Starmaker
by Craig Esposito


Chapter 1 

"We musta pulled a hundred tapes outta this joker's apartment, y'know?" 

"I mean, the guy is like a one man porno mill!" 

"He had ev'ry fuckin' thing you could name in there t'make full-scale 
Hollywood productions, almost!" 

"A regular small-screen, bare-ass Cecil B. deMille, huh?" Delaney responds. 

"Yeah, matter of fact," the sheriff's deputy replies. 

"Surprised as hell when we served the warrant, too." 

"Gives us this bullshit about free enterprise, about how this is the big 
city, not the fuckin' Midwest or deep south or whatever, how he doesn't 
violate public morality here 'cause, we got low standards. 

"I mean, we couldn't, like, get a word in edgeways, y'know? 

"Finally, we got 'im calmed down enough to explain that we got 'im for 
contributing to the delinquency of minors, accessory to sexual battery-the 
whole bit." 

"So then, he goes into this song an' dance about what minors, what are we 
talkin' about, he's got releases from his models, all over eighteen an' no 
he took their word for it, din't axe for no ID, why should he an' all. 

"Which gives me the perfect opening for my line, as I put the cuffs on 'im, 
'This is why, pardner. You're under arrest,' followed by my rendition of the 
reading of the rights. 

"Geez, they shoulda had a crew there from that show on TV-you know, the one 
that follows the cops around on the job? 

"I mean, I sounded good!" 

"Yeah, but it wouldn't of done any good, would it? 

"I mean, you were there to serve the warrant and pick up the joker, but it 
was actually this office that did the investigation." 

"Sayin' that I was a fuckin' messenger boy, right?" 

"Merely pointing out that it was pretty cut and dried, but for the 
interesting nature of the crime itself. 

"I mean, you have run across tougher bad guys, am I right? Or was this one 
considered armed and dangerous?" 

"Ey, this guy was fuckin' dangerous, all right! You seen any of them tapes 
yet?" 

"Not that I know of." 

"Wait 'til you do, pal! They got some hot numbers there! 

"Young stuff, most of it, high school seniors. Or mixed in with, I dunno, 
pro's must be, maybe. 

"They got this one lez tape, the guy made it like a classroom scene. 
'Stayin' after School', it's called." 

"You recommend it highly then, do you?" 

"I definitely give it a thumbs up, yeah." 

"I have something to look forward to when I get to the evidence review, 
then. 

"You uh, you calmed down enough to go on the record now?" 

"Look! My hand ain't even shakin'!" 

They laugh, then Delaney turns serious, saying, 

"Okay, play it straight, once I start talking, right? Remember, I'm the one 
who's gonna hafta prosecute the case, so this is essentially like a dress 
rehearsal. Here goes." 

Delaney turns on the tape recorder. 

"It's now nine thirty ayem, Thursday, January eighteenth, nineteen ninety. I 
am Assistant State's Attorney Howard B. Delaney. With me is Sheriff's Deputy 
Lieutenant Walter Wyczowski, arresting officer serving Warrant Number..." 

It takes an hour and a half to get through the background, the grounds for 
and details of the arrest of one Murray Weiner, interrupted only by Walter's 
occasional cracking up over word association with the photographer's last 
name. 

"I take it, Lieutenant, you're not going to have similar difficulties on the 
witness stand, if and when this case goes to trial?" 

"Nah, it's just, like, the name gets to me, y'know? 

"Especially, there's this one tape where he's got himself in action, if you 
can believe it. 

"And the guy is a nothing, except he's got, without exaggeration-" 

And Walter spreads his hands like a bragging fisherman. 

"So the guy is, like, you know-a real weiner!" 

And he cracks up. 

But the name rings a bell for Delaney. 

"Weiner, Weiner, Weiner. Why do I know that name, Lieutenant." 

"The Lydia Fuiham Halfway House scandal, remember? 

"Supervisor made all them female cons pose for pitchers, even posed with 'em 
in that crazy costume of hers with the hood and the black mesh stockings-" 

"Yeah, yeah! I remember! 

"Sally something-or-other, her name was. She's doing time at the women's 
reformatory, they closed down Lydia Fulham, transferred all the residents 
back behind bars-" 

"So that means our favorite weiner's got a prior-" 

"No he ain't." 

"How can he not? If they got her-" 

"How d'ya think they got her, pal? 

"Witness for the prosecution, saves the state a bundle in investigation an' 
trial time. 

"The guy skated, is what I'm sayin' here. 

"That shock ya?" 

"Not really. This is not good. He's had skating lessons." 

"Which means they're gonna plead him out, so don't knock yourself out, 
right? 

"Enjoy the tapes, make the deal with Zuckerman-" 

"Zuckerman? A schlock porn operator like this and he can afford Izzy 
Zuckerman?" 

"Prob'ly figgered after the number he did for Sally, he won't do day one in 
the slammer, which has just gotta be worth somethin' to him. Or you never 
heard of business interruption insurance?" 

"What did Slick Izzy pull for Sally?" 

"Fifteen on a goddam fifty count indictment, of which she will do three hard 
tops unless she kills somebody or they kill her." 

"Which means that for Murray-" 

"Suspended sentence. Because I got news for ya, pal; you look at them tapes 
an' you tell me them girls was forced into it or wasn't enjoyin' 
themselves." 

"That's not the point, dammit! Those girls were underage at the time." 

"Barely. Not even all. 

"Matter of fact, the original complainant-this one girl's mother, once she 
found out where all the extra spendin' money was comin' from-her daughter 
was already eighteen." 

"Still, she'd have knowledge of the others-" 

"If you could find her. And if you could get funding so's anybody could look 
for her. 

"She dropped out, run away, split. 

"You could still depose the mother, but what's the point? 

"One thing din't lead to another, we wouldn't be here talkin', y'know?" 

"I don't have a case then, do I? 

"Slick Izzy is gonna find one of his pet judges and have the warrant 
vacated." 

Walter nods, saying, "It's so difficult ta walk when you've just had your 
legs cut off at the knees, don't you find?" 

"Yeah, well I'm not gonna be the only amputee on this one, pal! 

"Who was the investigator again?" 

"Jane Rudolph, like you got onna tape. My guess is she's gonna be out an' 
about, tryna get some other fallen angel's mother to initiate a new 
complaint." 

"Fat chance! Fat fucking chance! 

"This isn't an office, it's a goddam paper mill!" 

"Not ta mention the best porno house in the city. New features daily, all 
first run," Walter says, enjoying Delaney's agitation. 

But enough fun for one morning, he tells himself, rising, saying, "Be sure 
an' call me when you're ready t'have me run the tapes back over t'Murray the 
Hotdog, okay? 

"An' be sure you get cherself a copy of the one I toldja about. Like, hot, 
hot, hot, know what I'm sayin' here?" 

"Yeah, yeah. Lemme get ahold of Baby Jane and see what ever happened to her. 

"You're not off the hook yet.' You could still end up on the witness stand." 

"Don't holdjer breath, pal. First you gotta get Jane-baby's deposition, 
which, you will discover, cannot be substantiated." 

"But we have the physical evidence-" 

"Which is not dated, which does not pertain to a minor, and which cannot be 
used in support of the contentions of a witness who didn't see anything. 

"Like I say, counselor, you've got new corroboration and new complaints, or 
you've got nothing. 

"Because without that, we could be looking at a buncha marvellously well 
preserved thirty-five year olds cavorting on the small screen for fun and 
profit. "Which, in this state at least, is not a crime. "An' on that 
cheerful note-I bid joo adieu." And the deputy leaves. 

Delaney looks up Jane's extension, picks up the telephone and punches it in. 

"Rudolph." 

"Yeah, Rudolph. Delaney here. I just spent the better part of the morning 
deposing a deputy who tells me I have no case." 

"The Weiner thing?" 

"What else?" 

"Working on it." 

"Can we uh, can we do this, Jane? I'll put this whole thing on hold until 
your work pays off?" 

"I was gonna call you, uh, Howard." 

"When? When I was ready to go in fronta the grand jury?" 

"No, no, I just wanted to progress the thang." 

"Well, if I know this individual's attorney, he's about to do that very 
thing. 

"Y'blew it, Jane. 

"Zuckerman calls for sending the warrant on vacation and we have to return 
Murray's property to him forthwith and that inventory can never be used 
against him again." 

"I've got forty-nine chances to see to it that we get an interim complaint." 

"Which is now down to?" 

"Ten, on the first go-around. Let me back on my telephone and I'll carry 
on." 

"Waste of the taxpayers' time and money." 

"Be in touch." 

And she hangs up on him. 

Delaney removes the tape from the machine and fills out the label in 
ballpoint, tossing it in his HOLD box and opening the next folder on his 
desk. Fuck it, he tells himself. 

He goes down the hail to the evidence room. "Tapes from the Weiner case, 
Harry. Sheriff's deputy brought them in this morning, along with other 
stuff." 

"How many boxes do ya want?" 

"Just one. Just wanna see what the fuss is all about, not make a career out 
of it." 

"Makes me no never mind," Harry replies. "Here's Evidence Box One, 
containing fifty video tapes. 

"Titles're on the labels. Enjoy." 

"I'll have a ball, I m sure. 

Delaney takes the box to the viewing room. "Lemme give ya a hand there, 
Howard," one of the investigators says, relieving him of the box. 

Then, to another passing investigator, "Show time, Len!" 

"I'll go get Jack and the guys! You fellas want sodas, or what?" 

"How about a large popcorn, hold the butter?" Delaney says. 

"Gee, Howard, you shoulda said something sooner." 

"I was being sarca-never mind." 

"Any one in particular you wanna see first, Howard?" 

The one called 'Staying after School' comes recommended, if it's handy 
there." 

"Right up front, Howard." 

"How very fortunate for all of us." 

Sullenly, Delaney sits before the large screen TV, as the others in the room 
settle into chairs all around him and the helpful investigator inserts the 
tape into the VCR. 

The camera zooms in on the schoolteacher, seated at the front desk, in front 
of the green chalkboard, large breasts completely covered by her white 
blouse, ruffled tie secured by a brooch as she peruses a piece of paper, 

A bell rings. 

Sound of scuffling chairs, as the teacher hooks up over her granny glasses. 

"Oh Susan, I'd like to see you about your homework." 

Enter Susan, stage right, saying, "Yes, Miss Upbottom?" 

"Are they all gone?" 

"Yes." 

"Then lock the door!" 

Exit Susan, stage right, as Miss Upbottom removes her glasses and begins to 
strip, Susan reentering the picture and joining her as, together, they 
remove their clothes, Susan retaining only saddle oxfords and bobby socks, 
Miss Upbottom her high heels. 

"At last we are alone, my darling!" Miss Upbottom emotes. "Get up on the 
desk, so I can eat you!" 

And Susan complies. 

"Oohoohoo!" "Hey, hey, hey!" "Yummyyummyyummy!" 

"Knock it off, you guys," Delaney growls. "I just wanted to see something 
here." 

"You got that right, Howard!" 

And yes, there it is, what he was looking for. 

The deputy was correct, at least on this one, he sees. 

Because Susan-or whatever her name is-is clearly getting red in the face, 
the redness expanding downward, onto her chest, her nipples turning hard, 
prominent. 

And if the others are all the same way, then it is obvious that he doesn't 
have the full, or for that matter any, background into the motivation or 
recruitment of these girls. 

The point is moot with regard to the original complaint, in any event, since 
the girl was over eighteen at the time. 

"That's enough of that one, I think," Delaney says. 

Because he finds himself becoming red in the face, finds the crotch of his 
trousers getting suddenly very crowded. And if that big-boobed "teacher" 
swings into full action-he doesn't want to even think about it. 

The others apparently already are. 

Because there are "ooh's" of disappointment as Delaney's self-appointed 
projectionist obediently stops the tape. "Waitaminnit, waitaminnit, 
waitaminnit!" Len says, running up to the TV, inserting a blank tap, 
selecting the DIRECT COPY option, reinserting the tape, putting it on fast 
forward. 

And the screen goes crazy for five minutes, as the copy is pirated. "Okay, 
go 'head," Len says,' parodying a tiptoe away from the set to the sound of 
applause. 

"Go to the next," Delaney says. 

This one is between a man and a girl, some stupid intro to which Delaney 
pays no attention, then watching the nitty-gritty, which opens with her 
giving him a blowjob. 

And very clearly warming to the task. 

This time, the are in a bedroom, where all the games are possible. 

And Delaney sits there, watching, as they are all played, and played quite 
literally to the hilt. 

"Mmmm! Give it to me in my ass!" the girl enthuses. 

"You got it babe!" 

"I'm next!" 

"Flip ya for it!" 

And Delaney sighs at these clowns, who have apparently never heard of the 
word sophomoric. 

And these are the county's guardians of the sexually abused, he reflects. He 
can really see a lot happening for the good in this area, with attitudes 
like these on the job. 

Still, in this case, he can really find no case. 

Granted, some of the girls might not yet have been eighteen, still there is 
no abuse here, at least none that he can see. 

Unless. 

Unless this Murray is a veritable Svengali, a tempter of the first magnitude 
which, based on the deputy's description of him, Delaney very much doubts. 

Yet another tape, and then, "Sorry, guys, show's over, at least for now." 

"Hey, thanks a lot, Howard; makes for a pleasant day, y'know? Uplifting, 
that sort of thing!" 

"Yeah, right, a real spiritual experience, Lenny. You're a better person for 
having seen this shit, I know." 

"You got that right, Howard!" Howard shakes his head, returning what is 
surely about to become once again Murray's property to the evidence room. 

"Learn anything?" Harry asks. 

"Nah! Actually, they haven't changed the basic model on that for quite 
awhile now, Harry." 

"From the noises comin' outta there, I thought maybe they finally did." 

"That's because I put on a helluva floorshow." 

"Sorry I missed it, then." 

"You didn't miss much, that's for damned sure. "That is, unless you wanted 
to catch Lenny, the world's fastest tape pirate, in action." 

"He's not s'posed t'do that, y'know." 

"I'm not his keeper, Harry." 

"No, but you made the fuckin' things available to him." 

"Thing," Delaney corrects. "He only made the one." 

"And that's supposed to make it all right?" 

"You got a problem, Harry, b'ake it up with his supervisor, arright?" 

"I see nothing," Harry replies. 

"Welcome to the club." 

"How did you make out?" Delaney asks Jane. 

"I didn't. It's, it's ... incredible. 

"I had this scumbag nailed fifty times over, all the pieces of the puzzle, I 
put it all together, and I come up empty, if you can believe it." 

"I can believe it. I do believe it. 

"It's all over but the PR." 

"The what?" 

"Oh come on, Jane. PR, as in public relations? 

"We haven't lost anything-yet. 

"We've got one person who wants us to take action and fifty who are not 
about to let their daughters get within fifty miles of this office. 

"Indicated action, therefore? 

"Somebody goes to this woman-who, by the way, being as how her particular 
offspring was a consenting adult when the alleged offense took place does 
not have a leg to stand on-and explains to her these simple facts of life, 
okay?" 

"I, I can't." 

"What the hell d'you mean, you can't." 

"I more or less promised her I'd see Murray hanged." 

"Smooth, Jane, very smooth. 

"We ignore her, we walk away, and who is she gonna blame for what's happened 
to her scumbag douchebag of a daughter? 

"Us, that's who, kiddo; you know the type. She is the wronged party, the one 
who raised her daughter as best she could in a cold, cruel world, struggling 
alone against impossible odds and like that. 

"And she does her civic duty, exposing this defiling of young womanhood-in 
return for which her daughter abandons home and hearth and takes off for 
parts unknown, after which the authorities also turn their backs on her. 

"Her daughter she cannot find, will never see or hear from again, but. We 
have offices, titles, telephones. We have people to whom we are 
responsible-people with titles like county commissioner and governor and a 
whole big hierarchy in between. 

"Needless to say, however high the buck bounces, we know where it will 
ultimately stop. 

"So unless you want to become particularly intimate with the outer workings 
of the Bureau of Unemployment Compensation, you had best find it in your 
heart to speak to this woman-heart to heart." 

"Could, could you do it for me, Howard? 

"If not for me, could you do it' for the Unit?" 

"Geez, Jane; you shoulda never promised her!" 

"But the evidence, Howard, the evidence!" 

"But human nature, Jane, human nature! What's done is done and can't be 
undone. 

"These young ladies all made mistakes, but at least they were private, 
confidential mistakes. 

"As in what is the likelihood that somebody they actually know is gonna see 
these tapes, once Murray peddles them for mass production? 

"In fact-aha! In fact, we can do damage control. 

"That's it, damage control. 

"It was already too late for her daughter-but! 

"We have the release forms, right? 

"We cross-reference these to the high school's student records, find out 
which ones were underage when they signed the consent forms, seize just 
those tapes or, if we're too late, get to the distributors, who have not yet 
had the time to advertise, let alone distribute them. 

"I will secure Murray's full cooperation through his attorney who, whatever 
else he may be, is not a stupid person, I run the game plan by the 
complainant, upon whom I will prevail to drop the complaint, thus wiping the 
slate-and your slate-clean. 

"Good plan?" 

"I can live with it. Want the file?" 

Delaney takes the file from her. 

"Listen, Howard, I really appreciate this. Are you sure you won't get in 
trouble with your front office? 

"I mean, it was my uh, my overconfidence that-" 

"Hey, PR is everybody's business, okay? 

"Just uh, in the future, no matter how good it looks, run it by me or one of 
the other attorneys first. 

"Not saying you can't trust your own judgment, understand, but on 
citizen-initiated complaints involving family matters, we wanna be sure that 
there's nothing that could come back to haunt us. 

"This whole thing could have been avoided, if somebody had just told the 
woman that, since her daughter was already over eighteen at the time of the 
alleged offense, the abuse unit was not and could not become involved. 

"That way, she calls the regular cops, they investigate her allegations in 
the regular way, what they come up with they come up with, and Murray ends 
up on the street, same as now, except that I don't waste a whole morning on 
a deposition that's going nowhere, our investigators don't get to attend 
their matine, and Mrs. Lonelyhearts-and guaranteed that's who it's gonna be 
I gotta see, am I right?- can bitch to whoever she pleases, we could care 
less. 

"I'll be more careful next time, Howard. Just that dammit, no way I didn't 
have this scumbag." 

"And no way ya did, either. 

