Chapter 26: Karen plays the piccolo

I learned two very valuable lessons that night. First, it's not smart to park an expensive car on a dimly lit street in a poor neighborhood; and second, it's almost impossible to change a tire with a hardon, especially in a downpour. In addition to a slashed tire, the door on the driver's side had been damaged by a rock or a sharp object. Fortunately, the top had not been punctured.

It had been years since I'd changed a tire. I cursed the rain and the person who had vandalized my car, and at some point during the process, my hardon disappeared.

Karen must have been waiting just inside her door. The umbrella she carried did little to shield her from the rain, and the beach robe was already soaked when our mouths collided. The umbrella went flying as she hopped up on my car's fender, and the robe fell open as she used both hands to pull me between her legs.

I fumbled with my belt, letting my pants drop to the ground. The rain drowned out the sounds of our lips sucking each other's tongues, her moaning, my grunting, and the "Ah," we said in unison when my cock made its entrance into her warm, wet, wrap.

"That's it! Don't move! Let me feel you," she whispered, just above the sound of the rain beating down. I complied with her request, because if I had moved right then, I would have come.

Karen leaned her head back and let the rain hit her face. "This is what I've been thinking about all the time he was trying to get me into his bed. Hold still, Honey, let me feel you inside me."

"Gary tried to get you to his bed?"

"Hmmm, he always tries, but I use mind control. I think of how you're going to feel, and tell him I'm not ready."

Was she serious? She was talking about mind control while we were being soaked to the bone.

"Karen, I agree that being inside you is an extraordinary feeling, but I don't want to wait. Can we start fucking soon?"

She drew her feet up, and moved backwards, dislodging my cock from her warm, wet, wrap. "Come up here and stretch out on your back," she said, moving to make room for me.

What the hell? Anxious to get on with it, I didn't argue with her. The hood of my car was still warm from the drive, and slippery, but it only took me a couple of seconds to get into position.

Raindrops fell from Karen's hair as she hovered above me, yelling to make her voice heard. "Pretend you are a musical instrument."

"Okay," I yelled back, wondering where this was going.

"Your cock is a piccolo."

"Okay."

She took my 'piccolo' in her hand and lowered her ass until my 'piccolo' was completely encapsulated by her sheath.

"I wish we could stay like this all night," she yelled down to me.

I was relishing the feeling and agreed with her, "Me too."

"We'll do this the next time we go to the condo, but right now I'm going to play a tune on your piccolo. You must name the tune, okay?"

She didn't wait for an answer. I felt the end of my cock being squeezed three times before the walls of her vagina gave me three more distinct squeezes. "Can you name that tune?"

It was a dark night. I heard the branches swaying in the wind, and the sound of raindrops pelting the car. "Rhapsody in blue," I yelled, guessing.

"Correct!" she announced, and began to play another tune on my piccolo. This time it went on longer. I tried to count the notes as she squeezed the head, down to the base of my cock, stopping abruptly.

"When the Saints come marching in."

"Correct! Would you like to try for the grand prize?"

I knew I could win. There were no incorrect answers. "I just want to fuck you," I shouted.

"I don't believe I know that one," she shouted back, laughing when I rolled her over and began slamming into her.

Karen did not make it a rule to talk during sex. It must have been the rain pelting us that made her throw caution to the wind, but she didn't stop shouting the entire time we were fucking. I only caught fragments of what she was telling me. She was quite complimentary with her remarks, giving me credit for 'rocking her libido, ' whatever that meant.

"Stay inside me," she pleaded in a barely audible voice.

She held me tightly and I was so exhausted that I had no choice but to obey her. Several minutes went by before we were able to speak. I used the time to consider what Mr. Parker must be thinking if he'd been watching us.

Karen gave my cock a little tweak. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking what a ludicrous scene we must project, fucking on a car in a torrential downpour, taking a chance of being hit by lighting or by a falling tree limb, while putting on a show for an old man. What happened tonight that made you lose your inhibitions?"

"Do you want me to play, 'When the Saints come marching in' again on your piccolo?"

I laughed and kissed her, pressing my lips to her ear. "When can you go to the condo with me?"

"Would you call what we are doing an illicit affair?" she asked, avoiding my question.

"I suppose you could call it illicit, but if that's what illicit feels like, let me have some more illicit."

"Tonight, when Gary suggested that I go to bed with him, I thought of how you were going to feel inside me. Do you think I'm dishonest by not telling him about us?"

This is probably where I should have told her that Gary was opposed to marrying again. "Don't beat yourself up about it. We were fucking long before he knew you existed. That takes precedence over dishonesty."

"You're sweet, but you're also full of shit. I knew you were trouble the first time we met."

"I knew that we were going to fuck the first time we met."

"You knew no such thing. Get off of me. I'd love to fuck again, but you must leave before the old man becomes bored with our show and closes the gate," she said, emphasizing her order with another tweak to my cock.

