Scene 2: Late August 1979 - Connecticut/New York

"But you have to, my darling," Marisol insisted, a phrase he'd heard from her many many times. Most often she insisted he get out of her bed and not sleep and be found by his mother who tended to enter the servants quarters before even the sun got out of bed. Only when his parents stayed over in Montauk for a night after attending a wedding of his cousin did they enjoy a blissful morning lounging and making love in her bed. A couple times Oona had allowed him to stay until 5 am, waking the lovers in time for Phil to escape undetected, but that always contained enough tension to make the moments less enjoyable, and they and Oona stopped.

The reason his mother arrived so early had to do with her need for Oona. Not sexual, though sometimes that played a part: a pool boy or some gigolo paid extra to come visit the two older women at that ungodly hour or they relieved their libidos in Sapphic embraces. His mother needed to establish her primacy as Lady of the Manor, making plans and demands which Oona would distribute to her fellow servants later or if simply involving her, would obey to the letter. Once established, his mother would reveal her fragile soul to her cook and get the wise old woman to reprimand or cajole or sympathize with her mistress, whatever the woman needed to make it through her day.

This time when Marisol insisted, it involved Phil's obedience to his father's request to date some Brahmin's daughter. "He'll get on your case for not respecting him; or worse might suspect you have me to satisfy those young man's urges. You get a little moony staring at me sometimes."

Changing the subject, Phil said to her, "Oona suggested the Phillips fathers tend to offer their servant mistresses for the sons. Did he ever..."

"Don't go there, Phil."

"Why not."

"You won't like the reason."

"Did he tell you?"

"Yes. Early on he suggested you might pay me a visit. Like you said, he told me it was tradition."

"But he changed his mind. This happened after he knew about Alisa. I mean, I think he knew about her before he even hired you. So he intended to share you."

"I guess."

"But he changed his mind."

"Yes."

"Why?"

After a long pause, Marisol spoke quietly. "You know he doesn't fuck me everytime. Not even half the time. I'm like Oona with your mom. He vents with me. He needs my ears more than my cunt. And my mouth, and not for..."

"I get it."

"Remember I told you how my father trained me. When I got hired by your father, before I arrived I learned all I could about his business. It's part of my expertise as a mistress to learn what buttons to push and what buttons to avoid. I may be Hispanic and a woman, but no one else in his life provides the honesty I do for him or the trust to listen to his worries and complaints."

"He loves you," whined Phil.

"I don't love him. I hate him when he fucks me because he never makes love, and I feel like the whore that I am. But I like the way he listens to me. And when he gets vulnerable, he reminds me of you, which ... well ... it's confusing. As far as him loving me ... I'm not sure he has it in him. Love needs compassion and he's lacking unlike his gentle bear son."

"So why not offer you to me?"

"I think he's afraid of what might happen."

They chuckled. It grew to a laugh. "Too late," they spouted simultaneously.

The kiss following the connective moment of thought expressed their connective passion. Breaking it after minutes, Phil used his tremendous strength to pull her body across his mouth, pausing at her nipples before bringing her pussy to his lips.

"Phil!" sighed Marisol. "You still have your seed ... Oh fuck!"

He tasted the mix and didn't mind a bit. Less than a half hour earlier, both desperately horny, they'd immediately fucked. He stripped naked in barely a second and pulled off her nightie in one quick motion, tossing her onto the bed and following her there. She guided him in and he plunged to her depths.

Rarely did they take the missionary position. He feared his big body would hurt her. When on top, he usually kept his body propped on elbows and knees, sometimes having her swing into him and away like a pendulum, a particularly fun fuck. But occasionally when the time was right, when the rhythm method they used dangerously allowed him to fuck her without a rubber and they wanted that more than anything and they thought about it all day, he'd do as he did that night and pound inside her for five minutes or less until they both howled in satisfying orgasms.

Thus he tasted their mixed pleasure and relished it. His expert lips and tongue, having spent at least two nights a week exploring her succulent cave through three months of summer, soon brought her near before easing back and teasing her and slowly coaxing her higher. After three near cums, she couldn't wait. "Fuck me or suck me. Just let me cum!"

A quick nip of her taut clit threatened climax, but before it could occur he grasped her hips and lifted. She stood and fell, trusting his strength to slow her descent, her petite hands reaching for his tall thick staff, leading it back home. Once in, she sent it into her depths quickly, feeling the large head tap at her cervix as it often did. He squeezed her nipples and twisted, giving her a shock of pleasure on the edge of pain. Her fingers pressed at her tender clit for the last sensation to bring her an explosion coursing through her body, making her shiver and nearly faint.

Slowly he began to lift her and drop her, his cock enjoying her rippling interior. Recovering, she took over the motion. She chewed and sucked his nipples, bringing a slight pleasure, but not enough. Resting on his elbows, his back rounded, he found her mouth with his. They played tongue tag gently, becoming more chaotic when her lifting and falling sped up. He lay back and reached his big hands to her firm butt and massaged, a finger drifting to her anus and pressing in.