"Okay, lemme get on my horse. 

"I'll get the woman to drop 'her complaint, I'll drop the charges pertaining 
to the warrant and shortstop Zuckerman's motion to vacate, in return for his 
client's cooperation, with which we can save at least half these girls from 
the wonderful' world of the VCR until after they graduate, at which point 
Murray can make them all stars, if that's what they want." 

"Sorry I started this whole thing, Howard. Maybe, maybe this isn't really my 
line of work." 

"If you're looking for an argument from me, Jane, I'm afraid you're gonna be 
very disappointed." 

"There's an opening in Children's Services." 

"Jump on it, then. This meat grinder was never really your scene, is my 
opinion. It's obvious to me that you're not happy here." 

"How ever did you guess, counselor?" 

 Chapter 2 

A lousy thing to do to a hard working, well meaning young woman for a 
relatively minor goof, Delaney tells himself, but he was pissed. 

Not just at her, but at the whole thing, the whole sordid, rotten mess. 

Which, he reminds himself, is why he asked for this particular assignment 
from the state attorney's office-precisely so that he would be in an 
environment in which recourse to the courts is a last resort. 

Delaney is not interested in piling up a record of convictions; he is not 
interested in making a name of any kind for himself, of assuming any more 
responsibility for the workings of a system that doesn't work than he 
already has. 

So that he is quite pleased to be side-tracked, down a path which will help 
pass the time, prove mildly interesting, and, if not yielding a victory in 
which he has no interest, then will not hand him a defeat. 

Which, he suspects, is his real reason for taking over this case, for 
relieving the investigator of all responsibility for it, even at the cost of 
reducing her already low self-esteem. 

He feels himself relaxing, feels himself slipping gently down into his own 
prurience, his own salacious nature, like slipping into a hot tub. 

Already, he gazes through eyes more mellow than cynical at the gritty hustle 
and bustle around him, at the aura of sexuality gone bad which seems to 
permeate the stale atmosphere of the dingy offices of the County's Sexual 
Battery Unit, that piece of specialized bureaucracy which acknowledges that 
every now and again in our society, sex takes a wrong turn. 

What has always amazed him in all this is the degree of victim cooperation, 
almost of victim solicitation. 

Which is another good thing about this case; Delaney sees no victims here, 
only complicity, again, unless this Murray's powers of persuasion are far 
greater than they appear. 

And speaking of powers of persuasion- 

"Good afternoon. Zuckerman, Roth and O'Connor." 

"Lemme talk to Iz. This is Delaney, assistant state attorney, calling in 
regard to his client, one Murray Weiner. I really think he'll want to hear 
what I have to say." 

"Howard! Been a long time. What's up? And before you say anything, my client 
had no knowledge of these girls' being, only seventeen at the time-" 

"I know, Izzy. I'm looking at copies of their photo releases. He was lied 
to. The amazing thing being that they all put down birthdays exactly one 
year earlier than the actual blessed event." 

"How about that for a coincidence?" 

"Yes. We were all amazed over'here, let me tell ya. "But okay, he didn't 
know then, he does know now. 

"Two ways we can go on this thing, Isidore, m'friend. 

"Either we can pursue with a fresh warrant based on intent to 
distribute-that being the nature of your client's business, and all-pr, in 
return for dropping the whole nasty business, your client can cooperate with 
my office, weeding out those tapes which pertain to the sweet seventeen's 
and agreeing to their confiscation." 

"My client, acting in good faith, has invested considerable time and money 
in-" 

"We'll give him a letter, Izzy. Agreed valuation, and he can write it off 
his taxes, capital loss. My best offer, Iz, or we try him in the press. 

"Remember Lydia Fuiham Halfway House and Sally?" 

"He cooperated with the police-" 

"But not with the press. Can I help it if some enterprising journalist has a 
long attention span? 

"Come on, Iz. Freedom or trouble, and I hafta know now." 

"You got it." 

"Okay, set up a hearing, motions and stipulations in front of the judge of 
your choice, Iz, and lemme know who and when. 

"Also, tell Murray to expect me and not to so much as think about being a 
schmuck about any of this. 

"I don't wanna hafta get into non-cooperation." 

"I'll put that in the stipulation in support of the motion. 

"Besides, he's used to cooperating with the authorities, remember?" 

"Fine, Iz. I'll just do the PR with the complainant and be back atcha, or 
you can get to me tomorrow, since it's kind of late." 

"Whatever. Y'know, Delaney, that complaint was so bogus-" 

"I know, Iz. That's why I've gotta get over there. Bogus complaints are the 
worst kind, y'know. 

"They get no action when they think they should, next thing y'know, they're 
callin' Channel Nine Newsline and we got an investigative reporter in our 
faces." 

"Do a good sell job then, Howard. My client's been through enough, lately." 

"Poor baby," Delaney responds. "Be in touch. Ciao, Isidore." 

One of those hopeless neighborhoods, this. Rows of ugly houses, useless 
spaces, the width of a man's body between them, wood and shingles, so-called 
lower middle class, but with price tags like mansions because of the way 
real estate prices have gone up, up, up, the taxes more like rent, as they 
keep pace. 

Delaney finds the address, goes up on the porch, rings the bell. 

"Yes?" 

Housecoat over bod, glass in hand, hair combed this morning, probably, but 
not since, late thirties, Delaney would guess, a woman more sexy than 
beautiful or even pretty, rapidly going to seed. 

"Diedre Collins?" 

"Right." 

"Howard Delaney, State Attorney's Office, assigned to the County Sexual 
Battery Unit, regarding your complaint. May I come in?" 

She fades back into the doorway and he follows her wide, swaying hips back 
into the livingroom, where Oprah is holding forth on the tube, saying 
something with brows knit, making her look like an earnest female gorilla. 

"Am I right on this, ladies?" 

And of course, she is, as confirmed by the roar of the audience. 

Even Diedre manages a muttered, "Damn straight," and this without even 
hearing the position. But then, Delaney supposes, that's the secret of 
Oprah's charm, that she is never wrong, whatever the topic under discussion. 

"Ms. Collins," Delaney begins, sitting down with her on the couch, a 
coordinated movement, "as I'm sure you are aware-were aware at the time-your 
daughter had already passed her eighteenth birthday at the time the ... 
activity which forms the basis of your complaint took place." 

"Yeah, so? What about all those other kids? 

"She told me everything, y'know. Rotten situation, lemme tell ya. Somebody 
oughtta put a stop to it." 

"That would be me, Ms. Collins." 

"Please. Call me Diedre. After all, we're gonna be fighting crime together." 

And she laughs, a throaty, Tallulah Bankhead deep alto, taking a sip from 
her glass. 

"Drink?" she asks. 

"Not uh, not when I'm on duty, no thanks." 

She puts her glass down on the coffee table, saying, "Then I'm on duty too." 

"Yes. Well, the fact is, Jane Rudolph from the unit to whom the complaint 
was originally referred made all the right moves-showing probable cause, 
filing an official complaint, getting an arrest warrant issued, and so on, 
based, as you say, on 'all the other kids.' 

"Unfortunately," Delaney sighs, looking away from her, elbows on knees, 
fingers tented before him, "to a person, their parents or guardians have 
refused to cooperate." 

And he turns to her, trying to gauge her reaction. 

She smiles, picking up her glass, saying, "Looks like I'm not on duty after 
all, huh?" 

She gets up off the couch, pacing the floor, elbows cradling her large, full 
breasts, nipples outlined beneath the thin fabric of the housecoat, glass 
tilted at a dangerous angle, but for the low level of its contents, saying, 
"I really thought I could make a difference, y'know? I actually thought that 
I could get back at the kind of scum who do this, who take young girls and, 
and make them do ... things." 

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Diedre. 

"Your daughter was one person, she was of age, she was paid for, for ... she 
signed a release and accepted payment. 

"Surely, you must have known these facts at the time of your complaint. 

"As for the others, well, while they are-or were-below statutory age, they 
were hardly innocent." 

"Oh, I can well believe that, Mister, Mister-" 

"Please. Call me Howard." 

"I can very well believe that, Howard. Just as I can well believe that their 
parents don't want the matter pursued. 

"Here, wanna see something cute?" 

She puts her glass down, fumbles among the VCR tapes on the shelf of the TV 
stand beneath the set itself, inserts it in the tape player above the set, 
and pushes a button. 

Instantly, Oprah is ,rippled out of existence, replaced by hot and heavy 
action on the screen between a handsome but not particularly well built man 
and a young woman. 

"Know who you're lookin' at?" she asks, rejoining him on the couch. 

"I'd guess that that was your daughter." 

"And loving hubby number two. And she wasn't eighteen when this was shot, 
lemme tell ya! 

"Check out the action! You just watch. They won't miss a trick." 

And Howard watches as the girl on the screen apparently gives the man a 
blowjob, her head blocking the fixed view of the camera, obviously 
positioned on a tripod. 

But there is no mistaking what happens next, as the girl assumes the 
classical position, centered on the bed, on her back, legs raised and 
spread, and the man, first grinning at the camera, mounts her, the pump 
action of his cock in and out of her pussy clearly revealed. 

He fucks her this way, all the way, turning away from her after his climax 
to reveal, for the benefit of the viewing audience, his cock, long and 
straight and shiny, as he squeezes a last pearlescent drop out of it. 

She stops the tape with the remote. 

"And you had knowledge of this tape at the time?" 

"Knowledge? Check this out!" 

The tape resumes at the push of a button. 

A white space, a black space, and then- 

Three of them in the bed, there are. 

Delaney raises an eyebrow, recognizing the pale, voluptuous form of Dierdre, 
flanking the man on one side, her daughter on the other, the three of them 
naked in the bed. 

The man turns this way and that, now sucking Dierdre's tits, kneading and 
fondling them, now those of the girl, his cock growing harder and harder all 
the time. 

They shift around in the bed, now. Diedre centering herself on knees and 
elbows, mooning the camera. 

As the girl, on her knees and to one side, spreads wide the cheeks of 
Diedre's ass. 

The man, grinning and waving into the camera in close-up, strides to the 
foot of the bed, puts a knee on it, and proceeds to insert his cock into 
Diedre's ass, the action muddled momentarily, but then made clear at the 
sight of Diedre's ass hole, now turned into a smoothly rounded orifice which 
sucks the man's cock. 

"Sodomy, right?" Diedre, eyes on the screen, asks. 

"That's uh, that's what they call it, all right," Delaney concurs, the 
crotch of his trousers getting crowded. 

"I promised ya they wouldn't miss a trick, didn't I?" she says, sounding 
oddly pleased. 

"They. Right." 

"What was I supposed to do, Howard? He was my common-law husband. The house, 
my alimony-that all comes out of my divorce. 

"And this bastard said that if I didn't go along with the program, he'd 
write and tell number one about all that was going on between him and my 
daughter. 

"So what was I s'posed t'do?" 

"I could have had him-" 

"You could have had him arrested, tried, convicted, and out on the street in 
six months. 

"Me? I'd be out on the street a helluva lot sooner than that. 

"Look at me, Howard! I'm a housewife. No skills, no talents-other than 
that!" 

She nods toward the screen. 

"You think my first husband sends me money from the goodness of his heart? 

"He divorced me! Y'know what the courts do to a husband who divorces his 
wife for the ever-popular incompatibility, Howard? 

"They make him bleed, is what they do! 

"And I loved it, loved every minute of it! It was all I could do t'keep from 
sending his new wife cards every holiday! 

"Alimony plus child support he sent, every month. 

"He came up in the world, never sees the checks. 

"His accountant sends them, the child support stopping promptly the month 
Susan turned eighteen." 

"Susan?" 

"Yeah, Susan. Why?" 

"You uh, you didn't actually see these tapes, any of them, that your 
daughter ... starred in, then?" 

"No, why? 

"Don't tell me they've got her full name in the opening credits." 

"No, no," he replies, thinking that she must be the Susan of 'Staying after 
School' fame. 

"Y'know, Howard, it's very easy to sit there in judgment of me." 

That's very true, Howard thinks; but then, how hard could it be since there 
she is on the screen, getting fucked in the ass by her boyfriend as her 
daughter stands there beside them on her knees, playing with the cheeks of 
his ass? 

"It's all in your point of view, Howard. Believe me when I tell ya, you had 
to be there to really understand." 

"You went along with it all because he was blackmailing you with his 
threats," Howard says. 

"Yes, that's right, I-" 

She cuts herself off in mid-sentence, leaning back on the couch, looking at 
him, rather than the screen, saying, "You're really good, Howard; I bet when 
you get up in front of a judge and jury, you get a lot of convictions. 

"Howard was blackmailing me, all right, but with more than threats-unless 
you wanna call being cut out of the action a threat. 

"I mean, look at me, Howard, if you can tear your eyes away from the screen 
for a minute. 

"I'm a big, good-looking, sexy woman. 

"What was I to do-play housekeeper while my own daughter became Larry's 
live-in lover, or vice versa? 

"So I had my choice there as well. 

"Take it or leave it, but Susan was the essential one, the preferred one, 
and that's the way it was." 

"You could have cheated on him." 

"Oh, right! And what kind of an example would that be for my daughter? I 
consider myself a responsible mother, you know." 

And Howard can only shake his head, looking down, not daring to glance at 
the screen, lest he find the contrast between her words of the present and 
her actions of the very recent past uncontrollably hilarious. 

"Again, Howard, it's a question of point of view." 

"Where is this Larry now? 

"Gone. Long gone. Took his collection of tapes-those are all duplicates, by 
the way-with him. Went west, or so he mentioned to Susan, when he invited 
her to go with him." 

"Is that where she went then-to join him?" 

"I doubt it very much. 

"She didn't just turn him down, y'know. It was a really proud moment for me, 
let me tell ya, when she told him exactly what she thought of him, once she 
had been with a-how did she put it? Oh yeah-a real man. 

"Said if he had a problem with that, she'll call him up, have him come over 
and show Larry what that means the hard way." 

"So he turned her down and took off." 

"Then she was ... involved at the high school?" 

"Some fucking high school, lemme tell ya. If sex was education, that place'd 
be a regular goddam university!" 

"And she had her friends over?" 

"Oh yes! Oh yes indeed! And not for pajama parties, either. Her bedroom was 
the Grand Central Station of cock." 

"And you-" 

"Went crazy. I was not gonna let my reputation go down the tubes any more 
than it was. So I had to stay down here, watching TV, watching-those tapes, 
while upstairs the real thing was goin' on." 

"That must have been very ... frustrating for you, Diedre." 

"Frustrating? Frustration is my whole life!" 

"That why you filed the complaint?" 

"Yes. I mean no. I mean maybe. Probably. I just wanted, I felt I had to do 
... something, something to clean up the mess." 

"That's ... understandable, Diedre; unfortunately, I have to face certain 
realities, among them being that your complaint, as it stands, is not 
actionable, in and of itself, under the law. 

"As you say ... I'm a very good prosecutor, so I should know." 

"And uh, what else are you good at, Howard?" 

"Several things, matter of fact. 

"Now, I have here a form, Withdrawal of Complaint." 

Howard pulls this out of his briefcase. 

"If you will examine it carefully-" 

"How's about I examine you carefully, Howard?" Diedre says, placing a palm 
over the bulge in the crotch of his trousers, face close to his. He pauses, 
ballpoint pen in mid-air. 

"Why don't we take care of this first, Diedre?" 

"I will if you will, Howard." 

"How can I possibly refuse an offer like that?" Howard asks, the world, 
reality confirming its yielding voluptuousness, reinforcing that hint of it 
he gathered, the moment Jane turned the case over to him. 

She signs and dates the document unread. 

Howard secures it in his briefcase. 

Hand in hand, they go upstairs. 

Form follows function. 

Howard read that, heard that somewhere. 

And Dierdre seems to be confirmation of that, her body seemingly created for 
one purpose, to which it is ideally suited, quite possibly, into the 
exclusion of all other purposes, all other reasons for existing. 

A body in which a man could lose himself, Howard reflects, kneading and 
fondling her large, firm breasts with both hands, feeding them to himself 
one at a time, sucking the doorbells of her nipples which almost instantly 
become stiffly erect, rubbery. 

Yes, he cannot seem to get enough of her breasts, even though there is more 
than enough of them. 

Eagerly, hungrily, he devours them, wallowing in their glandular 
voluptuousness. 

Because these are not merely Dierdre's boobs, but the confirmation of 
nature's sensual abundance, reality's solid support of his imagination. 

He leaves his clutching hands behind as he descends her body, helping 
himself to mouthful after mouthful of her voluptuous flesh, tasting her, 
chewing her as he descends, going down, down, down- 

Into her bush. 

And the large but firm thighs raise and spread themselves as Howard places a 
hand on the backs of them, chewing her large, hairy cunt, even as his tongue 
traverses the slippery slit through the middle of the forest. 

Yes and yes and yes! Howard shouts to himself as he strums her knob of a 
clit with the vibrating tip of his tongue. 

Because this, this! is what it's really all about-all the sweaty, gritty, 
essentially trivial, intrinsically meaningless struggle of daily existence. 

So that he could be doing as he is, so that he could be feeling as he is at 
this moment. 

And if time is an endlessly flowing stream, then Howard wants nothing so 
much as to rise above the flow, higher and higher above this precise moment, 
giving it a perpendicular dimension, freezing it in time as he ascends up, 
up, up the ladder of his arousal. 

And of hers. 

Because yes, he is taking her with him, is merging with her, is leaving 
behind her crazy, defective thought process, is leaving behind the glaring 
flaws in her character, is overlooking, ignoring her rank and rampant 
stupidity. 

Because form follows function, and of this fundamental truth she is the 
living proof. 

And her function has nothing to do with what she has done, with her 
reasoning processes or lack thereof; rather, it is concerned with the 
generation of those sensations which even now make themselves felt to an 
ever-increasing degree within him. 

Yes, it is concerned with that type of communication, with that language of 
raw, sensual feeling which is of the body, which is experienced by the body 
in behalf of the mind, which has no such facilities in solid reality, and 
which thus must give place to the body and to the feeling and the feeling 
and the feeling, which must surrender to the floodtide of lascivious 
sensation, which must recognize and yield to the rising level of his 
sexuality. 

Which is mirrored in hers. 

Which is combining now, fusing with hers, united in the closed circuit of 
sexual electricity which even now swells stronger and stronger, surging 
within them again and again. 

