Chapter 2: The Naked Truth

"Mark dear, do you feel all right? You seem rather distracted. Are you coming down with a cold? Or is something else the matter?" his concerned mother asked during their evening meal.

"Yes, Mark my boy, you seem a bit under the weather. Should I have my secretary make an appointment for you to see the doctor tomorrow?" His father looked across the table at him with concern.

"No, I'm fine. This has been an exhausting day and I've been invited to return to one house and I'm not too certain..."

His father interrupted, "Of course you're not, son. It is quite natural to feel uncertainty. Remember," he added with all the self righteousness of the true believer, "from uncertainty comes true humility. But you go right ahead and take the bull by the horns and dig right in. You're a winner. In this family we're all winners."

Mark quickly banished the mental image he had where she grabbed his horn. He lowered his head so his parents would not see his blush.

His father paused, and then added, smugness dripping from his tongue, "We have been invited to the president's Christian Heavy Hitters Ball and shall leave tomorrow afternoon. The invitation just came in today. It got delayed en route somehow. We've made arrangements to ride with the Stevens in their executive jet."

He frowned, jealous of his friends' eight passenger personal jet and added, "I feel we should have our own airplane. Everyone else in our set has one it seems. Even our pastor flies his own twin engine Cessna."

"Now dear," Mark's mother patted her husband's arm, "The accountant told you that he can find no way to justify a new jet plane as a tax write off at this time. He said you must first open another one or two branch stores in other states in order to justify such an undertaking. Hawaii might be a nice place for a new store location. Then we could all go with you on a business trip every now and then. Perhaps Paris and London as well."

"Well, I intend to take another look at that problem when we get back. But by George," he added pompously, "we have an invitation personally signed by the president's own personal autograph machine. That means the president himself chose us to attend a ball given in recognition of our financial, as well as other services to get him reelected. That's something the Jeffers never got, in fact, I bet he didn't even get a Christmas card from that weak-faced character." He stuck out his chest and grinned his pride, at the thought that he, Josh Cantrell, was important enough to be invited to the White House. Again the thought crossed his mind, God truly must be a Republican.

"Mark dear, you may go with us if you'd like. But I imagine the affair would probably be a bit boring for a high-spirited young man such as yourself." His mother smiled a distant, loving smile at her only child.

"That's quite all right, Mother, you two go right ahead without me. I have been invited to go back to that house and..." he smiled at his doting parents. He left the rest of his thought unspoken. He was certain they would not have approved of any of the thoughts flitting around in his head right then.

That night, alone in bed, Mark dreamed of the beautiful Greek goddess and her fascinating body. He remembered the deep cleft that showed so clear under that flimsy crotch patch. He watched her breasts grow larger and larger until ... Suddenly he woke up in a cold sweat. Troubled and restless, Mark rolled back and forth in bed until he was able to drop off into a troubled sleep again. He dreamed of huge pink nipples, beautiful Greek gods and goddesses. Each and every one of the goddesses had her face. Also they all had identical swatches of cloth over their crotches that enhanced rather than hid anything.

The next morning he woke, rose and showered. As Mark hurried through his rituals, his anticipation grew. He was eager to see her again. On went his sensible underwear. He slid his legs into a pair a conservative cut pair of dark, charcoal gray slacks. He slipped into a pair of black men's silk stockings and black Gucci loafers. In a moment of daring, he put on a pull over cream-colored cashmere polo shirt and a pearl gray sports coat.

When he came downstairs, he told Cook to not prepare breakfast for him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and made his way into the music room. Mark placed the cup on a coaster atop the grand piano and began to play Chopin's waltzes. The first notes he played were soft and hesitant. In his mind's eye, Mark watched himself glide across the dance floor as he held her in his arms.

She wore only what she had on the day before when he called on her. He had on a black tuxedo and held her almost naked body in his arms. The backdrop to the scene was black. An imaginary spotlight shone down on them as they twirled around and around a darkened onyx dance floor. His breathing became more rapid. A pressure welled up inside him and his eyes became glassy...

"Dear, we're ready to go," his mother called from the doorway and interrupted his fantasy. He came back to reality with a thud. "Come tell your father goodbye like a good boy." Mark felt as if someone had dropped him onto the floor and splashed icy cold water over him at the same time. He had felt so close to something, and then he was interrupted.

He regained his composure and, like the obedient son he was, rose from the piano seat and hurried to the front door to kiss his mother's cheek and tell his father, "Have a good trip, Father."