Two could play at that. Arching her back to keep the contact of his pubic bone against her tingling clit, she reached behind and bounced his balls before inserting a digit and seeking his prostate.

His hips began lifting, bouncing her up and down. He tightened and pressed up inside and released his sperm. The expanding penis as it spewed along with the pressure on her clit soon had her joining him for her third cum of the night.

"Goddamn we're good," she murmured, feeling his chuckle deep inside where his cock twitched as it faded. She kissed his chest.

"All the more reason to be with you instead of her tomorrow night. You know I'll be leaving on Sunday for Harvard. And we have one more night to fuck bareback before it gets dangerous."

"I know my love."

"And Father won't need you after a week in the city with his blonde pussy."

"I hope so. I hope she purred instead of hissing and scratching, the dumb bitch."

"You're not jealous?"

"You know I'm not. I just hate putting his fragile male ego back together again. And speaking of being jealous, I'm not. You can do what you want with the rich chick."

"But what if I don't want to do anything?"

"Her loss."

Edie, the young woman the Brahmin parents arranged for him to take out on a date, embraced the decadent lifestyle of the late seventies. Her parents had made all the arrangements: a limo picking him up and bringing the two to Manhattan, to the 21 Club. Edie's parents wanted her to meet a nice boy, trying to tame their wild child with a serious young man.

He found her entertaining if a bit caustic. Her resentment towards him during the trip south, the safe kid shoved down her throat, ended by the time they arrived at the fancy restaurant. After his attempts at conversation resulted in lengthy silences, her steely blue/gray eyes burning holes in his when she bothered to glance his way, he stopped trying to cool her down.

"I get it," he grumbled low, the growl of a bear.

"What do you get?" the beautiful pale woman asked, pushing aside her dyed black bangs.

"You think I represent your father."

"He set this up."

"He may know my father, and my father may have suggested I'm some safe young scholar, but neither one knows us."

Her eyes eased their anger a little. "Why do you say that?"

"Despite the disguise, I can tell you'd rather be wearing shredded t-shirts and Spandex, your eyes blackened, and that disturbs your parents."

"You're ... mostly right. I like the punk scene, but enjoy dressing up. And I like disco. But I do feel like a fucking debutante in this sparkling gown and impeccable make-up. At least your father didn't dress you tacky in a prom tuxedo. That suit, your tie, even your shoes, you'd put James Bond to shame. It's ... elegant."

Phil shrugged. "It's me. I love dressing well."

After a wry shake of the head and a long pause, she asked, "What doesn't your father know or like about you?"

Phil chuckled. "I've been acting the loner all summer. Aside from frequent visits to the golf club and gym and a weekend sailing with a cousin, I haven't socialized."

"Why not?"

"I don't have friends, at least any living nearby. I've been to boarding schools most of my life. The only schoolmates that lasted, that I found any interest in becoming their friends, either live here in Manhattan or farther away in Jersey. And there aren't many. And I never got close to any enough to make the effort to continue. The rest of the elite I shared classes with ... they kind of make me sick."

Edie nodded. "No girlfriend then?"

"Uhm..."

"Is that a hard question?"

"It's what my father doesn't know about me."

"You're gay?"

Phil laughed. "Hardly."

"You have a girlfriend."

"Yes. But Father can't know."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing, at least to me."

"But to your father?"

"I ... I shouldn't say ... I shouldn't have brought her up."

Edie smiled, excited, and leaned forward. "Just a second." She pressed a button and the privacy window rose.

"Does that work?" asked Phil.

"Yes. I fucked a driver once while my girlfriends had sex in the back. Couldn't hear or see a thing."

"Him?"


"No way. My father owns him. I don't fuck the help."

"Oh."

"What?" she asked as she opened her small clutch purse and extracted a tinted bottle. She tapped white powder onto the heal of her thumb and sniffed. "Want some?"

He nodded. "Why not?"

"Good boy, or I guess bad boy" she smiled and tapped out some powder on the same place on his hand and he snorted.

A chemical rush shivered coldly inside his head. His pulse raced.

"Good shit," she stated and reached into her bag for a joint, lighting it and sucking on it and handing it to Phil. She chuckled out smoke. "This will keep you high and tight. So your girlfriend works for your father?"

Phil nodded, holding in the smoke.

"Why should he care unless she's his mistress too?" She took another toke.

"Yeah."

"Ooh that's sort of perverse. I like it. That makes sense."

"I love her."

"Mistresses aren't supposed to be loved, not like you seem to mean."

"I'm sure my father would agree," he spat.

"Jealous?"

"Let's just say I'm not a fan of my father."

"Tell me about it," she agreed.

"What happened to Daddy's Little Girl?"

"Used to be, I guess. I was his princess and could do no wrong. Then, well, I did stuff wrong I guess. More confusing probably. I got sullen and disrespectful and his little girl became an angry teen. Why? Maybe having it too easy makes you rebel against everything. Maybe it just seemed phony and unreal, disconnected from the world in a plastic bubble or a stone mansion. What's to rebel against? What do you got?"

"Interesting juxtaposition: Brando in 'The Wild One, ' and Holden Caulfield in 'Catcher in the Rye'."