As his tongue, long, thick, powerful, fucks her, exploring the hot, flowing 
depths of her cunt, rubbing back and forth over the engorged bulb of her joy 
buzzer. 

Until his hard-on becomes insistent, painful in its intensity. 

So that, responding to this physical imperative, he inserts his mighty 
marauder in, in, into her cunt. 

Which sucks it with an articulation worthy of a mouth. 

Which welcomes it, caressing it, clinging to it in warm, slippery embrace as 
he pumps her cunt, as he pistons in and out of her repeatedly, going faster 
and faster, forcing the both of them up, up, up the rainbow of their shared 
arousal. 

And he rides her, with a dizzy, disoriented sensation of both being in 
control and of going along for the ride, as a force greater than himself, 
greater than both of them combined, explodes within him, blossoming outward, 
its pressure filling every part of him, exquisite, irresistible. 

As the pleasure beyond pleasure absorbs, engulfs, sweeps away all that has 
gone before it. 

And they don't have it; it has them. 

So that now, they hover together at the peak of their capacity to contain 
it, and still it keeps coming, keeps welling up within their innermost 
depths to spread, to propagate, to stretch, to strain their safety 
valves-and to blow them. 

So that they are coming and coming now, the spurts of his thick, hot, 
copious jism injecting themselves into the depths of her streaming, 
clinging, sucking cunt, in counterpoint to the spasms of her series of 
multiple orgasms, which milk his cock of the ultimate pleasure, even as they 
inspire it within him. 

Thus do they zoom and soar together through the rosy empyrean of their 
shared sexual paradise. 

Until, at last, their climax subsides, then ceases altogether, and they 
float gently back to earth. 

 Chapter 3 

"Can you stay for supper? 

"I'm really a very good cook, y'know." 

"Sorry," he replies, drying himself off alongside her, "gotta get going. 
I've got stuff to get ready for tomorrow like you wouldn't believe." 

Like would you believe that he must prepare a brief citing precedents for 
what he is about to join a defense attorney in doing which will have the end 
result of letting her target, Murray, completely off the hook? 

Not that it will take all, that long; indeed, he is so familiar with certain 
well-used precedents that he can recite them from memory. 

The important thing here, he reminds himself, is that everybody wins. 

The warrant will not be vacated, a part of the evidence will be retained, 
young reputations will not be jeopardized, justice will be served as much as 
it ever is. 

The action will even carry with it a punishment of sorts; certainly, Murray 
is going to be less than thrilled at the prospect of a good portion of his 
work being suddenly unusable, his time thus spent to no constructive 
purpose, a goodly portion of anticipated profits up in smoke. 

He will even get a pat on the back from his superiors in the state 
attorney's office and from the unit's division chief for pissing out what 
could have been a bad fire. 

Indeed, the school board as well owes him a debt of gratitude, for having 
thus deftly. avoided yet another scandal in their behalf. 

Not, he reminds himself, as he dresses, not that they will ever know. 

"So," Diedre says, having put her housecoat back on and watched him dress in 
silence, "when-I mean, will I see you again?" 

"I'll call ya," he replies, gathering his suit coat from the downstairs 
couch, picking up his briefcase. 

"You uh, you got my number?" 

"In the file," he replies, patting his briefcase, which doesn't contain the 
file. 

"I'll uh, I'll understand, if, if-never mind." 

You are such a fucking loser, Diedre! Howard tells her, in his mind. Already 
she is resigned to the fact that he could be lying, already she forgives him 
if he is, knowing as she does that life and her have somehow had a parting 
of the ways, so that reality proceeds very nicely without her. 

Young as she is, Howard reflects, she should think of signing up for 
Medicalert. 

Hell, she could die in this place and nobody would ever know about it, the 
post office indefinitely shoving mail through the slot in the door until, in 
a year or so, the county, losing patience at her apparent refusal to pay her 
taxes, comes knocking at the door. 

"I will call you, Dierdre," he reiterates sincerely, at the moment not 
knowing himself whether or not this is a lie. 

Because tomorrow, he will be, ironically enough, working with Murray, under 
condition of the stipulation, sorting out the tapes, determining which are 
suitable for commercial reproduction and sale and which are illegal and thus 
must remain indefinitely in the possession of the authorities, whom he 
embodies or represents, depending on point of view. 

And if Murray has the acquaintances Delany suspects he does, then life is 
going to become very interesting indeed. 

So that he cannot say for sure right now just when or even if he will be 
getting back together with Diedre-much as he desires to explore her other 
possibilities. 

Yes, he reflects, the world is turning into a very voluptuous place indeed. 

"Copy of complaint as filed, copy of warrant request, copy of warrant, 
notice and inventory, seizure of evidence, arrest record, motion to dismiss 
and writ in substantiation-" 

"That's a stipulation, Your Honor," Delaney interjects. 

"Pardon me, mister non-prosecutor," the judge replies, continuing his 
recitation of the documents as supplied, "stipulation, withdrawal of 
complaint, affidavit from Sexual Battery Unit investigator, notice of case 
closure-okay Mr. Zuckeriftan, Mr. Delaney, subject to terms and conditions 
of the stipulation as agreed-" 

Bang, bang goes the gavel, "-People versus Weiner, docket number as shown, 
dismissed, next case." 

Izzy holds open the gate at the railing separating the audience from the 
floor containing the attorney's tables and he and Howard bow each other 
through. 

"A touching display of what can be achieved when we all work together within 
the system, gentlemen!" the judge proclaims from the bench, interrupting a 
recitation by the bailiff of multiple defendants and charges on the next 
case. 

Howard and Izzy bow toward the bench, the bailiff resumes his recitation and 
they exit the courtroom. 

"So. When are you seeing Murray?" 

"This afternoon." 

"He doesn't cooperate fully, you just call me, okay? I've had it with this 
nickel-and-dime puts. 

"Big deal, he saves big using high school girls. 

"So look where it got him. Waste of time and money-" 

"Big legal fee," Delaney interrupts. 

"Big legal fee," Izzy concedes, "and so unnecessary. 

"The man has a simple business. He knows what he can do, where and with whom 
he can do it. 

"He had to know he was on thin ice with that Sally character at Lydia 
Fulham. 

"Likewise with the teeny-boppers. 

"What the hell is next-sex with animals?" 

"So why do you defend him? I know you're not hurting for clients. Hell, Buck 
Enterprises alone-" 

"You just hit the nail on the head, Howard. 

"I can't risk that this schmuck is gonna do something to dredge up Randy 
Buck's past-alleged past, that is. 

"He came looking for me, but if I'd of gotten wind of the trouble he was in, 
I'd have done it pro bono, if necessary, believe me. The last thing Randy 
Buck needs right now is more trouble. 

"Poor guy's in the hospital, for heaven's sake-" 

"And not cooperating with the state attorney, Izzy, as you well know. 

"What gives, anyway? Weird, the whole thing." 

"Leave it alone, Howard; your people are." 

"I know. Buck left 'em no choice, what with his refusal-" 

"His inability. Head injuries, among others, remember? 

"What a world we live in, when even the wealthy and powerful are not safe in 
their own homes." 

"How's he doing, anyway?" 

"Well as can be expected. Tell ya, though, you would not know the man to 
look at him. Pathetic. 

"They really did a number on him-whoever they were." 

"Yeah, whoever." 

Because Howard has heard rumors that the wealthy sports and fames tycoon was 
clobbered by none other than his reputed archenemy, Cynthia Marvel, the 
cosmetics magnate, a.k.a. the Baroness, as part of a running battle in some 
elaborate and deadly game they are playing. 

"The important thing is that Randy Buck's connection with that prison 
scandal-not saying that there was any, understand-be put to rest in the 
public mind. He made an unfortunate choice in female companions, that's 
all." 

"Funny how she and Buck Enterprises have the same lawyer." 

"Hey, Randy takes care of her legal fees, that's no secret. Ever stop to 
think that he really liked the woman?" 

Howard casts Izzy a knowing, cynical smile. 

"Or something. Whatever," Izzy says, defensively. 

"Easy, Izzy. We're not in court, you know." 

"Yeah, well, anyway, good luck with Murray this afternoon." 

"If I have anything else, I'll let you know." 

And the two men separate on the courthouse steps, Izzy getting into a sleek 
silver limo which has pulled around the corner as though on signal, Howard 
walking over to a hotdog vendor. 

Interesting, Howard thinks, pulling into a NO PARKING zone near Murray's 
apartment and studio, this Murray's penchant for getting into trouble where 
he should know better. 

Howard pulls the two boxes of VCR tapes out of the trunk of his official 
vehicle, going to the door of the building, sandwiched between two store 
fronts. 

He puts down one box and buzzes, long and hard. 

"Yeah, yeah, arright, arready!" comes a tinny voice, over the intercom. "So 
who's there?" 

"Assistant State Attorney Howard-" 

The door buzzes, letting him in. 

He trudges up the steps to the second floor apartment, which opens with a 
rattling of chains, a woman wearing too much makeup, raincoat pulled tightly 
over her twin promontories, emerging, Murray saying, "See ya, doll," before 
admitting Howard, burdened as he is with two boxes and a briefcase. 

"You almost interrupted something important there, A.S.A. Howard." 

"Expecting anybody else?" Howard asks, looking at the short, kimono-clad 
Musray. "Look like you're ready for the tea ceremony there." 

"How did joo-never mind." 

Howard looks from Murray to the door and back again, understanding. 

"Y'mean I hit the nail right on the head, Murray? Little tea ceremony, only 
the kind you perform in the bathtub? Little golden shower action there, Mur? 

"You are some piece of work, Murray, and don't ever let anybody tell ya 
different!" 

"I got a natcherly fertile mind, what can I say? "So. How d'you wanna do 
this, Howard?" 

"I was hoping you could somehow cross-reference the tapes to these copies of 
the release forms. 

"The ones with the false birthdates are marked in red, as you can see-" 

"If you say so. They all looked legit t'me at the time." 

"Uh, Murray, as your lawyer has undoubtedly informed you by now, the charges 
have been dropped, so you need not plead your case with me. 

"I want those tapes which correspond to these girls to take back with me. 
You will never see them again and, for your sake, nobody else had better, 
either." 

"Startin' a private collection, huh?" Murray smiles, winking at him. 

"Murray, d'you have a system or don't cha?" 

"Sort of. Y'see, the tapes're, numbered. An' I pay by check, 'cause I'm 
afraid t'leave a lotta cash around-" 

"Is there a point to this, Murray?" "So on the stub I put the tape number or 
numbers I'm payin' 'em t'do their thing for." 

"Better than I'd hoped for, Murray," Howard concedes, "perhaps there's some 
hope for you yet. 

"But not if you keep askin' f'trouble, Mur. I mean, can we talk here, or 
what?" 

"Sure. Go 'head." 

"You took the pictures of this Sally character, Murray." 

"Ey, per her arrangements, okay? I mean, it's not like I-" 

"Murray, Murray, Murray, listen to your Uncle Howie a second, it shouldn't 
be a total loss what we're talkin' here, right? 

"I know that you didn't know what you were getting into, following the 
yellow brick road to that place in the country; be that as it may, the state 
police caught Sally with Randy under, shall we say, highly questionable 
circumstances. 

"Okay, Randy Buck doesn't get charged for what was goin' on there on a 
technicality, the police find out who Sally really is and what she did-with 
your help-and she goes to trial, goes to prison-again with your help-with 
RB's name coming up again, this time in the newspapers, in the process. 

"And now, here you come, 'round again-" 

"Which is why I hired Buck's own attorney t'get me off, Howard! 

"Surely Randy Buck can see that I'm doing the best I can t'stay outta 
trouble, knowing that I'm identified with recent events in which he's 
involved!" 

"Didja ever stop t'think, Murray, that maybe you owe your life to the fact 
that Randy Buck is in the hospital right now?" 

"'Ey, by the time he gets out, this'll be a dead issue, right, Howard?" 

"Is a loose end ever a dead issue, Murray? 

"Especially a loose end that can't seem t'stay outta trouble? 

"Think about it, pal. And this time, use your brain, not cher cock. Is it 
true you got a nice one, by the way?" 

"Look for yerself!" 

Murray displays himself with enthusiasm, holding up the hem of his kimono, 
saying, "If yer innarested-" 

"Don't even think about it, Murray. I like the ladies." 

"Yeah, me too, but I'm like, flexible, y'know?" 

"Let's hope that rigor mortis doesn't suddenly set in and change all that," 
Delaney responds, "Les morts n'ont pas de conversation." 

"How's that?" 

"The dead don't fuck." 

"If you're tryna scare me, Howard, you're doin' a helluva job." 

"Yeah, well, get out cher check book an' let's start checkin' off tapes, 
shall we? 

"I get treated right here, an' I might just put in the word where it counts 
to see that any rumors about Randy Buck's private habits remain just rumors, 
so far as you're concerned." 

"You'd do that for me? 

"What should I make the the check out for an' to whom?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about, Murray? We need the check book to 
cross-reference the tape numbers to the names, is all! 

"Put the fucking pen away before I stick it up your ass! Geez! First I get 
called a queer, and now you try t'bribe me? 

"Lucky I got a thick skin, Murray, or you wouldn't hafta worry about Randy 
Buck." 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Just tryna cooperate, is all, in any an' ev'ry way 
possible. 

"Okay, this is the YS series, running YS one to a hundred." 

"What's the YS stand for, Murray?" 

"Young stuff. An' before y'say anything-" 

"I wasn't gonna say anything, Murray. Just curious, is all. 

"Okay, lessee what we got here. We got YSI with a 1099 after it." 

"When I use my regular models, I gotta keep records an' send 'em a 1099, 
enda the year, f'tax purposes." 

"Oeez, Mur! This guy got five hundred sucks?" 

"He's worth it, Howard!" 

"Okay, the next check is YSI, Patsy, looks like ... Monahan, for fifty. 

"We come over here t'the release forms an'- oops! 

"Sorry, Murray, I got a red star." 

"Tell me about it! Cost me five-fifty, hour anna half of work, not counting 
set-up, it's gonna disappear an' I come up fuckin' bupkas. 

"Listen, Howard, are you' sure I can't writecha a little something-" 

"Bring it up one more time, Murray, and I personally guarantee ya you won't 
be writing anything for anybody for a long time, unless you learn how t'hold 
a pen in your mouth-your suddenly toothless mouth, that is." 

"Oh, that's right, Howard, pick on me because I'm small, why don't cha?" 

"Okay, so YSI goes in the retain pile." 

So it goes. 

Until seventy-five tapes are to be retained by officialdom. 

"You do understand, Murray, do you not, that you are entitled to declare a 
capital loss for your expenses in conjunction with the confiscated tapes?" 

"You are too kind, Howard. I can't find the words to express how much I 
appreciate this." 

Howard shrugs, replying, "These taper are in violation of statutes and will 
therefore remain in confiscation. Having them in your possession, knowing 
what you know about them, is a criminal offense, Murray, whether or not the 
girls were willing, whether or not their parents can be prevailed upon to 
file a complaint." 

"I know, I know, I know," Murray sighs, "Still, at one hundred to five-fifty 
a pop, we're lookin' at-I think I'm gonna be sick!" 

"You got twenty-five left, Murray; I figure, with your mark-up, you'll 
probably just about break even on a project that took you what?" 

"Twenny mammyjammin', back-breaking days to put together," Murray moans. 
"Backdrops, props, dialogue, direction-all shot to hell!" 

"Y'know, Murray, what I don't understand is how the hell you expected to get 
away with it. 

"Fifty girls, Murray-fifty! Not all of 'em minors, but all goin' t'the same 
school, all talkin' to each other, all livin' at home with somebody; what 
ever possessed you t'be so, so ... indiscrete?" 

Murray shrugs, looking away from Howard. 

"'Ey, what do I know, Howard? 

"I put in an ad for models. 

"I mean, go figure high school kids, fads, arright? "If you can believe it, 
this whole thing started with two girls. 

"Two fuckin' girls, Howard, that's all. 

"An' like they say in the commercial, they told two friends, an' they told 
two friends an' like that, y'know? 

"Still, you must have made it a very pleasant experience for them, as well 
as rewarding, right?" 

"Damn straight! 

"Waddaya think, I don't know how t'treat a woman?" 

"Anything they don't wanna do, they don't hafta-no questions, no exceptions. 
Right up front, that's what I told 'em. I mean, like I say, Howard, I am 
flexible. 

"'Ey, they don't wanna do this, so okay, we can do that. An' I dunno, maybe 
I was more clever than I thought. Maybe I was accidentally usin' 
waddayacallit-reverse psychology." 

"How's that?" 

"Howard, there was nothing these girls did not want to do. It was, like, my 
wish was their command, I kid joo not. 

"I axe 'em t'take the big one up the ass? Ta-da, it happens, just like that. 

"Eat each other's pussies? You got it, like they're havin' breakfast! 

"Suck dick, even used dick? Dick l'orange, know what I'm sayin'? 

"I get tired, I run out of ideas? They take over the fuckin' production! 

"This one guy I use, all shiny with the muscles? "Two of them took turns 
rimmin' the guy! "He and I, neither one of us could fucking believe it, but 
it happened. 

"An' I, I! had t'draw the line on the water sports!" 

"In other words, you were actually offended?" 

"I found some of the shit they came up with utterly devoid of cultural 
content, completely lacking in social value and offensive by the moral 
standards of this community-an' we are talking Forty-second Street an' 
Broadway here! 

"I had t'put the fuckin' breaks on, understand? 

"I mean, I don't know where these kids got their upbringin', but you got 
some pretty rough items goin' for ya there! 

"Tell ya the truth, some of the stuff you got there, I was a little hesitant 
t'release myself. 

"I was gonna tell the buyer out on the coast he might wanna consider some of 
it strictly for export. South America or somethin', maybe. 

"We're still a civilized people here, when all is said an' done, dammit!" 

"Does the Roseanne Barr version of the National Anthem come with this 
speech, Murray?" 

"Ey; joke if y'want, arright? You sorta had ta be there, y'know?" 

"And you say some of this is on the tapes?" 

"Not the worst stuff, no; I mean, I am in control here, or at least I like 
t'think so. 

"Y'know, y'start off with what seems t'be a pretty good idea, but then it 
gets outta hand; it's like one thing leads to another, an' before y'know it, 
y'got cherself a buncha teenyboppers playin', 'Can You Top This?' 

