possibly awaken me too much and make it difficult to go back to sleep.

When I had relieved my bladder, I flushed the toilet and headed back to bed.

Unfortunately, I was still mostly asleep at the time, and habit sent me across the hallway from the bathroom and into my own darkened bedroom.

I climbed into my bed and settled in comfortably.

"Who's ... Chuck? ... Is that you?"

I heard the female voice from very nearby and awoke — completely — with a shock.

"OmyGod!" I said. "Oh, Jesus! Oh, I'm so sorry, Donna! Oh, God! Honest to God, Donna, I just forgot you were in here! I wasn't trying anything! Honest!"

"Calm down, Chuck. I believe you. You got into the bed and settled right in like you were going to sleep. I heard you come in, and I thought you were going to ... make a pass at me. But you just ... didn't, and then I didn't know what to think!"

"God, Donna! Listen, I'm going, right now! I'm really sorry I woke you up. I hope you'll forgive me for scaring you like that."

She laughed. "You didn't scare me, Chuck. All you did was get me wondering what my reaction should be, when you touched me."

"Did I touch you?"

"No, no! I just meant, I was expecting you to ... touch me and I was trying to decide whether to just ... let you."

"But I really didn't plan this!" I told her again. "It was just sleep-walking, I swear!"

"I already told you that I believe you," she said.

"I'm going now," I told her again.

"Wait a minute," Donna said. "A minute. You know that I sleep bare-ass?"

"Uhh, no," I answered. How the hell did she think I'd know something like that?

"Wanna feel?" she asked.

"I better not," I said.

"I don't mind," she said. "C'mon. Give me your hand."

She took my left hand and placed it on her hip — she was turned in the bed, facing me, so it had to be her right hip. It was very warm and smooth and I could feel the curve of it falling away toward her waist under my hand.

"Nice, huh?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

"Are you naked too?" she asked. The room was pitch dark, and we were under the covers besides. Neither of us could see the other.

"No," I said. "In my boxers. I just got up to, y'know ... to pee."

"Are you hard?" she asked.

Does the Pope shit in the woods? Hell yes I was hard. I was diamond-cutting hard.

But I said nothing.

"Let me see," Donna said. She groped around in the darkness under the warm blanket and found my protruding penis, long-since having ejected itself through the slit in the front of my boxer shorts.

"Nice!" she said, with some feeling. I was glad that she hadn't said, "Oh, it's so big!" like girls are taught to say. This was, after all, a young Black woman. Probably she'd seen — and felt — the penises of a lot of Black guys who were older than me and who, probably, had been bigger than I was when they were, like, eleven!

But she just said "nice!" and it sounded sincere. And what the hell? There wasn't anything wrong with my penis. Maybe it wasn't all that big, but it wasn't peanut-size, either. When Felicia tried to take all of it in her mouth under the counter, there, at the bus depot, she never could. Never could get more than maybe half of it in. Of course, Felicia wasn't any expert, and probably hadn't had any other guys' cocks in her mouth at all, besides mine.

Donna gave my hard cock a gentle little squeeze and let it go. She giggled girlishly there, in the dark. "Did you ever have that in a girl's mouth?" she asked me.

"Uhh ... Yeah," I said.

"Really? I mean, you're not just saying you did, to impress me?"

"No. No, umm, I ... My girlfriend, Felicia, she's ... done it. Quite a lot."

"Well, good! Good for her! ... And I hope you do her right back ... Do you?" While she was saying this, she had re-acquired my still-hard cock in her hand and had the head of it in her palm, just nestled there, kind-of squeezing it but only subtly.

"And have you ... done the other?" Donna wanted to know. "Gone all the way with this Felicia?"

"No," I said. "Felicia's not ever ... she doesn't want to ... risk it."

"Not even with protection?" Donna asked.

"She's afraid," I explained, starting to feel defensive, protective, about Felicia's reasoning. "She wants to go to college, and doesn't want to get in trouble."

"Smart girl," Donna said approvingly. "But she's willing to wet your Willie from time to time, to keep you happy. Sounds like a real nice girl."

"She is," I said.

"How about you?" Donna asked. "Are you a virgin, too?"

I really hated to answer that one. Here was this grown-up woman — she must have been twenty-something, anyway — with my cock in her hand and asking me all these intimate questions about sex.

I wanted to tell her that I was the biggest cocksman in the county. That there were no late fees due from women on my paper route because I always took the debt out in trade.

"Yeah," I said, finally. "All me and Felicia have ever done is ... the oral stuff."

"You've got a nice cock," she told me. I half-expected her to say " ... for a white boy," but she didn't say it, or even imply it. She did squeeze it again, just a little.

"Before you go back to your couch," she said, "you mind if I taste it a little?"

"You really want to?" I croaked out. I mean, it was one thing, Felicia going down on me, partly to compensate, probably, for not letting me fuck her. But this young woman didn't owe me anything. I mean, my mom and I had given her a place to sleep for the night, but nobody would think that such a small favor would rate a full-fledged blowjob!

"I really want to," Donna said. "You're a sweet boy, and you've got a nice cock. Why wouldn't I want to? It'll make a little memory for both of us."

"I'm going to remember you already," I said, "just for holding me in your hand like this."

"See what a sweetheart you are? You don't ask for anything! You want me to turn on the light, so we can see each other?"

"Oh, yes!" I said. It suddenly occurred to me that, given a choice between seeing Donna Johnson naked and having her suck my cock, I'd be hard-pressed to choose which pleasure I would prefer. Happily, no choice was necessary. She was preparing to bestow both favors on me!

The light came on suddenly and at that same instant, Donna threw back the covers, revealing both our bodies. I looked ridiculous with my prong protruding from my shorts, but Donna Johnson was stone-naked and breathtakingly lovely. Her body was so dark and smooth and incredibly lush that I wanted to run my hands — and my tongue — over every inch of it.