"What about Momma's Boy?"

"I realized early in my life she's all style and no substance. Her goal in life is to cultivate all whom she considers equals in wealth and class to project the pinnacle of snobbery in bearing and actions. A Miss Manners of the upper classes."

"Poor guy."

"One thing about wealth, you can send your kid to the best schools and avoid him for at least nine months out of the year. Then of course you have servants as buffers the rest of the time. As a child I resented the coldness of my parents, the lack of love. They may love me, but I wouldn't know. Then I realized I didn't have to be around them all that often and decided that's a good thing."

"Shit, what a couple of spoiled malcontents we turned out to be. Got everything on a silver platter and decided to give it a swift kick. We're here. Let's go spend Daddy's money."

To fuel Phil's bear-like body, he tended to order large and eat everything placed before him. Edie on the other hand nibbled. Liquids, those generously infused with alcohol, she consumed with the gluttony Phil revealed in his food intake. Phil sipped.

They sustained conversation, often outrageous, causing consternation from the neighboring blue bloods and blue hairs, amusing Phil. He liked Edie, especially her uncensored verbiage. She made him laugh, and he returned the favor, finding an ease of wit he rarely demonstrated.

After an hour of talk and occasional eating--even Phil took forever to finish his prime rib--Edie pushed away her half eaten salad, swallowed the rest of her Mai Tai and announced, "Let's split this pop stand."

Phil laughed again. "Pretty high fallutin' popsicle stand."

"Just overdressed. Let's go dancing."

"Your wish is my command Princess."

"Of course, Pip." She had christened him during the dinner after delighting in calling him PP, amused first by his being the third in a line of Phillip Phillips, and changed it to Pip using the obvious acronym when he informed her of his and his father's and his grandfather's middle names, Ignatius.

"Studio 54, Floyd," she informed the limo driver who held the door for them. "Take the long way." He nodded. Once in the safety of the large car, they shared after dinner snorts and tokes. The refreshments became intimate. They kissed; sharing the cocaine she had rubbed into her gums and placed on her tongue. They blew smoke into each other's mouths and kissed again.

Her décolletage had fascinated him. Despite being on the thin side, her eating habits suggesting its cause, she displayed an impressive pair of breasts. By the time they reached the club, his hand enjoyed their voluminous softness and discovered silver dollar sized areola and eraser sized nipple. She discovered his all around largeness manifested itself at the flesh between his legs.

"I hope Steve recognizes me in this get-up," sighed Edie when they debarked from the limo. "Come on Iggy!" her other sobriquet.

Despite the relatively early hour for going clubbing, a group of people wanting to be allowed into the disco arced around the entrance.

"I wish I was your height sometimes," Edie complained.

They snaked through the three deep crowd, Edie taking Phil's hand. At the front, she smiled at Steve Rubell who smiled back and signaled his welcome. "Thanks Steve," she said, and kissed his cheek before pulling Phil into the decadent club.

Conversation mostly ceased as they danced to the relentless disco music, the bass thundering in their ears. She moved effortlessly, sensually, lithe and sinuous while he lumbered. Other men far more handsome and adept at moving to the music, some of whom acknowledged her, presented the possibility of her finding more appropriate companionship. However, whenever a potential suitor distracted her for a moment, she always returned her focus to him, the clumsy bear.

Speaking loud enough, nearly shouting into her ear, he leaned over and told her, "All the stars and stunning models here, and you stand out like a glowing moon."

Where a smile rarely appeared, a huge grin formed, her eyes glistening in the disco ball lighting. Jumping into his arms, she kissed him and yelled, "You're so sweet, my big handsome bear." She clung to him, giggling, as he continued his lumbering dance.

When the song merged into the next, she said, "One more stop, and we'll head home."

The summer evening breeze felt heavenly cooling their sweated faces after over an hour of dancing only stopping for a fresh drink, a toilet visit and a couple snorts. They held hands waiting for the limo for a minute.

"Max's, Floyd," Edie commanded.

Inside she straddled him and fed him cocaine and marijuana between kisses. By the time they crossed the Island and headed south to the Max's Kansas City awning, she humped against his impressive penis. While the limo slowed and stopped in front of the punk club, she whispered, her hand illustrating the subject with a rub, "I can't wait to meet him face to face." She nibbled his ear.

"Me neither," moaned Phil.

Upstairs at the club where the live music happened, they stopped at the bar. A tall handsome bartender with curly blond hair leaned over the bar and pecked Edie's cheek. "Want a line?" he asked.

"No thanks. I'm good. How about a couple Suicides?"

"Coming up."

The shots of 151 rum and Chartreuse burned down their esophagi. Appropriately, the band Suicide for which the drink had been named had begun their second set. Edie found seats near the front of the stage. The black walls of the long narrow room reverberated with the dense rhythmic noise produced by a jerry rigged synthesizer the instrumentalist of the duo played. Prancing and marching and singing and screaming and mouthing silently, an intense man mesmerized the audience visually while the music throbbed. At one point the rhythm matched Phil's heartbeat and seemed to command it. Phil had never experienced anything like it. He found it thrilling.