"Not sayin' they were all that way, understand. Some of 'em were really 
nice-nice to look at, nice to work with. 

"I told these t'get in touch with me after they graduate, if they were still 
interested in doin' this kinda work. 

"Or if they wanted t'relocate, I could steer 'em t'some pretty good tapers 
here an' out west." 

"Do you happen to recall a girl named Susan, Murray?" 

"Susan. Oh yeah, Susan! 

"She was the best an' the worst, Howard! "Best body, best head, but like, 
wild, y'know? "Something about her-but, like I say, she was the worst too. 

"She took a shine t'the regular I had her workin' with for this one tape-" 

"'Staying after School'? you mean?" 

"Yeah, yeah, that's the one! 

"Hey! You been lookin' at the stuff, have ya?" 

"Hey, it's-" 

"No, no, we'll say it together. Ready?" 

Together, they recite, "It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it!" 

And they laugh. 

"Waddaya mean, she was wild, the worst, and so on?" 

"We got through the one tape, no sweat, okay?" 

"It went so well that I wanted to have the two of them together again. 

"But this Susan was, like, all over Helen. 

"That's the big broad's name, Helen. 

"I mean, she was hot! Red face, wild movements, like she was some kind of 
animal, outta control, like she couldn't get enougha this Helen. 

"So finally, I hadda say, like, 'Ey, enough's enough." 

"I thought you said Helen was a pro, Murray." 

"She was, she is! But there was nuthin' she could do with her, either. 

"Finally, Helen tells me she'll take Susan home with 'er, try an' get 'er 
calmed down, work things out an' like that." 

"That what went down?" 

"Sort of. Susan never came back here. An' from some of the things Helen 
says, I gather they're livin' t'gether now." 

"Susan's mother is very worried about her. Hasn't heard from her, doesn't 
know where she is and like that." 

"Well, okay, tell 'er what choo want, no skin off; just uh, leave me out of 
it, okay? 

"Last thing I need is t'have somebody's outraged mama comin' down on me for 
what their daughter come in here an' did on 'er own." 

"Which is exactly how this whole thing started, in case you're not aware of 
it." 

"Susan's mother, y'mean?" 

"Hey, Murray, one day the woman finds out her daughter's a skinflick 
starlet, the next day she's outta the house, lost and gone forever, just 
like Clementine in the song-who's she gonna call?" 

"Oh yeah? Innat case-we're talkin' Susan's old lady, right? innat case, I 
insist, in fact I demand that you straighten out this bullshit, Howard! 

"You tell Susan's old lady that I am not a part of whatever Susan's got 
goin' for herself in that screwed-up head of hers, okay? 

"She is not gonna use the law as a club over my fuckin' head t-" 

"Easy, Murray, ee-zee, babe! 

"Gimme this Helen's address, I'll go over there and check out the situation, 
is all. You are out of it, a free man, remember?" 

 Chapter 4 

"So tell me, Howard, you single, married, goin' steady, or what?" Murray 
asks. 

"Single, no attachments, Murray; why do you ask?" 

"What choo see is what choo get, more or less, if you want it that way, if 
you won't get all bent outta shape an' take it the wrong way, know what I'm 
sayin' here?" 

"Telling me that some of this stuff is not adverse to having a nice time of 
an evening-the real thing instead of in front of a camera-if I understand 
you correctly." 

"That's right, pal." 

"Listen uh, pal; I hear what you're saying and when this is all over, maybe 
I'll give it a whirl. 

"Right now, however, I've still got these twenty-five tapes to go through, 
before I can release them to you for distribution." 

"Boo! Censorship! Foul! First Amendment violation!" 

"Glad to see you're being so mature about this, Murray." 

"Well whad'd joo expect? I gotta make a living, y'know. First y'take away 
three weeks out of a month's work, an' now you're tellin' me I can't sell 
the others either? 

"Come on, Howard! I thought we were friends!" 

Howard thinks this last over for a moment before replying, "We are, Murray, 
we are. 

"This is for your own protection, don't cha see? "Say I release the resta 
your stuff, sight unseen. "Say it goes to California or wherever, gets 
reproduced a jillion times and goes into general distribution. 

"And somebody discovers-oops! Somehow, underage stuff got through here, 
slipped between the cracks. 

"Or somebody's eating or drinking something they shouldn't be-a sure-fire 
killer in every state in the union. 

"Murray, relative to what we discussed before, you don't want, you can't 
have another hassle of any kind with the law. 

"Look. Tell ya what I'm gonna do. 

"I'll leave the twenty-five tapes here with you, I'll come back tomorrow and 
go over them-again with you. 

"Chances are, they're all okay, right?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Well then, there we are, y'see? 

"Clean bill of health and nothing comes back to haunt you. Plus, we can go 
over some more personal things, such as ways and means to get-and stay-in 
the good graces of one Randy Buck." 

"And then there's that," Murray says, ruefully. 

"Fraid so, old buddy. 

"Look at it from Randy Buck's point of view, after all. What reason does he 
have to let you live right now-assuming of course, that the rumors about him 
are true?" 

"I don't uh, I'm not quite sure-" 

"Rhetorical question, Murray; don't stain yourself. I wouldn't have asked if 
I didn't know the answer. 

"The reason is that a file exists and is proliferating, even as we speak, 
establishing a causal link between yourself and what has just befallen him." 

"But I don't see-" 

"Of course you don't, old buddy. This is where I come in. 

"We are going to cause you-based on this present inquiry-to expand and 
amplify your statements in connection with the affaire Sally. 

"This expansion, this ... clarification is to serve as the basis upon which 
one Isidore Zuckerman will review in detail-with me-the ramifications of 
anything untoward happening in your life, Murray, this being the diplomatic 
channel of communication to Randy Buck. 

"In this manner will we ensure that the biography of one Murray Weiner, 
graphic social commentator on our times-ya like that?" 

"It works for me," Murray concurs. "-will have many, many Chapters yet to 
run." "Amen," Murray says. 

"So. I gonna leave ya now, as Dean Martin used to say. Oh, gimme that 
address for this Helen before I go." 

Helen's house proves to be the bottom of duprex. 

Helen herself proves to be heavily reminiscent of Dierdre, Susan's 
mother-right down to the housecoat she's wearing. 

"What can I do for you Mister... Delaney?" Helen says, looking at the card 
he has handed her. 

"Actually, I'm here to see Susan. 

"We traced her to her possible connection with you by means of a videotape 
seized in conjunction with others in a matter of no concern to you." 

"Damn right it's of no concern to me! Susan was over eighteen when that tape 
was made." 

"Not a matter in contention here, I assure you, Helen." 

"We're on a first name basis, are we?" 

"Uh, somehow, I've come to feel as though I know you intimately." 

Helen laughs, saying, "That's very well put uh-" consulting the card again, 
"Howard. Come in, won't you?" 

Delaney steps into the entrance hail and Helen startles him by calling over 
her shoulder, "Susan! A gentleman is here to SEE you!" 

"I don't KNOW any gentlemen!" comes a reply from somewhere in the house; in 
the same sing-song voice. 

"Then it's time you got ac-QUAINT-ed." 

Then, to Delaney, "Don't look so surprised, Howard; would it have done any 
good for me to deny knowing her or even to say she's not here and I have no 
idea where she is?" 

"Not much," Delaney concedes. "Like the housecoat, by the way?" 

"Do you really?" Helen says, modeling it for him. "Susan got it for me." 

So that she could dress like Diedre, no doubt, Delaney reflects. 

And-here she is. Susan. 

Susan, in short shorts and tube top, even though it's winter. 

"Susan, this is-" 

"A cop, right?" 

"Lawyer. State attorney's office, actually, assigned to the county's sexual 
battery unit." 

"Too late." 

"I know, and I'm, I'm ... sorry. For what's happened to you at home, that 
is. The unit was never informed at the time. 

"Your mother is very concerned about you." 

"Again, too late." 

"Yes, well, I'm sure she'll be relieved to know where you are and that 
you're all right." 

"Never better. Anything else?" 

"You did drop out of school.? 

"Over eighteen. Law says I can do that, mister lawyer." 

"Not here to debate that, Susan. Your mother has filed a complaint-" 

"Oh yeah? Funny, how she never had a complaint in the world when that animal 
Larry was around. She tell ya about Larry, did she? She tell ya what I used 
t'do with him-while she watched, while she joined in the fun and games? 

"She proud of what she did and what she didn't do, is she, now? 

"What did she complain about? She file a missing person report or something? 
Well, as you can see, I'm not missing. Got a few screws loose, maybe, couple 
bricks short of a full load, perhaps, but missing the whole bod? What's it 
look like t'you?" 

"As an expression of her concern for you, Susan, she took information she 
apparently learned from you concerning the activities of certain of your 
former classmates and-" 

"That hypocritical bitch! That defective excuse for a douchebag! 

"She ah, she didn't cause Murray any trouble, did she? I mean, like, who the 
fuck is she to hassle anybody?" 

"At uh, at considerable loss of time and money, Mr. Weiner was able to form 
a defense sufficiently strong that the state was able to dismiss the charges 
arising from the complaint, which your mother subsequently withdrew." 

"When it was too late." 

"As I say, she managed to put Mr. Weiher through a pretty good meat 
grinder." 

"A man she never met, didn't know, didn't know anything about-his life, she 
manages to put in the dumper. 

"Whereas the scumbag responsible for, for-never mind. You wouldn't believe 
me If! told you." 

"Ah, but I would, Susan. I've seen the uh, home videos?" 

Susan laughs derisively, then says, "She keeps those around then, does she? 
Gets her jollies off watching them? 

"You two had sodas and popcorn going over them, didja?" 

"I saw enough to come to some appreciation of the problem." 

"Did you really, now?" 

"Look, Susan, what should I tell your mother, other than the fact that I 
found you?" 

"Since when is a lawyer on the state's payroll a messenger boy?" 

"In return for her cooperation in saving the state a great deal of time and 
money, the state is prepared to go to considerable lengths in satisfying 
what it considers to be the legitimate concerns of a citizen. 

"If you choose to view this as playing messenger boy, then so be it. 

"I assure you, I am immune to such insults, if that was your intent." 

"Nah! I got nuthin' against you; hell, I don't even know you. 

"This is just the way I am whenever somebody brings up the subject of mommy 
dearest. And if you really understood what the fuck you were looking at on 
those tapes, you'd know why." 

"Sexual battery can take many forms, Susan." 

"And not all of them lead to bruises, is what you're tryna say, right?" 

"On the contrary, they all do, one way or another; sometimes, the bruises we 
see are the least of the injuries sustained." 

"That's clever, y'know? Pushing all the right buttons, are you? Calm, 
sympathetic, insightful, charitable, forgiving-only I don't buy it, Howie. 

"What'd she do-seduce you? 

"Convince you t'use the full resources of the state to find me, your badge 
or whatever to confront me? 

"Been in that hot box of hers, haveya, Howie?" 

"I don't think that's any of your-" 

"You're right, Howie. It's not only none of my business, but I could care 
less, so how does that grab ya? 

"But, getting back to your question, what do I want to tell my mother? What 
message shall we send with Howie when we wind him up and send him back for 
seconds? 

"Ah, I have it! 

"A picture is worth a thousand words, Howie, so how's about a little live 
action, Howie-baby? 

"Something to report back to big mama, after you get back there and she 
takes the edge off and you get down to the talking phase between rounds. 

"Sorry you won't be able to offer film at eleven, Howie, but we don't have a 
video camera in the house, or for that matter a VCR over the tube. 

"Sounds positively uncivilized, doesn't it? 

"Not to worry, though; I'm sure your powers of observation and memory will 
stand you in good stead. 

"Come on upstairs with us." 

"But I-" 

"Useless to argue with her, when she gets like this, Howard, I can assure 
you. One does what one must, because one simply has no other choice." 

Helen takes Susan's hand and the two women precede Delaney upstairs. 

The two women go into a bedroom, where they strip at once, as quickly as 
possible. 

And there is something about the bare reality, the glandular abundance, the 
absolute thereness of female flesh that no camera can capture, no screen can 
display. 

And Delaney can see Helen's point about the unarguable nature of the 
situation. 

Because it is as choreographed, as flowingly inevitable and as natural as an 
expert ballet performance. 

As the nude Susan strips the bed of its covers with a fluorish. 

As the nude Helen, all bust and bum and bush, centers herself in the bed. 

As Susan is upon her at once, her handling of the older woman's large 
breasts exactly the attentions Delaney himself would have paid them, under 
similar circumstances. 

Indeed, Susan's entire technique seems to duplicate Delaney's own, so that 
he has this eerie ability to predict and almost to will the next move, and 
the next and the next. 

And now, Susan is crouched before Helen's crotch, burrowing avidly into it, 
hands on the backs of Helen's hefty raised, spread thighs. 

So that Delaney has a perfect view of Susan's ass hole and cunt, as Susan 
strums Helen's large (and Diedre-like) clit with her flickering tongue, 
almost as though Susan had been somehow present when Delaney did his thing 
with her mother, and is even now engaged in a mocking parody, a deliberate 
repetition, with Helen. 

Ah, but here, now-a departure. 

As Susan draws back and Helen lowers her legs. 

As Susan reverses herself in the bed and straddles Helen's body, planting a 
knee on either side of her. 

So that here, now, Susan's face is above Helen's snatch, while Susan's 
crotch hovers above Helen's face. 

And now, Susan plunges her open mouth down onto Helen's bush, inserting her 
hands between Helen's thighs in a diving motion. 

And now, Susan is wallowing in Helen's juicy cunt with her tongue, hands on 
the backs of her thighs, doubling her up, bringing her ass hole into oral 
range, taking advantage of the position to suck her bung. 

As Helen reaches up with both hands, grabbing the belied flare of Susan's 
wide hips and lowering her pelvis carefully onto her face, or rather 
slightly in front of it, thus providing herself with a pair of oral targets 
of her own. 

And now, Helen is exploring Susan's cunt lips and ass hole, joy buzzer and 
hot, juicy depths with her tongue. 

As Delaney misses nothing of the action, checking it out from every angle, 
memorizing the scene in its detailed entirety, not for Diedre, whom he has 
not yet decided to see-or not to see-again, but rather for himself, for the 
library of his mind, where this is a tape which is surely to be summoned 
often, whenever inspiration lags or present company lacks. 

Because this, this! is reality. 

And not merely the physical, the pragmatic fact, the truth of its total 
thereness, either, but the aura, the tingling atmosphere of desire on 
desire, of desire knowing desire, of desire giving itself totally to its 
like. 

Reverse mirror images, they are, the magic of like with like in full sexual 
action. 

And there is about them a completeness which bespeaks an utter contentment 
in the midst of excitement, a deep satisfaction in the midst of deep and 
abiding hunger, a peace which is at the same time restless, insatiable. 

And Delaney knows that he is in the presence of the pleasure beyond 
pleasure, its flame lambent within them both, fanned now to a roaring blaze 
by each others' lascivious presence, by their drooling desire to know each 
other, to know themself in the other, to realize-make real-their sexual 
ideal, which Delaney knows that Susan finds in her own mother, in that 
presence, naked, vulnerable, glandular, voluptuous and yes, perhaps even 
despite herself, lascivious, when they were in bed together, Larry 
separating them even as he brought them together, Larry calling the shots 
even as nature took its course, Larry the agent of the action and its 
controller. 

Even as he was as well the spoiler and the despoiler of their lives. 

Perhaps Susan would never have had the courage to go after her own mother, 
to commit that incest which Larry brought peripherally, just so far, into 
their bed, stopping short always of the actual act of the two of them 
working out as is now the case between Susan and Helen, filling in for 
Diedre at bottom half. 

Or perhaps, but for Larry, such thoughts, such fascination, such obsession 
would never have occurred to, within Susan. 

Who can say where the mind will run in the face of inescapable physical 
outrage? 

Who knows what defense mechanisms the brain will invent to protect itself, 
to adapt to the atavistically unacceptable? 

And what could he have done, Delaney asks himself, to prevent what happened? 

What laws would he enact, what regulations would he advocate, promulgate, If 
given the power, even dictate, in order to ensure that the likes of a Larry 
can never again so bend that part of the world under his sway that, when he 
is finished, the lives of all within that microcosm are forever warped, 
forever ruined, forever beyond all hope of redemption? 

Or is he barking up the wrong tree, off base in his understanding of human 
nature? 

Because Murray was telling him the truth about the girls; he is absolutely 
convinced of this. 

And surely they did not, do not all live in houses of aberration, of 
bizarre, salacious perversion. 

And yet-and yet. 

How explain their actions, their behavior in Murray's presence. 

No Svengali he, and no Mack the Knife, either. 

He has neither the power to convince nor to intimidate, has Murray. 

And he was wrong about being in control of his situation at any point along 
the way. 

Not his direction, but rather some inner voice of which his was, for the 
most part, the coincidental echo, did they listen to, did they follow, did 
they obey. 

No, it is clear to Delaney now that Murray was not the cause, but rather the 
occasion of the girls' doing as they did. 

And yet, that made him no less guilty. Because one of the earliest 
admonitions he can recall, not of the law, but of catachism, was to flee the 
occasion of sin. 

Because it is entirely possible that all, the most crass, most cynical of 
manipulators is himself manipulated by the occasion, by the opportunity, by 
the thereness of that which goes beyond mere temptation. 

Temptation implies choice, and to flee the occasion of sin, given a free 
will, seems to Delaney a very cowardly thing to do. No, far from fleeing, 
Delaney chose first to face, then to succumb to temptation. 

Because, after all, who can tempt us but ourselves? 

So that in surrendering to temptatipn, what was he being, to whom was he 
surrendering if not himself? 

And what is this he is seeing, if not self serving, serving and servicing 
self? 

Look, just look! at their tongues, at the least of their body movements now. 

What is action here, what reaction? 

Who is doing what to whom first, or are they not instead doing it to 
themselves, the other become but an extension of oneself? 

Hotter and hotter the two women become, as Delaney watches, their bodies 
glistening now, live statues in marble in the soft light of the bedroom, 
drifting in through the slats of the partially drawn Venetian blinds. 

For them, he no longer exists, is not there, he knows. 

Susan may have started out to shock him and, through him, her mother; but 
this is something completely different now, has evolved into something so 
fundamentally erotic, so completely self involved as to preclude anybody or 
anything else entering into that closed, closed and sealed universe they 
have created for themselves, within themselves. 