We kissed goodnight and as I drove down the winding drive, I thought how funny it would be if the umbrella triggered the security lights to come on.

It was nearing three AM when I got back to the shelter. Floyd looked up from a table in the kitchen as I tiptoed by him. I was tossing my clothes into the dryer when he asked why I had come back. I told him it was in case he needed help. He nodded, seeming to know that I was concerned that the men might give him a hard time when they woke up. He tossed me a towel, and after I was reasonably dry, I looked over his shoulder.

Floyd had several sketches in front of him, along with the picture of K.O. on the rover. He first explained the shortcomings he'd found with the prototype. I had to agree that it looked primitive compared to Floyd's sketches.

In addition to designing an actual suspension system, he'd changed the undercarriage to flexible plastic, and his drawing of the sample collection assemblies looked futuristic.

"I'll need to see the existing model before I tackle the frame and the steering mechanism," he said, sounding like a man on a mission.

I was a little surprised at his interest in the rover, but I drew a map showing the location of the Oldham house. "Stop by anytime. If I'm not there, Ned will be happy to open the garage for you."

"You haven't had anything to eat. Get dressed and we'll have breakfast," he said.

My sneakers were still wet and squishy, but the dry clothes did wonders for my disposition. We were beginning to eat our bacon and eggs when we heard the men stir. They took turns using the bathroom before taking seats in the dining room, hopeful of receiving another meal before going back out into the rain.

As I filled their cups with coffee, I wondered how many stories they could tell about the hardships of living on the streets. Instead of being unruly, they were quite appreciative of Floyd's generosity. They'd enjoyed a filling meal last night, had their wet clothes dried, given a blanket and a place to sleep, and now there was the anticipation of another meal.

It was after four AM when Floyd urged me to leave. He said that two early risers from the second floor would be downstairs soon to help him with breakfast for the other women, and Ruth would relieve him at in another hour.

The windshield wipers were on high speed as I drove home. Not wanting to wake Ned and Penelope, I parked the car near the garage and deposited my wet sneakers in the hallway. I must have been asleep five hours when K.O. announced that it was time for me to get up, explaining that, "A man wants to see you."

He didn't know who the man was or why he was there to see me. He watched as I splashed cold water on my face, and put on the same clothes I'd worn the night before. At least the rain had stopped. K.O. took my hand and pulled me to the garage where Ned and Floyd were examining the damage that had been done to my car.

The scratches looked much worse in the daylight than the night before. I didn't mention that the tire had been slashed because I could see that Floyd felt badly that the vandalism had happened.

He took measurements of the rover, and looked at how the battery was mounted on the frame.

"The control panel shows ingenuity," he said, but he didn't comment on the chassis, which told me that he was not impressed with the design. I reiterated that my friends were studying to become electronics engineers, and Floyd said that he understood.

We had K.O. demonstrate how he could handle the rover, and Floyd was noncommittal as he observed the slow speed and the wide radius it took to make a turn.

Floyd thanked K.O. for showing him how well he could drive the rover before turning to me. "I'm sorry about the damage that was done to your car."

After he was gone, I told Ned about the tire being slashed, and he said that he would take care of having the car repaired.

K.O. wanted to 'kick the ball, ' and it only took about two hours for him to become so tired that he lost interest.

When I went back to my room I discovered that Marcie had called, and for once, she had news. She was excited about finding a possible girlfriend for her brother.

"Bernard hasn't met her yet, but she's going to be perfect for him. In addition to being the assistant librarian, she's an avid hiker and camper. I can't wait to introduce them."

"What kind of books does Bernard read?"

"I don't know that he reads books."

"Does he hike and camp?"

"You're missing the point, Oldham. He manufactures tents and she must use a tent when she camps."

"He has no reason to visit the library, and he doesn't hike or camp. What am I missing? I don't think they have very much in common."

Marcie became indignant. "Of course, they do. They're both overweight. That makes dieting their common interest."

"I promised I'd introduce Wanda to someone who will appreciate her. Thank you for reminding me."

She scoffed and changed the subject. "Is Russell back from South America? Have you heard from him?"

"No, but I promised to visit his uncle. Thanks again for reminding me."

"You're welcome," she said, rather sarcastically, before saying she'd talk to me next week.

Why had I volunteered to match Wanda with a suitable partner? In the first place, I didn't know anyone who fit the bill. When considering the requirements of this individual, I realized that I'd never met anyone who possessed the unique qualities that would keep her satisfied. What if I made a mistake? It would be devastating, and she'd never forgive me.

Naturally, I didn't share my thoughts with Wanda. Her exuberant greeting on Monday morning nearly made me late getting to John's staff meeting.

"I know who Barbara is, and I think I've found Jack Piedmont," she began.

I didn't give a shit where Piedmont was, but Wanda's excitement over her discovery made me listen to how she'd searched the archives until she found that Barbara had been with the company when we'd built the Cincinnati building.