Mark's father gave him an affectionate smile, patted him on the arm and hurried to the waiting limousine where he helped his wife in and joined her. Mark waved as his parents rode off to meet with the president. He returned to the piano and began to play once more. The Third Man Theme segued into the Acceleration Waltz. He played the music faster and faster with almost professional precision until he struck a harsh discord and stopped. Mark sat quiet on the piano bench filled with all so many conflicting emotions.

It was difficult to breath as he saw her nearly naked body in his mind's eye. For some reason, her breasts seemed to have grown even larger in this latest fantasy. He laughed to himself as he imagined her carrying those greatly enlarged breasts in a wheelbarrow as she walked to the store. He knew his thoughts bordered on silly and didn't care.

With a newfound recklessness, he selected the Caddy convertible as his vehicle for the day. He hurried out to the luxurious two-seat custom-built convertible parked in the big car barn behind their house. He opened the door, slid in and started the engine. When he pressed the proper button on the dash, the top folded back on itself.

He broke from custom and turned on the radio to a pop rock station. With volume turned way up, he slowly backed the immaculate snow-white vehicle out of the garage. Mark felt he was quite daring, even perhaps a little cool. He pressed another button above the visor to open the outer gate that led to the street. When he drove away from his house Mark's destination was, of course, her house. Filled with anticipation, he prayed she would be at home this time. A small voice deep inside him warned he should not continue this course of action, yet Mark knew he must. Mark was in love with the first pussy he had ever touched.

As he pulled up in front of the house, every one of yesterday's doubts and insecurities assailed him. She would consider him stupid. Worse yet, he feared she would laugh at him. He couldn't bear that. Ridicule from her lips would utterly destroy him. He sat behind the wheel of the expensive car and fought the rising panic. He was driven to see her again. He must see her again.

Mark realized how much the very thought of her had taken control of his mind and his emotions. Never before in his young life had he experienced such intense and conflicted feelings.

It took a few minutes before he could force himself to get out of the car and pull the bell cord again. "Come on back, I'm by the pool," her familiar voice directed. In a trance he walked toward the back of the house and rounded the corner. His heart beat loudly in his chest. He had trouble breathing as he devoured her with his eyes. This time she was flat on her back on the weight bench.

She bench-pressed what again to his mind were impossibly large weights, especially for a woman. Her knees were bent and her feet were flat on the cement deck. Her crotch seemed, to his inexperienced eye, even more naked and desirable than it did the other time he saw it. Each time she pressed the weights up, her legs tensed and her crotch rose into the air a couple of inches. She was like a machine as she counted aloud, "Eight," grunt, "nine," grunt, "ten," moan, sigh and she set the bar bell back in the rack. She sighed once more and sat up. "You!" she exclaimed.

"Er ... hi," he greeted her uncertainly. "I came to see you and..." His voice faltered and he stared down in front of him. He was unable to meet her gaze with his own.

"Yes, I can see you have come to see me," she told him in a mocking voice.

"You don't understand," he wailed. "I came here to witness to you and invite you to church and, and," he started to hiccup and moan at the same time. He stood there in front of her, his head bent down in a combination of confusion and misery.

"Jesus H. Christ, after yesterday, why did you come back?" she demanded as she walked across the concrete pad and came to him. She put an arm around him and tried to comfort him. "Hey," she said nervously, "don't moan and carry on like that. I hate it when men moan unless it's while we are in the midst of sex. Then it's okay."

"I'm not moaning," he moaned and began to moan even louder.

"Come on over here and sit down and get a grip." She mentally flinched at her choice of words, "I mean take hold and..." her voice trailed off as she stumbled over her tongue again. He sat as directed on the weight bench.

She stood close to him. Her crotch was scant inches from his face. "Don't you understand, I had to come see you again today?" he asked as he stared at her mound. "I dreamed about that," Mark told her in an accusatory voice, as he stared at her crotch. "I dreamed about it all night long and I am so confused."

"What in hell do you want from me?" she demanded in a plaintive voice.

"I don't know what I want," he told her. "But I want to..." she stopped talking and stared directly at the crevice in her thinly covered crotch. "I want to..." he tried again and failed to find the words he sought.

S he slipped off her flimsy crotch patch and undid her nipple ribbon. Her breasts bobbed above his head, enticing him to do things he could only imagine. One nipple seemed to point straight at him. His eyes started to cross slightly and he shook his head and blinked three times. Mark's hand rose of its own volition and he hesitantly touched her naked pussy. His hand slid between her silken legs and the touch became a grasp.