As they climb the rainbow of their shared arousal. 

As they rise from level to level of erotic sensation. 

As delight becomes ecstasy, ecstasy rapture. 

And perhaps this is a part of it too, Delaney reflects. 

One begins with a plan, not as positive action, but as reaction, as a 
refection of the frustrations, anxieties, weaknesses and shortcomings which 
prompted it. 

One goes from there to a clever or stupid, ingenious or brutal operating 
concept, a means of overcoming or at least defying the present situation. 

But, at a certain point, the objective clarifies, simplifies, shows itself 
for what it really is, which is the pursuit and the attainment of the 
ultimate pleasure. 

And so it is with these two. 

Delaney cannot say what it is that prompts Helen to go along as she does 
with Susan. 

Perhaps it is mere opportunism on her part, a chance to take advantage of 
whatever it is that Susan sees in her-and Delaney knows very well what that 
is-the better, the more frequently to know the pleasure beyond pleasure, to 
know it in that form which is most acceptable to herself. 

But, whatever the case, regardless of who is manipulating whom, they have 
reached that stage, that level at which there can be question of 
manipulation, but only that of sensation, of degree of sensation, of 
proximity to their capacity to contain the ever-rising tide of lascivious 
feeling. 

And now, as Delaney watches, as he puts his face right down there, a 
mechanic checking the undercarriage of a vehicle on a rack, he sees their 
motion become erratic, sees their pussies convulse graspingly to extract 
from their ever-working tongues that last full measure of pleasure. 

Orgasm after orgasm convulses them both. 

Again and again they experience that exquisite, irresistible, 
all-encompassing twinge of the supreme experience. 

What would they not do, what would Delaney not do, in order to experience 
that, in order to guarantee the occasion of experiencing that? 

Surely, that is the rare and precious grail, the alchemist's gold, the 
ultimate and in fact only true goal of human existence. 

And it's right there, there within themselves, given the right partner, the 
right means of extracting it, drawing it out, calling it forth. 

Delaney sees that now, sees that there is no pretense, no fakery, no 
performance involved here. 

There is only the pleasure and the pleasure and the pleasure, going on and 
on within the sweating, writhing bodies, pinned, anchored to each other by 
their tongues. 

And yet, even as they drift together back down from their shared sexual 
paradise, Delaney knows that Susan has accomplished what she has set out to 
do, has fulfilled the prompting of her ulterior motive. 

Because she has shown Delaney herself, her true and undisguised self, in the 
throes of her genuine experience of the ultimate pleasure-attained, achieved 
with and by means of this woman who so very much resembles Diedre. 

But will Delaney go along with the program here? 

And if he does, what will he say, how will he describe what he has just 
seen? 

Will he tell Diedre of Susan's (to him) blatant desire for her? 

Will he risk what could well prove to be yet another degree of degradation 
of Diedre, a triumph, in absentia and after the fact, on the part of the 
perverted, quite possibly even demented Larry? 

And now, he watches them as Susan lets herself collapse to one side of 
Helen, still reversed-and covers her eyes with her forearm, sobbing. 

 Chapter 5 

"Sorry, Howard, but I can't let cha see the tapes." 

"The hell you talkin' about, Harry? I'm loggin' 'em back in as a valid 
seizure and I wanna check 'em out." 

"New procedure on tapes, Howard. Just come down from your boss's office. 

"You wanna see 'em, you gotta requisition 'em from the chief investigator 
himself. State Attorney's orders, pal, nothin' I can do about it. 

"Seems the two o'clock matinees around here have been gettin' outta hand." 

"Who complained?" 

Harry shrugs, replying, "Nobody wearin' trousers, that's fer sure." 

"Okay, I guess. From here on out, any tape seizures'll hafta be looked at 
before they're logged with you, I guess." 

"Wrong again, Howard. They'll be logged in with me, logged out to the chief 
investigator, requisitioned back from him with a full explanation and a 
roster of the intended viewing audience. 

"Memo's on your desk." 

"Thanks, Harry. For nothing, that is." 

"Hey, what the hell did joo guys expect, treatin' this place like your own 
peep show? 

"Sooner or later, it was bound t'catch up wit'chas, an' later just got t'be 
sooner, is all. This by you is a problem?" 

"Guess not." 

"They're havin' a meeting, all lawyers, all investigators on this very 
thing." 

"When?" 

"In about," looking at his watch, "twenny minutes, I'd say. Stick around the 
office once in a while, an' you'd know what's goin' on-'ey!" 

"Missin' some tapes here!" 

"Released back to the owner." 

"Then where's the receipt?" 

"They're ... being processed for final release to him." 

"The tapes, or the receipt," Harry sighs. 

"Before you go home, arright, Harry?" 

"You tell me, after you come outta the meeting." Delaney goes to his desk. 

"All this in less than a day?" he says, incredulous. "What is this, some 
kinda sick joke?" 

"Sorry, Howard," his secretary-the one he shares with the three other 
lawyers assigned to the Sexual Battery Unit-says. "Ev'rybody's got a buncha 
new cases. I just sort of dealt them out like a deck of cards." 

"Sounds fair t'me," Delaney sighs, starting to go through his correspondence 
before tackling the new cases. 

"Oh here, before I forget," he says, pulling a folder out of his briefcase, 
"this case is-never mind." 

And he slides the folder back into his briefcase. 

Because if he closes the file, he will never again get to see those tapes, 
and after what Murray told him about them, he is really curious. 

How wild and crazy did the teenyboppers get before even Murray was grossed 
out? We have got to be talking super raw here, he tells himself. 

"You got a meeting in the conference room, formerly known as the Sex 
Cinema," the secretary reminds him, adding, "Don't look at me, Howard. I'm 
not the one who spoiled you guys' fun; I think it was your fellow advocate 
of the people next cubicle over. 

"She's resigning, effective next month, y'know." 

"No farewell party for her, then, Miss Sitwell; make a note." 

They laugh, but then she turns serious, saying, "There could very well be 
another farewell party around here, even before she leaves." 

"Waddaya mean?" 

"Go to the meeting and find out." 

"Morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am Raymond J. Fargo, Chief Investigator, 
Office of the State Attorney, for those of you who don't know me. 

"The chief of this unit is on leave of absence, pending an investigation by 
me of certain improprieties within the unit, specifically as alleged by one 
who should know, in regard to the viewing of pornographic tapes, on that 
very set-up." 

And he points to the offending large screen TV with its VCR crown. 

"The party is over, people. 

"From here on out, these tapes are to be treated for what they are-evidence. 

"They pertain to a case and are the property of their rightful owners, 
pending disposition of the case. Upon disposition, the tapes are to be 
returned or destroyed, whatever the nature of that disposition. 

"This is the big city and not podunk, just to review the local law. 

"An adult may create, buy, sell and view such material, whether privately or 
commercially. 

"At no point in time is anyone under the age of eighteen to have any 
connection with any activity involving such material. 

"In addition, certain acts are deemed obscene, even here in our permissive 
society. 

"You know which ones they are, or you wouldn't be here now-just as you know 
the other laws with respect to them. 

"I will have an impound area in the property room, exclusively for this 
material. All requests to view same must come across my desk. No exceptions, 
no discussion. That's just the way it is. 

"You will be notified in due course of the results of my investigation of 
this unit. I can assure you, the governor-I thought that would get your 
attention-the governor doesn't take this matter lightly. 

"If I'm making it sound as if this unit is under a cloud, that's because it 
darn well is. It's my job to make it go away, and I can't do that by 
sweeping it under the rug, because it makes too big a lump. 

"Any questions?" 

Howard raises his hand. 

"I have twenty-five tapes under review, off premises." 

"Excellent place for 'em. My problem-I should say our problem-is 
specifically what's happening on premises. 

"Anything else?" 

"What if a situation should arise-" 

"I'm not gonna get into contingency with you people. You know why I'm here. 
Where common sense won't serve, you know where to find me. 

"Innocent until proven guilty applies here, same as it does throughout the 
system, so I don't need to hear a bunch of denials. Naturally, if anybody 
has an overwhelming urge to get anything off their chest, I'm available. 

"Don't all come in from the cold at once. 

"Okay, that's all I have to say." 

"Think they're gonna put the blocks t'the chief?" Lenny asks Howard on the 
way out. 

Howard regards him coldly, replying, "Not if they can find you, Lenny." 

"Okay, okay, f'git I axed ya. Geez, ev'rybody's got their fuckin' noses 
outta joint around here lately." 

It's the atmosphere around here, Delaney thinks, poring over his interoffice 
mail. 

A depressing place, working on depressing stuff. 

He takes the first case file from the stack. 

Mother's boyfriend, daughter underage. Indictable. 

Mother's boyfriend, daughter age of consent. Complaint indictable-and in 
order. 

Mother's boyfriend-geez, where do these women find these guys? he asks 
himself. 

And he thinks of Diedre, Susan, and the redoubtable Larry, he of the active 
glands and exhibitionistic penchant. 

And he realizes that that is not the worst case, not by any means. 

Photographs accompany some of the files. 

You're pulling a regular assault with intent to commit bodily harm on this 
one, pal! Delaney tells the offender, silently, looking at the bruises on 
the female body, then checking on current disposition, noting that the guy 
is out on bail, trial date set and why does he have this one anyway? 

He calls up on it and yes, the prosecutor's office is missing the file, 
sorry about that. 

Paper, Delaney tells himself, it's all paper. 

And he doesn't want to look at any more paper. 

He wants to look at, look at- 

He pulls the file out of his briefcase, looks up the number and calls 
Murray. 

"The ever popular 'Staying after School', eh?" Delaney observes, sitting 
back on the couch with Murray, sipping a beer. 

"Yeah, I made a regular fuckin' classic there all right. "Speakin' of which, 
didja have occasion t'visit my two stars there?" 

"I did indeed. Too bad you don't have a tape of the instant replay." 

"They did that? Right in fronta ya?" 

"Yeah. This Susan is out t'prove a point of some kind. Somethin' t'do with 
her mother." 

"With her mother?" 

"I believe I made that abundantly clear. You got a hearing problem of some 
kind, Murray?" 

"No, no, just something-she looked a little, like, familiar, y'know? So it 
just could be-tell me something, Howard: What's her mother's name?" 

"Dierdre. Why?" 

"It could be, it just could be-s-be right back." 

Murray rummages through several cardboard boxes he has pulled out of a 
closet as Delaney watches Susan rimming Helen's ass hole as Helen moons the 
world, on hands and knees atop the desk. 

"Got it!" he exclaims. 

"Got what?" 

"The 1099 summary for 1986! She is fucking on there!" 

"No shit! Would you happen to have-" 

"Say no more! Great minds run in the same channels! Lemme get out the backup 
envelope-there! 

"There it is! TWF19. TWF. Stands for two-way fuck. Those are really great 
things, but the problem is finding women who'll go for it and look good 
doing it. 

"That's why I remembered the name." 

"She was good at it then, was she?" 

"Better than good! It was, like, all she ever wanted t'do! 

"Regular sex, okay, but what's one more fuck flick. Lez-enh!" 

And Murray waggles a hand, palm down, fingers extended, the universal sign 
for so-so. 

"But," he continues, "put her in bed with a couple studs and you would not 
believe-" 

"Make me a believer, Murray." 

"You got it, pal!" 

And Murray peruses the shelves of the bookcases that line the walls of his 
apartment-studio, filled with video tapes, some individual, arrayed 
book-like on the shelves, some in labeled plastic boxes. 

He finds what he is looking for and pulls it out. 

"You uh, you seen enougha this one?" 

"Go." 

Murray complies at once, switching the tapes, the screen showing, in ornate 
black and white letters against a pink background, "Mnage Trois." 

"Sounds positively generic, Murray." 

"A classic and a prototype, all in one, no question," Murray responds, his 
tone proud. 

Dialogue bullshit, uninspired, as Diedre greets hubby and friend, blue 
collar workers (hardhats, lunchpails) in bedroom in transparent black 
negligee. 

"Lotta front doors open right into the bedroom, do they, Murray?" 

"Thank you, Gene Siskel. Just keep watchin', okay?" 

More dialogue bullshit and everybody takes everything off, Dierdre sliding 
into the unmade bed, on her back, the two guys flanking her on either side. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" Delaney exclaims. "That's Larry, the guy on the 
left!" 

"You know the guy, Howard?" 

"Diedre's boyfriend, common-law husband, whatever, before he took off for 
parts unknown. 

"She's got 'im on tape at home. Or rather, he got himself on tape before he 
left." 

"No kidding! Isn't it a small world?" 

"And getting smaller everyday," Delaney concurs. The muscle stud with Larry 
and Dierdre sucks his assigned tit as Larry does the same. 

Close-up of Diedre, arm across both their upper backs, eyes closed, look of 
ecstasy as her face flushes redder and redder. 

"She's not kidding, is she?" Delaney asks, rhetorically. 

"And yours truly got it in closeup!" Murray boasts. 

"I see that," Delaney replies absently, intent now on the screen, of 
Diedre's reaction. 

Because now, she is pulling away from them, getting up, breaking the 
intimate sucking and fondling, surprising even the camera (Murray), which 
jerks back rather abruptly, in order to accommodate the long view, as Diedre 
descends on the muscle man's cock. 

Side view of the incipient blowjob, as Diedre's head bobs up and down, mouth 
sucking hungrily, bringing the organ very quickly to hill erection. 

And now, she warms to her task, the camera panning back to show her there, 
crouched between the brawny legs, ass in the air. 

As Larry takes full advantage of her position, spreading the cheeks of her 
ass, rimming her, then giving her a finger wave, obviously preparing her for 
the action to come. 

And now, Dierdre, having sucked the other stud to full hardness, stands over 
him, straddling his hips, a blonde, female colossus, before she squats, the 
camera following the action as she reaches for his cock, closing in on her 
insertion of it into her pussy, as viewed from the rear. 

And now, she settles down on him, leaning forward as the camera pans from 
juncture of cock and cunt to the head of the bed, where the bemuscied (to 
Delaney) stranger sucks and fondles her breasts, feeding himself her 
nipples, one at a time. 

As she rotates her hips, reaming her pussy with his long, thick prick. 

Again, a closeup of her face, this time in profile, head thrown back, eyes 
closed, mouth opened in a smile at once pure and salacious. 

"The Frederico Felini of fuck flicks, that's me!" Murray says, in 
self-accolade, at the sight of a Diedre obviously in very real heat. 

Closeup now of Dierdre's ass hole, large, puffysegmented, protruding from 
the internal pressure of her filled vagina, shiny now with Larry's saliva, 
slackened now from Larry's meticulous preparation. 

And she raises her hips now, using her knees planted on either side of the 
muscle stud, until only the head of his prick remains inside her pussy. 

So that Larry has room to plug into her butt, a thing he does with simple 
dexterity, as though this is a most natural thing to do, or at least 
something he does as often as regular fucking. 

He slides in and she settles down on the cock that already impales her cunt. 

Closeup now of the double juncture, showing balls locked tightly to the base 
of a cock, most of which has disappeared into the smoothly rounded mouth her 
ass hole has become, a couple of inches of taint (you know; 'taint 'er ass 
hole, 'taint 'er cunt) separating this arrangement from its almost mirror 
image of a smoothly rounded mouth of a pussy, stretched and filled by a 
long, thick column of meat subtended by a pair of balls locked to its base. 

The participants and the camera pause to study, to absorb this arrangement. 

And now, Larry, as top man, begins his motion, bouncing up and down. 

And the camera stays right where it is, locked into the action, as the two 
cocks alternate between all the way in and halfway out, a rhythmic, two 
piston engine comprised of living flesh. 

Slow pan backward to embrace the comprehensive picture of the motion, slow, 
smooth pan around to the side, taking it in in rather confusing profile, 
flesh on flesh on flesh. 

To arrive at Dierdre's head, at Dierdre's profile, to see it in its rapture, 
a study of incredible (except that she certainly made a believer of Murray, 
is making one of Delaney) passion, of total absorption in the floodtide of 
lascivious sensation which is so obviously welling up within her. 

So that the message of the image on the screen is that of total acceptance, 
of saying yes and yes and yes to the influx of sexual feeling which adds to 
itself with every bounce of the trio on the trampoline of the bed. 

As Dierdre is fucked in cunt and ass. 

As Dierdre's tits are sucked and fondled. 

As she uses, manipulates, controls the two studs. 

Because it is clearly her passion which sets the here, calls the shots, the 
feedback of her sexual intensity combining with the sucking of her fevered, 
flowing orifices to pull them up, up, up the rainbow behind her-but not by 
much. 

Because, even now, the camera, panning in closeup, shows the muscle studs 
limbs beading up with his sexual sweat, even as the more hairy, less 
muscular Larry redoubles his efforts. 

Because he too has been seized by his lust, has been caught up in the toils 
of that two-step of hunger and satisfaction that is the hallmark of good 
sex, of great sex, of genuine sex. 

The more you get, the more you want, rising from level to level of arousal 
at an ever faster rate. 

So it is with Larry, and with the other, what can be seen of him, providing 
as he does the sturdy foundation for this pile of living flesh which squirms 
and undulates, caught up in the throes of its ever more rapid ascent up the 
rainbow of their shared pleasure. 

Yes, hotter and hotter the three of them become. 

And the camera picks it all up, seems to capture the exact moment at which 
they yield control of mind to body, surrendering thought to sensation, 
becoming mere puppets in the hands of that which is greater than themselves. 

Because the pleasure beyond pleasure is full upon them now, its presence 
more real than they themselves, the unseen force which jerks them this way 
and that, mindless rag dolls caught up, helpless in a rictus of passion 
which is all-powerful, irresistible. 

So that now, they are coming and coming, all three of them, the sound track 
picking up Dierdre's cries of utter sexual transport, to the bass 
accompaniment of the men's grunts and pants of automatic, reflexive 
exertion. 

Soon enough, Delaney knows, they will feel it, the after-effects of an 
apparently effortless ride on which they are mere passengers. 

But only after, after- 

The camera picks up the jism which oozes from both of Dierdre's nether 
orifices, forming thick, pearlescent collars, forced from her interior, fore 
and aft, by the alternating pressure and by the absence of room in either 
body cavity to accommodate both the turgid invader and its output. 