I remembered the Cincinnati building from the summer I worked with Denny. We didn't get along very well. I blamed him for leaving me on my own, and his wife blamed him for being a workaholic.

"Jack Piedmont probably hired her, and Barbara must have stayed on to manage the building when we sold it."

"What makes you think Jack went to Cincinnati?" I asked.

"Mrs. Piedmont called again. She found a pack of Trojans in her husband's desk."

"And that proves ... what?"

Wanda made a 'humph' sound, like she pitied me for being hopelessly inept. "They didn't use them," she said.

Should I laugh or congratulate her for being an expert snoop? I excused myself, and when I got back from the staff meeting there were phone calls to return that kept me busy most of the day. One of the calls was from Heather, who had called collect. When the receptionist told her that I was in a meeting, she left a number where she could be reached, adding that it was imperative that I return the call to discuss an urgent matter.

Fearing that the urgent matter had something to do with our mother, I dialed the number and discovered it was the diner where she worked.

"Clifford left me and it's your fault," Heather said in a tearful tone of voice.

Hearing that our mother was not in peril, I breathed a sigh of relief. "How is it my fault that he left?"

"He read the business plan that you wrote, and said that if you didn't trust him enough to make him my partner, he didn't want anything to do with the restaurant. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and you made him leave, Sammy."

"In other words, owning half of the restaurant was more important than staying with you. I did you a favor, Heather. He's right; I didn't trust him enough to cosign his bank loan."

Her speech became difficult to follow. "You didn't do me a favor. You ruined my life. You made him go away and he took my dream away with him."

"Have you taken the business plan to the bank?"

"What? Why would I do that? I'm all alone now."

"Don't let Clifford's leaving destroy your dream. There are scores of successful female entrepreneurs, and if you truly want to go into business, you can do it alone."

Her silence told me that she was digesting what I had said. Did she buy it? I didn't.

"Is it okay if I tell the bank that you will cosign my loan?"

"Sure," I said, and was ready to end the call when she had an idea.

"Is it okay if tell them that you're my rich brother?"

"If you must."

Her voice became optimistic, like she'd hit on something. "I'll tell them that everyone called you Apple when you played football."

"That should do it. Good luck," I said, leaving her in a much better mood as we said goodbye.

Heather was three years older than me, and she'd always been able to play with my mind. Should I be thankful that she had not inquired about her son? Had she forgotten about him, or was she saving that salvo for a time when she needed it?

The next three weeks were a whirlwind of interviewing the applicants for the sales job, grading their qualifications, and trying to decide which one was the best fit for the job.

My Friday night visits to the homeless shelter broke up the monotony. Floyd gave me a stack of sketches he'd made to improve the design of the rover. I looked the sketches over before I mailed them to Josh and Eddie, but I had no way of knowing that I was creating a hornet's nest. It was about a week later when I received a terse note from Jeannie, excoriating me for assuming that they had an unlimited amount of funds. She wrote that there was no way they could afford the machined parts depicted in Floyd's sketches. It was her exact words, 'We're just poor college students, ' that tugged at my heartstrings. I sent them an apology, along with a check for one thousand dollars.

At the October meeting of The Reapers, it was encouraging to hear how many members had made a commitment of helping out at the homeless shelter. The vote to contribute, both monetarily and through involvement passed, twenty-nine to three. I felt sorry for the dissenters. They took such harsh criticism from the other members that I would not have been surprised if they dropped out.

Apparently, Cynthia heard about my car being vandalized, and had the Jeep delivered to me. Ned told me that an elderly black man had dropped it off.

"The young lady that brought your computer and leather jacket picked him up," he said.

"Robert is Cynthia's butler and Daisy is his wife's niece. She works for Mr. Collingsworth," I explained.

From the way she reacted to my phone call, a casual observer would have thought that Cynthia and I were strangers. Hearing her austere response to my praise for her thoughtfulness, it was like we'd never shared the same bed, never swam naked together, and she hadn't depended upon me to advise her on the minutest detail. Her cold, dismissive attitude made me wonder why I'd called, but then, she said something that changed my mind.

"You were right about Mr. Ferris, Sammy. He got me into trouble with the tax people. I'm sorry that I didn't take your advice."

I hung up feeling pleased with myself. I'd never forget the smug look David Ferris gave me the night he and Dora were leaving Cynthia's house. I'd never forget the sight of his cock the night I'd caught him fucking Sophie Scott, either. Why hadn't I taken Dora up on her offer? David would never forget the smug look I would give him after I fucked his wife.

Well, forget it; put it out of your mind. Dora's not on your list of candidates for number thirty. She's a married woman.

Floyd used a portion of the new influx of funds to install a metal gate on one side of the shelter. The two parts of the gate were held together with a combination lock, and folded to the sides like an accordion. The gate provided safe parking for two cars, as well as Floyd's van. I made a habit of pulling in as close to the van as possible, leaving space for another car in case someone needed it.