And now, the frenetic interaction of the three hot bodies reaches its most 
agitated. 

And now, it slowly, surely slows, grinding to a halt. 

And the camera focusses on the double juncture, hanging right in there as 
the two cocks slowly detumesce, remaining faithfully on station until the 
peristaltic action of Diedre's bowels expel Larry from her ass hole, along, 
thick, shiny, smooth pink turd. 

"Boy!" Delaney exclaims, "That was some perform-" 

"Wait! There's more." 

Delaney watches, mystified. What more could there be after what he has just 
seen, at least without a break in service, as they say in tennis? 

And yet, the camera pans back slightly, to make sense of the shifting of the 
bodies, as Larry pulls back and Dierdre dismounts from the muscle stud, of 
whose sweat-polished, glistening contours the camera makes a production, 
head to foot, pausing to dwell lovingly on his slowly detumescing, 
spermmarbled heavy equipment. 

"I don't get the purpose-" 

"Shhh! Humor me, Howie! Just watch!" 

From the muscle stud's cock, the eye of the camera swings slowly left, to 
where Diedre, on her back, raises and spreads her legs, revealing her 
jismoozing pussy and bung-and where Larry, on his stomach, looks at the same 
thing, upper body resting on his elbows, rapt smile on his face, 

Which draws closer and closer to Dierdre's crotch. 

Which extends its tongue. 

"Oh, come on, Murray! Surely, he's not going to actually-" 

"Ey, waddaya want from me, Howard? 

"These people are bigger than I am, y'know. 

"I'm more observer than director. That's my style, as you should know by 
now. 

"My function is to precipitate events, not to control them. They are what 
they are-the people and the action." 

"Murray, you are really pushin' the envelope with this shit, babe, lemme 
tell ya! 

"I mean, if my office knew-" 

"Too late, too late, too late!" Murray exclaims, in a childish, sing-song 
voice, "You are lookin' at 1986, remember? 

"Outta print, outta stock, except in some of the recycle video rental 
places, maybe." 

"This is some fuckin' production, is all I can say!" 

"Well, y'know, Howard, ole Lare there went both ways. Probably still does, 
wherever he is." 

"He do much work for you?" 

"Some. Probably more than he should of, me bein' such a lazy hick an' all, 
not changin' talent as often as my medium really requires. 

"I mean, something about the guy is, I dunno, a turn-off. 

"I guess it's the discrepancy between the way he looks an' the way he acts. 

"If he was some two twenny-five gorilla, or if he was fuckin' Rudolph 
Valentino, okay, but the guy is, like, a zero who thinks he's the besta 
both, y'know?" 

"Make ya nervous, just bein' around, did he?" 

"Yeah, mattera fact, he did, now you mention it. 

"I mean, it was, it was-ya just never knew what he was gonna do next. 

"Hard guy t'figure, is what I'm sayin'. Oh, geez, forgot about that part!" 

And Delaney stares at the screen, seeing but not believing, as Larry makes a 
meal of Dierdre's defiled delta, fore and aft. 

And the camera pans up to where the muscle stud wears a look of incredulity 
similar to Delaney's. 

"Like a Greek chorus, right, Howard? You get the role of the other guy in 
that shot?" 

"You're a real artist, Murray," Delaney says, still looking at the screen, 
fighting back the nausea, "an' don't let anybody ever tell ya different." 

"Except for your office, right?" 

"An' don't choo ever forget it, pal! 

"Yech! No way do I go along with this! 

"Murray, where's the redeeming social value here?" 

"Where? Okay, I'll tell ya where, pal. 

"Say the bomb hits, right? 

"A thousand years from now, archeologists diggin' in the ruins of the city 
come across this tape. 

"Now, you mean t'tell me that the tape-from its form, its production, its 
means and motivation of creation, its subject matter-talkin' the people and 
the action-you mean t'tell me that that is not an accurate, comprehensive 
representation of the spirit of our times, all neatly contained, packaged in 
a single, compact artifact? 

"Ey, you may not like the statement it makes, you may not agree with it; 
that's your privilege, okay? 

"But. It is what it is, know what I'm sayin'? 

"Howard? Talk t'me, Howard!" 

"I got nuthin' t'say, Murray." 

"Then with that statement, pal, said it all." you have just said it all." 

 Chapter 6 

"I agreed to suspension only on condition that the child is removed from the 
custody of the parents-both parents, your honor. If this is not to be met, 
if there is any attempt on the part of defense counsel to defeat this 
condition, then the suite will press for full trial and maximum charges. 

"I want the public defender to tell me now exactly what it is she intends to 
plead and how-" 

"Easy, Mr. Delaney, easy! And you, Ms. Delacroix, either you wish to plea 
bargain, or you don't. On the other hand, if you find that the evidence does 
in fact leave room for reasonable doubt, then-well, I don't think! have to 
fill in your options, do I? 

"And I understand you have advised your clients in accordance with your 
initial agreement with Mr. Delaney here, and that they do understand that 
they will have to relinquish custody of their daughter, for the remaining 
year and a half to her majority. 

"As she is now in the custody of the Children and Family Services Unit right 
now, that surely can work no emotional hardship on these folks now, can it?" 

"They did ask that I try one more time, your honor." 

"Try what, Delacroix? Try to have their cake and eat it too? 

"Give 'em another shot at her?" 

"That will do, Mr. Delaney! And lower your voice! What is the point of 
approaching the bench if everyone can hear you anyway? 

"Okay, does everybody know what they're going to do?" 

Mumbled assent from Delaney and the public defender. 

"Very well then, step back." 

"In the matter of the people versus ..." 

Delaney drifts through the dockets, his responses mechanical, automatic, 
clearing his files with plea bargains. 

"Mister Delaney, may I see you in chambers?" 

"Certainly, your honor." 

"Help me out of this thing, will you, Howard? "Goddam bursitis! Fucks up my 
golf game, too." Delaney helps the judge off with his robe. The judge sits 
behind his desk in his shirtsleeves, motioning Delaney to sit opposite him. 

"Howard, I don't like what I see happening here. 

"Nobody likes a bully, Howard-not in the schoolyard, not in the criminal 
justice system. 

"And you, Howard, are a bully." 

"Listen, Bill, we're supposed to plea bargain, so I plea bargain. 

"We're overcrowded, jail-wise, docket-wise, so we're supposed to go the 
suspension and probation route. I'm doing that." 

"Howard, don't make the mistake of insulting my intelligence, okay? 

"You want me to identify the pattern of your modus operandi? 

"Every case involving a minor results in the parents' having to agree 
beforehand to relinquish custody of the child or children to the age of 
emancipation. 

"Or I should say every such case involving you as prosecutor. 

"And I understand that the term 'plea bargain' in your case is actually 
'plea ultimatum'. I understood exactly where poor Ms. Delacroix was coming 
from this morning, Howard. 

"She wanted to see if she could try an end run around you to get at this 
thing we laughingly call justice. 

"You uh, you planning on running for DA in the next election, Howard, 
protector of the helpless and like that?" 

"No, Bill," Delaney replies, sighing, hands tented before him, rolling his 
eyes toward the ceiling. 

"You uh, you had an unhappy childhood, perhaps? Some sort of sexual abuse by 
your parents, an older brother, what?" 

"Nothing like that, Bill." 

"Then just what is your problem, Howard? 

"Your use of my court as an assembly line to strip parents of their 
children, or children of their parents, depending on one's point of view, 
like you're shucking corn is, is ... phenomenal. 

"And that is most specifically not a compliment. 

"You realize, Howard, that you are, in essence, trying to write your own 
peculiar statute? 

"You are making law, Howard, and that is not your place, your prerogative, 
or your function." 

"They can take it or leave it, Bill," Delaney shrugs. 

"That's exactly my point, Howard! They can give up their children, or they 
can go directly to jail, in which case they will also give up their 
children. 

"That's not plea bargaining, Howard, that's extortion! That's fucking 
blackmail, and you damn well know it! Hell, it's practically legalized 
kidnapping!" 

"Because they're better off," Delany says, flatly. 

"Besides, why take chances?" 

"We are here to take chances, Howard. We are here to grant the benefit of 
the doubt. We have, we offer, we are empowered to decree family counseling." 

"Don't need it." 

"Oho, that's very true, according to your way of doing things, Howard! 

"Dissolve the family, and naturally, family counseling becomes an 
absurdity." 

"Neat, isn't it?" Delaney enunciates sharply, his "t"s exploding wetly in 
the air. 

"Don't be flip with me, Howard." 

"What are you tryna tell me here, Bill?" 

"I'm telling you to change your way of doing things-immediately." 

"Or?" 

"Or I'm recommending you to the state attorney for reassignment out of the 
County Sexual Battery Unit." 

"To?" 

"The killer whale." 

The killer whale. ORCA. Acronym and abbreviation for Office of Regulatory 
and Contract Administration. 

"There's simply no place in the criminal justice system for somebody with an 
attitude like the one you're showing me-me, defense attorneys, the public 
defenders, and before you know it, the ACLU or some other watchdog group. 

"You're unwilling to give society a chance with some of these people and I'm 
telling you society can no longer take a chance on you, Howard." 

"If you saw the things I have, Bill-" 

"Don't ever patronize me, Howard! I'm a good fifteen years older than you, 
most of those years spent in the same system of which you and I are a part. 

"You're going to tell me all about a domineering, quite possibly demented, 
head of household, sometimes married, sometimes not, to the mother figure, 
she of the low self-esteem, the fear and the servility, helpless in the face 
of the head gorilla's wishes, unwilling and/or unable to defend her 
offspring from his outrages, right?" 

"So if you know all this, Bill, then why-" 

"Why? I'll tell you why! 

"Just how long do you think it takes for one of these monsters to get set up 
someplace else on the same basis as before, Howard? 

"You think you're controlling the contagion, but I'm here to tell you that 
you're merely spreading it instead. 

"The first thing that happens is the guy ditches the old lady, who by this 
time is of secondary interest at best, in any event. 

"He leaves our jurisdiction, all legal and proper, proving to us that he's 
got a legitimate job offer in, say, California, and he becomes their 
problem. 

"Instead of having to get along with his seventeen year old step-daughter 
under court supervision, he now finds himself getting along with a fourteen 
or fifteen year old-and of course, her horny douchebag mama. 

"And that, Howard, is what you're accomplishing." 

"Okay, Bill, you've made your point. I'll see what I can do." 

"And so will I, Howard. See what you can do, that is." 

The judge gets up, Delaney's cue to do the same. 

The judge, hand on Delaney's back, shows him out the door, saying, "I will 
give ya this much, Howard; you really know how t'clear a docket!" 

They laugh, but Delaney's mirth ceases abruptly, as soon as the judge's door 
closes. 

"Howard!" 

Same housecoat, same glass in hand. Instant replay, Delaney thinks. Dj vu. 

Except that this time, they can skip the preliminaries-except that Delaney 
doesn't want to. 

He wants her body; he despises the woman herself. 

He wants to see her anguish, wants her to debase herself before him for what 
she has done to Susan. 

She's a piece of shit, he reflects, thinking that shit never looked so good. 

"I was wondering, I mean I was hoping you'd uh, you'd be ... in the 
neighborhood again," Diedre says, voice breathy, Marilyn Monroe at her 
respiratory best. 

"Found your daughter," Howard says, brushing past her, flopping on the 
couch. 

"You, you did?" she asks, seating herself on the edge of the couch, facing 
him. 

"Right here in the big city." 

"How uh, how is she?" 

He looks at her, face of stone, replying, "As well as can be expected, under 
the circumstances." 

"I, I don't understand, Howard. What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Know a guy named Murray?" 

"I, I'm not exactly sure-" 

"Y'should, Diedre; after all, he's the one you filed the complaint against." 

"But, but I didn't know who she, I mean who it was taping all those high 
school girls." 

"That I can well believe; after all, you and he are sort of old friends, 
actually, aren't cha?" 

She looks at him, wide-eyed in her anxiety. 

"In fact," Delaney continues, not looking at her, watching Oprah making 
earnest chimp faces as he grabs the remote and turns down the volume on the 
TV, "you met Larry through him. 

"So I guess y'could say that ole Murray is a friend of the family." 

And now he looks at her, saying flatly, "You really could say that, couldn't 
you?" 

"I, I'm really sorry I started the whole thing, Howard. I just didn't want 
Susan to be tricked into doing the same thing I-" 

"That's really quite touching, Diedre. You have three-way sex in front of 
Murray's camera with a two-way maniac named Larry, .something about the way 
he sucks jism outta your cunt and ass hole turns you on, love at first sight 
an' like that, an' you bring him home to be a regular father figure for 
Susan. 

"The three of you go into a four-year orgy, recorded for posterity-at the 
end of which you don't want Murray, who is about as tricky as taking a leak, 
leading your daughter-your adult daughter-astray, hence your complaint 
against person or persons unknown, engaged in the production of pornographic 
VCR tapes." 

"He moved. She told me where she went and what she did. She didn't name 
names." 

"Diedre, Diedre, Diedre. Whatever are we going to do with you?" 

"I withdrew the complaint, didn't I?" she asks, tone sullen, resentful. 

"You withdrew the complaint. You cost Murray a small fortune, cost the 
taxpayers a bundle, had no impact whatever on Susan-who, by the way sends 
her regards." 

"She does?" Diedre asks, brightening. 

"Oh yes indeed, she does!" 

"What did she say, exactly?" 

"Well, it was more of a visual thing, Diedre. I mean, if I'd of had a 
camcorder with me, I coulda done a better job playing messenger boy, but I 
think I can recall the scene, blow by blow. 

"First of all, Diedre is living with someone. A woman named Helen. Sort of 
looks like you, Helen does. Looks a lot like you, matter of fact-especially 
with her clothes off. 

"Y'see, the reason I know that is that Diedre led her-and me-upstairs in 
their little split level duplex and they took off their clothes-" 

"I'm not sure I wanna hear this," Diedre says, tone apprehensive. 

"But you have to, Deedee dearest after all, like I say, this was for your 
benefit, a sort of message in mime, an art I held in singularly low regard, 
until that moment. 

"Anyway, to make a long story short, they ate each other-just as they did on 
the tape Murray made of them, which, by the way, has been cleared for 
distribution, much the same distribution, one would think, as the one you 
and Larry did with some muscle type four years ago. 

"They uh, they did manage to get each other off, by the way. 

"Tell me, Diedre, when you and Larry had your mnage trios-the one with 
Susan, that is, not to be confused with the classic tape of the same 
name-did Larry ever have you and Susan become, shall we say ... intimate?" 

"Yes. Yes he did. He made us do it. His idea, and always with him involved 
some way." 

"And when Larry left? After he left?" 

"We, we stopped, of course. I mean, it was never our, never my idea; just 
something on which Larry insisted, if uh, if we were to continue to be ... a 
family." 

"A family. In other words, you and Larry sleeping in the same bed, as 
opposed to Larry sleeping with Susan and you odd cunt out, right?" 

"Something like that, yes." 

"Don't you mean exactly like that?" Delaney persists, using his finest 
prosecutorial demeanor, in the absence of a defense attorney to jump up, 
objecting that Delaney is badgering the witness. 

"Yes," she responds, weakly, eyes downcast. 

Delaney looks at her, intellectually understanding exactly what went on, but 
from a logical standpoint failing to comprehend. 

How could it be? How was it possible? 

Because look, just look at the woman! 

That face! That bod! Those boobs! 

And Larry? Larry was, basically, a nothing, was all flash and no substance. 

A hot number without the presence to back it up, was Larry. 

And yet, here is this woman, a woman for which an Arab sheik would pay a 
king's ransom a couple times over, wrapped around his little finger, willing 
to do anything to please, to hold onto him. 

Nor is this, in his experience a unique phenomenon. 

Something about such men, something about such women that was, is archetypal 
in their chemistry, their interaction. 

A woman other men would worship in thrall to a man who worships only 
himself, however lacking in justification such self-adulation might be. 

A woman whom, in other times, under other circumstances, Delaney would have 
set upon a pedestal. 

Instead, a Larry has come along, defiling all he touches, her included, her 
above all, actually. 

A man he has never met has trampled on, has pissed on his taste in women, 
Delaney reflects. 

And there is nothing, nothing, nothing he can do about it, other than to 
punish her for her lousy taste in men. 

And yet, he wants her. 

He doesn't want her as the love of his life; that has been ruined, has been 
destroyed for him by Larry, by Larry and whatever the foul magic was that 
existed between Larry and Diedre, whatever that corrosive, destructive 
attraction is that exists between such men and such women. 

So that the only way left for him to want her is physically, is salaciously, 
as down and dirty, perhaps, as was Larry himself, as is Larry himself, 
wherever he is right now. 

And, like Larry, he is enjoying the agony he is causing her, feeding a dark, 
evil, gloating glee at her discomfiture, her unhappiness. 

"She hates you, you know," he says, quietly. 

And Diedre doesn't answer, merely nods her head in acknowledgement, biting 
her lower lip. 

He lets her think that one over, lets it sink in, lets her dwell, in her own 
mind, on how very much she deserves to be hated by Susan, how very much she 
deserves to suffer, to be eaten alive by that hatred. 

And the really clever, really cunning thing here is that she doesn't 
suspect, hasn't got a clue that, beneath that hatred, behind his 
manipulation of her- and oh yes, he is manipulating her every bit as much as 
Larry ever did, only more subtly, with far greater expertise-is a hatred and 
a resentment he bears her, perhaps as great in its own way as Susan's, even 
though with far less justification. 

He hates her because of her hatred of herself. 

He is disgusted with her because of her now well deserved self-disgust. 

He holds her in low esteem because of her own low self-esteem, she who had 
everything it takes for her to have been the perfect woman for him-the 
operational word here being "had", since she is now hopelessly, although not 
yet physically, defective. 

Yes, physically speaking, she is at her peak, at her moment of ripeness. 

Another year, perhaps only another six months, and surely gravity will have 
its way with her, will reduce her to a decaying mass of gland and flesh. 

Already, there are circles beginning to form under her eyes, beneath the 
makeup, itself not yet very thick, is rather translucent and subtle, 
pointing up rather than concealing her natural lusciousness, her quite real 
beauty. 

Ah, but she will fade, will decay, will, so to speak, rot, unable to free 
herself from the sad morass of her life, the inertia of her stasis destined, 
he is certain, to be slowly but surely fatal. 

And he? He will see to it 

For your crimes against your daughter and yourself, Diedre Collins, you are 
hereby sentenced to death, to a slow, lingering death of sagging, slumping 
flesh. 

Which is to change imperceptibly, day by day, destroyed by memories, 
destroyed by the alcohol imbibed to destroy those memories. 

But before you go, Delaney tells himself, I will use you. 

Yes, before she is used up, while she is still worth having, in these, the 
closing moments of her voluptuous beauty, he will avail himself of the 
facilities. 

Because it amuses him, because she deserves nothing better, thus will he 
treat her. 

Will she suspect this abuse on his part-an abuse of inner attitude rather 
than outwardly manifested, overtly harmful action? 

She will not. 

Because she is a stupid douchebag, good for one thing, and even that for who 
knows how much longer. 

Already, in his mind, the picture bf Helen appears, clearly labeled as 
Diedre's replacement, this out of spite on his part. 

How he resents her! 

A wave of hatred and contempt passes through him as she sits there, gazing 
down unseeing, eyes glistening with incipient tears, her throat working to 
swallow the lump of her unhappiness and despair. 

"Come on upstairs, babe; I'll make you feel better," he says, adding, to 
himself, Right, ha ha. 

Like he gives a shit about how she feels. 

Like he has an actual interest in making her feel better, in making her feel 
anything-except his cock up her ass. 

That's right, he tells himself, following her broad, swaying behind up the 
stairs, playfully patting the cheeks of her ass, she turning around in the 
midst of the absolute misery which must surely possess her now to say, 
playfully and with a smile through her tears, "Oh, you!" 

They are into the bedroom now, and she removes her housecoat, revealing her 
glandular voluptuousness, her absolute thereness, a presence which surely 
must have overshadowed Larry's sleazy, common good looks. 

He thrills to the sight of her, even as he strips rapidly. 

So that, now that he is undressed, he has a throbbing, rock-hard boner, the 
message now being quite simply that he is ready. 

Smiling, she lies down on her back, raising and spreading her legs, bent at 
the knees, presenting herself to him. 

But that is not the presentation, not the present he is after, not the one 
he will accept. 

None too gently now (although, he is sure, with none of Larry's mean 
roughness), he turns her over. 

And at once, as though in abject, unconditional surrender, she goes to knees 
and elbows, presenting, giving him her ass, giving it to him knowing that he 
could very well simply shove his rampant intruder right up her ass, could 
give her fissures, could make her bleed, could cause excruciating pain-no 
doubt as Larry did, from time to time, merely from sheer perverseness, just 
because he felt like it, or to remind her of her station in his life, having 
no life of her own. 

Ah, but he will not do that. 

And not out of any consideration for her, but rather because he has no 
desire at all to punish or short-change himself. 

Why should he suffer for her short-comings? 

Enough, is it not, that he has suffered lonely nights, nights of no company 
or of the wrong company, nights during which Larry-never mind. 

Because this is not the time for debilitating, distracting, jaw-clenching, 
tooth-grinding anger; rather, this is the time to reap compensation, to 
gather in that pay-off which he so richly deserves. 

He wants to feel those voluptuous haunches in both hands! 

He wants to make a meal of that big, delicious ass hole! 

He wants to devour her, to invade her, to possess her, to let his body 
rebuke her, to let his cock tell her how wrong she has been, what she has 
been missing all these wasted, wasted years. 

There is-or there used to be-a tradition at dances, he recalls. 

No matter what the style of the band's playing, the selection of their 
music, for many years, when he was growing up, going to college, and 
afterward, the band's way of telling everyone that it was time to go home 
was simply to play a song called, 'Goodnight Sweetheart'. 

And now, as he pauses there, admiring the view, thinking of the goodies he 
is about to enjoy, the strains of that music come back to him. 

He even remembers how those who knew the words, used to sing in time with 
the orchestra, sometimes on their own, sometimes led by the vocalist of the 
evening. 

"Goodnight sweetheart, 'til we meet tomorrow, 

"Goodnight sweetheart, sleep will banish sorrow-" 

And he cannot resist an evil inner chuckle at this last. 

Because, you weak, stupid, miserable hitch, no amount of sleep will banish 
your fucking sorrow, and you damn well know it! 

No, the only way she can stop feeling sad is to stop feeling at all. 

This is it, babe, he tells her-the last rites! 

Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, because after this there ain't no mo'-at least not from 
him, not from a man who would have given something, someone like her the 
world on a silver platter, at one time, if it was in his power to do so. 

But no, she had a better idea. 

Which was to take the overwhelming bounty, the glorious, free gratis, no 
strings attached gifts of nature-and squander them on the likes of Larry. 

One more time, one last time, he will show her what it is to know the 
physical attentions of one for whom she is-was-the embodiment of the 
feminine ideal, physically speaking. 

And then, having worked his way through her, past her, he will leave her in 
the gathering darkness, not looking back, as it swallows her up. 

 Chapter 7 

Delaney puts his hands both the cheeks of her ass, clutching them harder 
than is necessary-more than a handful, both of them- spreading them wide, 
exposing her large, puffy, pale mauve ass hole, its segments few and 
irregular, the legacy of her nether portal's reaction to two-way traffic 
over an extended period of time in the not too recent past. 

What, just what did Larry have to compare with this? 

What he has to offer and what she just plain has don't, didn't belong on the 
same planet, Delaney reflects. 

And his cock absolutely tingles as, keeping those cheeks of hers spread, 
squeezing them, kneading them as he holds them away from one another, 
Delaney seals his lips to her protruding bung. 

And now, he is chewing her ass hole, sucking it, his tongue going round and 
round over its lumpy surface, exploring the segments as though to record 
them in memory, filing them away for recall under other circumstances which 
it will please him to convert to a repetition of these, determined as he is 
that that is the only way they will ever be repeated-in his mind, on the 
view screen of his prurient imagination, behind his closed eyelids. 

Because this, this! is where it's at, what it's all about! 

No question. No question at all in his mind, but that this is choice, prime, 
is that which admits of no improvement, no trump, no better idea. 

No, he is right where he wants to be. 

Gone now his hatred and contempt, banished into the far background in the 
face of this, this ... presence, this overwhelming, fleshy, physical, 
glandular thereness. 

Because it is what it is. 

And what it is, for him, is perfect. 

However she, however they came to be here, to be together like this, 
whatever else they may be, to themselves, to the outside world, this 
conjunction, this joining together, this merger, this fusion of her and 
himself is, is ... right. 

It is delicious beyond delight. 

It is exquisite, irresistible, magic. 

Yes, it is all these things and above all absolutely true, physically 
undeniable, the merger and reconciliation of fantasy with reality, of the 
ideal and the real. 

There was some criticism of her, something, something he had it in mind to 
feel as he did to her what he is about to do, but that's gone now, fuzzy, 
indistinct, does not come readily to mind, is probably, was probably 
unimportant anyway. 

As are everybody and everything else, at the moment. 

Which is complete, which is lacking in nothing, which requires no additions, 
which is minimal and yet full, is filled with that hunger and fulfillment, 
that excitement and calm, that dizziness and that control, that clarity and 
that disorientation-all those opposites whose reconciliation in the midst of 
contradiction is the hallmark of great sex. 

It's all here, right here, his for the taking, and taking it he is. 

He cannot get enough of her ass hole, of her flesh in his hands, of the 
taste and the texture of her, of the thereness and the yielding, the giving 
of her to him. 

And the past is meaningless, is, if anything, a friendly freefall which has 
brought them to this point. 

To everything there is a season (turn, turn) and a purpose under heaven. 

And the lines of the song descend upon him like balm, like the hand that 
patted his blanketed behind when he was an infant, the hand of reassurance 
that told baby Howie that it really was all right to let go, to drop off, to 
sleep, perchance to dream. 

Except that now he is a man and this is no dream, unless it be the merger of 
dream with reality, of the ideal with the real, a kind of chemistry of the 
universe which converts fantasy into the stuff of absolute, physical truth. 

That he can accept, can accept uncritically, can accept as reinforcement of 
his own awareness of the rightness of it all, of his being here with her 
like this. 

As he plunges his tongue in, in into the hot, yielding depths of her rectum, 
even as he continues to chew the ring of muscle at the entrance which has 
thus easily admitted him. 

And yes, there is an urgency here, a pressing need, an overwhelming desire, 
but, at one and the same time, no hurry, either. 

Because time is standing still, past and future meaningless, absurd 
concepts, out of context with the truth, the reality of the moment. 

They are theoretical and, like all theories, all extraneous ideas, too 
complex, too lacking in real content to apply here, now. 

No, there is only him and her, the reality of her, the sheer physical 
presence of her-that, and the hunger which drives him, which controls, which 
owns him. 

Because this, this! is surely the purpose of his life, the one true meaning 
and the goal of his existence. 

How could it be otherwise, since the totality of all that is for him is 
centered right here? 

And now, he is fucking her in the ass with his tongue, is holding it, 
stiffly extended, as though childishly mocking someone, out of his mouth as 
far as it wilt go, even as he hammers it in and in and into her ass with 
stiffened neck muscles. 

Details, details, all reality is comprised of details! 

And he knows every detail, every facet of her physical terrain back here, 
knows it, imbibes it, memorizes it. 

He cannot get enough of her ass hole, of her ass. 

And yet, another part of him would be, must be served. 

Because his cock is painful in its hardness, its urgency, its imperative, 
its demand which will no longer be held in abeyance, ignored, denied. 

It is as though he were filled with the lascivious power, the prurient 
force, the salacious pressure which she has inspired with him, to an ever 
increasing degree, such that his cock has been filled with it, his hunger 
translated, transmitted to focus, to gather at that particular portal, 
outlet of his being. 

So yes, hell yes he, who is in no mood to deny himself anything with regard 
to this irresistible urge, can put off no longer doing the deed. 

Delaney pulls his face back, admiring the view (details, intimate, infinite 
detail, clear as a bell) as, keeping her ass cheeks spread with one hand, 
sitting back on his heels, he grabs his prong with his other hand, then 
stands up on his knees. 

He leans forward-and buttons his cock into the saliva-lubed, slackened ass 
hole. 

And now, hands on the belled flare of her hips, holding her steady, he 
rotates his pelvis, pressing slowly, gently forward. 

As the battering ram head of his turgid invader spreads apart the channel of 
her rectum, filling it, stretching it as he spirals, corkscrews, drills in 
and in and into the hot depths of her rectum, into the innermost depths of 
her being, into that which has been given completely to him. 

And his long, thick, powerful prong fills her very being. 

More and more of him goes into her, stuffing her smoothly, easily, until he 
is fully seated, the cheeks of her ass against his stomach, balls pressed 
against the moist, pouting lips of her pussy beneath the smoothly rounded 
orifice of her ass hole, now become a sucking, clinging mouth, the better to 
merge with and devour him. 

And only now does a wave of resentment, a sickening sense of time wasted, 
time lost come over him. 

Illogical, irrational, unrealistic, crazy, but there it is. 

The idea, the notion that this could and should have been his for longer, 
for years longer, from years past. 

Wasted days and wasted nights, Freddy Fender sings, unseen, somewhere out 
there, mocking him, mocking his life as he has lived it. 

Her fault, even though he cannot say how; well, yes he can, actually. 

He didn't know her, because she was all tied up with the likes of Larry, 
because she was busy showing all her goodies to the indifferent eye of this 
camcorder and that, now Murray's, now Larry's. 

He didn't know her, because she was squandering all these goodies showing 
them off for posterity rather than reserving them for Delaney alone, rather 
than somehow making herself available to him in the world, his world, 
somehow responding to the thought waves of his blind craving for her, his 
urgent summons to her to realize-make real-that archetypal image of his 
feminine ideal which plagued and inspired his mind. 

And still does. 

But no, she did not know him, could not hear him, would probably have 
ignored him if she could, if she did, in favor of whatever it was, is that 
Larry has, in favor of that cretinous attraction, that obscene chemistry 
between them which is nothing more than Larry's manipulativeness, expertly 
applied and an idiot could see it and why didn't you, you fucking douchebag 
whore bitch? 

And he is flicking her viciously, is raping her in his mind, is committing 
what he, what any prosecutor would call sodomy-rape. 

Because she deserves it, asks for it, has it coming! 

And yes, he can understand now the turgid rage, the red-visioned hatred, the 
all-consuming anger that possesses men, some men, that drives them 
irresistibly to commit such outrages. 

So that it is not a question of right and wrong, of innocence or guilt, 
responsibility or lack thereof; rather, it is simply-point of view. 

Not what did he do, but what did the woman-or man, or child-represent to 
him, what did he see, what did he think as a result of that vision, from 
that point of view, however twisted, warped, perverted and demented that 
view might have been? 

Because right now, his cock is a battering ram, a drop forge hammer, an 
all-powerful, avenging force, visited upon Diedre for her stupidity, her 
dullness, and her lousy taste in men. 

Her life is fucked up, not because she answered some ad for models and, 
instead of being repulsed, was actually quite pleased to discover that 
Murray was making porno tapes. 

Her life is fucked up, not because the overabundance of her sexuality cried 
out for expression through exhibitionism. 

No, her life is fucked up because she saw in Larry a reflection of her own 
perceived worthlessness, saw in him the affirmation, the confirmation of the 
meaninglessness, the emptiness of her existence. 

In short, she is a loser because of her masochism. 

She is a loser because, instead of accentuating, deploying her assets to her 
own best advantage, she chose, deliberately, to go the other way, to 
surrender to another who gave her credit for being right in her outlook-and 
then showed her a way to live with it. 

She is unworthy, and unworthiness must be punished. 

And she never caught on, never knew, the stupid bitch, the dumb cunt, that 
it was his own unworthiness he was punishing in her, was Larry. 

He looked at her and saw reflected there his own meaningless, empty, bestial 
existence, his own lack of future, his own lack of everything. 

Except that she was not lacking in everything. 

She was gorgeous and sexy in a way Larry could never be. 

So that he had to put her down, to keep her down. 

He had to prevent her realizing what men saw when they looked at her-other 
than just so much meat that somebody other than them gets to fuck. And Larry 
was wrong, wrong, wrong! 

But she, she! made him right! 

Delaney is humping Diedre viciously now, slamming his cock into her ass, 
pulling back until only the bulb of his monster remains inside her ass hole, 
then slamming home again. 

Slow down, slow down, make it last! a voice within him cautions, advises, 
instructs him. 

But his anger, his rage drives him on and on. 

He wanted-he really did, really does-to feel the communication between her 
and himself, between his rampant invader and her rectum, nerve ending for 
nerve ending, in full communication, millions of messages sent and received 
between them with each millimeter of movement, with each passing 
millisecond. 

He wanted, he wants to merge with her, to fuse with her, to show her how 
wrong she has been, to prove to her that she has value, that she is still 
capable, is still worthy of being cherished-and then abandon her, having 
shown her up for the ass hole she has been and still is-and every shall be, 
forever and ever, world without end. 

Because he could do that, could lose himself in her, could know that fusion, 
could experience things as they might have been, should have been, could 
have been, but for her being the total ass hole she is. 

So that he could both know the supreme joy and accomplish his ulterior 
purpose with regard to her, walking away from here satisfied on all points, 
satisfying his hunger for her and his contempt for her, all in one. 

But now, he cannot. 

Because the rage is full upon him and he is in its grip completely. He 
doesn't have it; it has him. 

And yes, he is beating her to death from the inside, pounding her with his 
mace, fucking destroying her with his flicking, tearing her a new ass hole. 

As, in his mind, he turns her to a mass of ruptured guts inside herself, 
which he is stirring, pulverizing, ruining beyond all hope of repair with 
his relentless, furious onslaught. 

This is a rape, dammit! 

This is a rape after the fact of permission, after the act of insertion. 

Surely she must know, surely she can tell, can sense his anger, his hatred 
of her! 

Surely she must feel his towering rage, his frustration as he destroys her 
from within, as he uses his tool as a weapon, a deadly, unstoppable, 
irresistible weapon! 

Yah! Yah! Yah! Take that and that and that, you fucking worthless bitch, you 
lump of meaningless flesh, you waste of human life! 

Never has he desired another more than at this moment. 

Never has he hated another more than at this moment. 

He fucks her as must have flicked, in ancient times, the successful invaders 
of walled cities the women of their hated enemies. 

Larry's woman, he is fucking-as Larry is not. 

Larry's woman because the stupid fucking slut made herself his woman, gave 
herself to him like she was throwing out the garbage, tossing the refuse 
which was herself into the dumpster that was Larry. 

And all the while, Delaney was out there-what? 

Looking for her, looking and not finding her, because she was too busy, too 
tied up in an incestuous, sodomizing, lesbian mnage trios with Larry and 
her daughter. 

How could you, how could you, how could you? he asks her, over and over, 
punctuating his unspoken question with slamming, jack-hammering thrusts 
whose seismic waves reverberate through Diedre's body, sending a ripple from 
buttocks to breasts, which bounce heavily beneath her, time and again. 

He leans back now, watching as his thick prick sticks itself, over and over, 
into the depths of her ass, the distended orifice sucking his cock as he 
pulls back, accepting it as he lunges viciously forward. 

He is disappointed that he sees no blood, that he does not see her writhing 
in agony, does not hear her crying out in excruciating pain, the kind he 
sees on the faces of some of the women, particularly the young ones, in some 
of the magazines in the adult book stores. 

Because he knows that they're not faking it, that they are surprised at the 
sudden realization that what they signed up for could and did entail real 
pain. 

Which, of course, was, had to be the plan right along, the photographer 
capturing the moment for posterity-the moment of truth, which is that there 
can be pain in the pursuit of pleasure, that it can be intense-confirmation, 
in a minor way (if such were needed) that yes indeed, one may suffer or die 
in a bad cause as well as a good, in this intrinsically meaningless life. 

But Diedre here knows no such hurt, experiences no such pain, not for all 
Delaney's violent effort; because she is a seasoned veteran-aren't cha, 
douchie? 

And because his devouring of her ass before has prepared her thoroughly for 
what followed. 

And now, Delaney's rage passes, is replaced by a profound contempt. 

Forget it, he tells himself. Forget the physical punishment. Concentrate 
instead on your own pleasure. 

Use the cunt, the bitch, the flicking whore. Squeeze her as you would a 
lemon, extracting from her that full measure of pleasure she is so admirably 
equipped to provide. 

Use her up and throw her away; it's what you intended all along, is it not? 

And yes, Delaney admits, that much is true, is consistent, is a part of his 
original plan. 

What does he care what happens to her, really, one way or the other? he asks 
himself. Because she will have to live the rest of her life with what she 
has done with that life-what she has and what she has not. 

Enough, is it not, that she will live out her days here, wearing her 
housecoat, drinking her liquor, watching her Oprah, as the flesh on her 
bones sags and wrinkles, expands and shrivels in all the wrong places. 

And he will have spared himself the sight of that, at least. 

And no, he will not be back from time to time, not even to gloat, lest he be 
gloating at the reflection of his own mortality in process. 

He will not be even that much of a Larry, will not look at himself in her, 
lest his condemnation of her, his contempt for her be nothing more than the 
pot calling the kettle black. 

No, he reminds himself, this is the last rites. 

And not for her, but for what might have been. 

And if dreams must die, then certainly there is, there can be no more 
pleasant a funeral for them than this. 

Eternal rest grant unto her, oh Lord, and may the perpetual light-coming, in 
this case, from the TV tube-shine upon her. 

May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy 
of God-no. 

He does not want her to rest in peace; rather, he wants her to rest in 
perpetual, nagging torment. 

What's done is done and cannot be undone. 

And he counts on the vestiges of some sense of justice within her to prevent 
her ever forgiving herself for what she has done, for what she has allowed 
to be done to herself and to Susan. 

Damned, damned, damned for all eternity, you are, you stupid bitch-do you 
understand that? he asks the mass of flesh he is so ardently fucking in the 
ass. 

And he wonders if, in the torture chambers of the Inquisition, the torturers 
did not succumb to the occasional temptation to interrupt the process in 
order to take advantage of the opportunity, given adequately endowed 
victims, such as this one before him now. 

He knows he would have. 

Just as he knows that Diedre is, somehow, a victim, except that he cannot 
define of just what it is that she is a victim, or how she has been 
victimized by anyone other than herself. 

Useless, then, and redundant, that he should victimize her further, or even 
make the attempt to do so; what she has done to herself, he could never hope 
to equal. 

His best efforts would be gilding the lily. 

And did Larry use her or did she use him to victimize herself? 

And is not he, he and others like him, are they not all victims as well? 
Delaney asks himself. Consider the comfort, the deep-down sexual 
satisfaction she could have afforded any of a million guys who would have 
treated her right, who would have done the best they could to please her, to 
make her happy. 

Except that she, she! had a better idea. 

Easy, big fella, he tells himself now, you've been down that road before. 
Just get this over with, get out of this loser's life forever and get on 
with your own. 

And now, he releases one hip, reaching down and around, to weigh her 
massively hanging breasts, one at a time, to thumb her rubbery nipples. 

Adding to the file, the data of the memory of her, or rather of her body-and 
knowing that Helen is out there, Helen and who knows how many others, just 
waiting for him. 

And knowing as well that Murray will not be hard to deal with, will be most 
cooperative, will in fact be more than happy to see to it that Delaney is 
kept well supplied with adequate, perhaps more than adequate replacements. 

And it is this last thought which adds a dimension to his excitation, to his 
arousal. 

As this new perspective descends upon him like a coating, a balm of 
reassurance, at once calming and stimulating. 

So that he realizes that it's time to get on with life, his life. 

Already, body still responding to his virile ministrations, Diedre is in the 
past, is history. 

And he is no historian, is not one given to dwelling long in the past. 

So he redoubles his efforts now, fucking her fast and hard once more, the 
paces having slacked off as his flash of rage subsided. 

And this time, he brings himself all the way, right over the top. 

Not as grand and glorious as he thought ft would be, his climax-but then 
neither is Diedre all that grand or glorious, all things considered; far, 
very far from it, in fact. 

But he creams the depths of her bowels, injecting wad after wad of his jism 
in and in and into her, both hands once again on her hips for balance, for 
leverage, and for the distance he knows he will want from her, once his last 
spasm has passed. 

But now, he changes his mind, deciding not to pull out at once, but rather 
to ride her all the way down, fully inserted. 

So that he lies atop her now, cock slowly detumescing inside her ass hole, 
until she expels him, a long, thick turd-just like she did with Larry in the 
tape at Murray's. Or was it here that he saw that on the tube? Or was it in 
both places that he saw them perform that particular closing ceremony? 

Yes, he reflects, a fitting last note, that, he reflects, lying cheek to 
cheek with Diedre, eyes closed and smiling, turned to him in profile-as 
though she has anything to smile about, he thinks. 

Because surely this is a living, breathing corpse on whose voluptuous curves 
he lies now, his cock slowly softening in her ass, Delaney tells himself. 

She died-when? 

Four years ago, when she first took off her clothes for Murray and his 
camcorder and his company of prurient players? 

Or long before that, with her discovery that her life was empty and she 
lacked the wherewithal to fill it with anything meaningful or worthwhile? 

Or was it that she discovered some horrible, fundamental personal truth that 
maybe, just maybe, all life is empty, worthless and devoid of any possible 
real meaning in the grand scheme of things, so why do anything-or why not do 
anything? 

 Chapter 8 

"I look at you, Isidore, and I see a philanthropist," Delaney says. 

"Do you really?" Izzy replies, shifting in his chair, not looking Delaney in 
the eye. 

"What else would you call it, when thee senior partner of a major law firm 
personally takes on as a client some small-time porno operator like Murray 
Weiner?" 

"Okay," Izzy agrees, looking out the picture window of his office, fingers 
tented beneath his chin, in profile and silhouette to Delaney, "so I'm a 
philanthropist. What's it to ya, Howard?" 

"What it is to me, Izzy, is someone caught in the middle, on the horns of a 
dilemma, as it were." 

"I don't have the foggiest notion of what you're- 

"Just, just hear me out, Iz, okay? 

"Let's just say-speaking hypothetically, of course-that a firm such as yours 
has a major client, such as, for example, Buck Enterprises, billing to that 
client being-what?" 

"You tell me. We're speaking hypothetically, remember?" 

"Say, in the neighborhood of, oh, two mil, in a good year three, but we're 
talking each and every year. Problem with that?" 

"Not so far." 

"Naturally, a client like that, the firm would be expected and would in fact 
handle the private legal matters, if any, of the chief executive officer, 
owner, chairman of the board, president of that firm-especially if all these 
crowns were on one and the same head, in this case, the head of Rand Buck. 

"Which, or so rumor among legal and state police circles would have it, is 
the housing of a brilliant, but rather twisted mind." 

"The man has his hobbies and his personal quirks, yes," Izzy concedes, "to 
which he is fully entitled, so long as he breaks no laws." 

"Or so long as you can successfully shield him from the ones he does," 
Delaney appends. 

"Argumentative and alleges facts not in evidence." 

"We're not in court, Iz." 

"The remark still applies, Howard. Look. Is all this leading somewhere? 
Because I gotta tell ya, I have a full cup here today, and-" 

"This could save you a lot of time and trouble later, Izzy-you and Randy 
Buck, that is." Izzy sits back, resigned, facing Delaney. 

"There's been too much shit floating to the surface of that cesspool Randy 
Buck calls a life, Iz. 

"His name has been coming up in connection with way too many bizarre and 
off-color incidents. 

"The state police have a computer, the state attorney's office has a 
computer-" 

"You got shoo-ooze, I got shoo-ooze, all God's chillun got shoes!" Izzy 
sings, clapping his hands rhythmically as he intones the spiritual. "Get to 
the point arready, Howard." 

"The advantage of a data base, Izzy, is its ability to sort in accordance 
with whatever parameter the qualified user selects. 

"Put in the name Randy Buck, and it comes out peripheral to enough incidents 
to fill several paperback books of the kind you don't leave lying around for 
the kids, know what I'm saying?" 

"He has never been charged-" 

"Please, Izzy! You think I don't know that? 

"But then, that's what he's got you for, Iz, right? 

"Anyway, it would seem that your client, our mutual friend Murray-" 

"Former client. Case closed, no retainer." 

"Whatever. Our common acquaintance, Murray, was a key witness in the case 
involving that halfway house supervisor-the one with the hoods and whips 
and-" 

"I know which one, Howard. I defended her, remember?" 

"At Randy Buck's request and with him writing the checks, Izzy; or was that 
included in your retainer?" 

"That's none of your business." 

"Which is precisely why I'm here, Izzy." 

"At last! Speak your piece, or is there more by way of background?" 

"May I be perfectly frank, Izzy?" 

"Please. And brief too, while you're at it. Time is money, Howard. We can't 
all suck the public tit, y'know." 

"You wound me, Isidore," Delaney replies, clutching his chest, but 
recovering at once to say, "I believe you took on Murray as a client after 
he came to you in order to save his life from what you perceived to be a 
threat from Randy Buck. 

"You were afraid that if it hit the papers, he would be identified as that 
same Murray Weiner who took the dirty pictures of Sally, with whom Randy 
Buck was found under mysterious and bizarre circumstances at a mysterious 
and bizarre country house. 

"And Murray came to you for precisely the same reason; I know because he 
told me so. 

"He wanted to show Randy Buck that he was no threat, that he wasn't going to 
cause him any more adverse publicity. 

"The man owned a couple major league ball teams-one football, one 
baseball-neither of whose commissioners would allow him to retain such 
ownership, should his reputation be called into question any more than what 
it is. 

"Right now, of course, there's the matter of his having been admitted to the 
hospital on an emergency basis after being found severely beaten and in 
chains in the basement of his own home. 

"In other words, bottom line here, counselor, is that Randy Buck has way 
more shit going on in his life than even he can reasonably expect to survive 
intact." 

"That's the truth. If you saw him in the hospital like I did-" 

"Be that as it may, Isidore, I want you to make Randy Buck aware of the 
fact-and it is a cold, hard fact, take my word for it-that if anything, 
anything at all should happen to Murray Weiner, yet another file now 
exists-in several places-which will clearly implicate Randy Buck. 

"Murray was scared and you must have thought he had reason to be, or you 
wouldn't have taken his case for a lousy couple thou. 

"You don't have to say anything, Izzy; just pass the word. Bottom line, 
leave Murray Weiner the fuck alone." 

"Is uh, is Murray gonna keep his nose clean from here on out?" Izzy asks. 

"What do I know? What do I look like-his keeper?" 

"Just uh, just what are you to him, Delaney-now that you brought the subject 
up?" 

And Izzy sits back in his chair, prepared to listen, suddenly a man with all 
the time in the world. 

"Come, come," Izzy continues, "don't be shy. I was a young man myself, once. 
One can only imagine the scope, the breadth of one such as Murray's 
connections in the world of the flesh." 

Delaney looks at Izzy, expressionless, before breaking into a grin. 

"That's uh, that's really very perceptive of you, Iz," he concedes. "Murray 
and I have become quite close, in fact-strictly a side effect of my cleaning 
up the loose ends, the aftermath of his little adventure, his brush with the 
law. 

"And Isidore, they are cleaned up, all of them, the loose ends about which 
Randy Buck is so concerned-and which he undoubtedly considers Murray to be. 

"So yes, you might tell Randy Buck that Murray is a close personal friend of 
Assistant State's Attorney Howard Delaney. Or should I too quake in my boots 
lest I stir the ire of Randy Buck?" 

Izzy throws up his hands sighing, and lets them drop into his lap. 

"What do you want me to say, Howard? 

"You think it's easy, having Randy Buck for a client? 

"If you think he confides in me, you're wrong. He tells me what he feels I 
have to know, nothing more. 

"To tell you the truth, Howard, I don't wanna know anything more than that." 

"Yeah, well, I hope you won't take it the wrong way if I tell you I don't 
have all that much sympathy for you, Iz. You want the corporate traffic, you 
gotta handle the private life, which is just tellin' ya what we both know. 

"But," Delaney says, rising, extending his hand toward Izzy, who also 
stands, reaching for it, "maybe his latest experience will slow 'im dowit, 
mellow 'im out, whatever." 

"Maybe," Izzy repeats, tone dubious, shaking hands. 

"Oh and Izzy?" Delaney says, pausing, one hand on the ornate brass handle of 
one of the heavily carved double doors at the entrance to Izzy's private 
office, "I'd be most interested in Randy Buck's reaction when you tell him 
of our conversation." 

"If it's anything untoward, I will advise." 

"Yeah, right." 

And Delaney exits, slipping through the door, closing it softly behind 
himself. 

"You saved my life, Howard," Murray says, "I'm sure of it!" 

"Yeah, so?" 

"It's just, just ... nobody ever did that for me before. Fact is, nobody 
ever cared if I lived or died until you came along. 

"I mean, I realize you've got cher reasons an' all, but still, I'm genuinely 
grateful. I wantcha t'know that." 

"So now I do, Murray. 

"So. Where do we go from here? 

"I can fix you up with just about anything you want. 

"You wanna build yerseif a harem, you got it!" 

"You live alone, don't cha, Murray?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. 

"Get a lotta action, but I live alone." 

"Why is that, Murray? I mean, the law of averages says that, sooner or 
later, among so many from which to, pick an' choose, somethin's gotta click, 
right?" 

"Wrong, Howard. Dead wrong. 

"If things were clickin', if they were, t'coin an expression, clickable wit' 
these people, any of 'em, they wouldn't be here. I wouldn't know them. They 
wouldn't do what they do, 

"Howard, when you're lookin' at the tapes, what choo see is what you get, 
know what I'm sayin'? 

"I first started out innis bidniss, Howard, I used t'tell myself, This is a 
real person, these are real people doin' this stuff." 

"Real people, Howard. Meaning hopes an' dreams, plans an' a future, placed 
t'go, people t'see, things t'do. 

"But after a while, I learned that that's not true. I was lyin' t'my self. 

"The truth is just exackly what I tole ja. 

"What choo see is what choo get. There ain't no mo', pal. Sad but true-if 
the truth can ever really be said t'be sad. 

"Sad. That's, like, a human feeling, y'know? Sad is what one person feels 
out of sympathy for another. Sad is for so-called real people, Howard." 

"I mean, you go into a restaurant, you order a steak, or a chicken breast, 
or a fillet of fish. 

"You feel sad for the cow, the hen, the flounder? 

"Of course you don't. That would be ridiculous, absurd, wouldn't it? I mean, 
the thought would never cross yer mind, Howard, an' you know it. 

"Knowin' that the animal has paid the supreme penalty, what do you feel? You 
feel hungry, then you feel full, is what choo feel. 

"Same thing wit' these people. 

"They have declared themselves-meat, Howard. 

"I dunno. Maybe, maybe before they come here, maybe there was somethin', 
somethin' ... higher there, inside their heads, inside their lives. 

"But whatever that was, Howard-if there was ever anything, if it wasn't all 
a buncha bullshit t'begin with-that's gone. That's gone, an' it's never 
comin' back. 

"It's too fuckin' late, Howard. What's done is done an' it can never be 
undone. 

"An' Howard, if it's true for them, what does that say about you an' me? 

"If they're meat, Howard, what does that make us?" 

"More meat?" 

"I think so, Howard. 

"You look at the tapes, waddaya see? 

"Creatures from another planet? Images you never dreamed of, thoughts you 
never had? 

"You look at the tapes, Howard, an' you are looking into a mirror! 

"What choo see is what you get, Howard, an' what choo get is a reflection, a 
reflection of what's already in here," tapping his forehead with his finger, 
"a confirmation that somethin' you thought is real. 

"Figure it out for yourself, Howard. "You wanna see if your hair's parted 
okay? You look inna mirror. 

"You wanna see if your suit's hangin' right? You look inna mirror. 

"You wanna know if some gorgeous piece of ass would be ready, willin' an' 
able to take cocks up her pussy an' ass at the same time an' get you an' a 
buddy off together? 

"Ta-da! You look inna mirror, t'see if it's just your raunchy mind havin' a 
frustration fever, or if it can happen, if reality will support what goes on 
inside jet head. 

"It's all on the tapes, Howard, all of it! 

"Name a combination, I can show ya the reflection of that thought, it's 
amplification, it's reality! 

"Tell me what choo wanna see, Howard. 

"Couple big, black studs givin' it to each other up the ass? I got it! 

"If I am' got it, I can get it! 

"Ev'ry once in a while, I get a call from the coast, a custom job, ACDC, 
mixed couples-rush! 

"You are bookin' at the Domino's Pizza of the VCR, Howard! 

"An' why not? Because it's all meat. An' how do you serve meat? Any fuckin' 
way you want to, is how! 

"You're bookin' for redeeming social value? 

"The very fact that the tape was made tells you a fundamental truth about 
who and what we are! 

"Getting back t'yer original question, Howard, I live alone, you live alone, 
ev'rybody lives alone. Just some of us understand that more clearly than 
others. 

"So. What'll it be?" 

"Housecalls, Murray." 

"Howzat?" 

"Housecalls. I wanna boff housewives, during the day. I wanna be able t'call 
up this one or that, go on over an' do my thing. 

"I wanna make their day. 

"That's just, like ... a thing I wanna do. 

"I wanna put in the resta my fuckin' career doin' that, Murray. 

"After! retire, I wanna do it better an' less often. 

"I wanna feel that I'm not, missing anything, Murray, can you understand 
that? 

"Above all, I don't want any loose ends, no sweet young thing who thinks 
that I couldn't possibly do such an' such with her and not have it mean 
something more than what it does. 

"The last thing in the world I need, Murray, is t'be with a broad an' have 
her think there's something more than what there is between us. 

"What choo see is what choo get. 

"By the time we hit the sheets, me an' whoever, it's already too late for 
there to be anything else, anything more. 

"So no, no thanks, no romance an' no romantic girls. 

"Give 'em to me well broken in an' all hot to trot, as a sport and a 
pastime, Murray." 

"Got a lotta them," Murray confirms. 

"I want a lotta them, Murray. Make it happen, babe, an' we are square." 

"I will make the phone calls an' fill yer fuckin' dance card, even as you 
watch, pal o' mine!" 

And he does. 

"You understand, Mr. Jones, that we do not treat lightly the goings on in 
your home, nor are we in any way condoning, overlooking, still less 
forgiving that which, on the face of it, deserves a far more stringent 
handling on the part of this court than that to which your lawyer and the 
prosecution have agreed. 

"You do understand that, do you not?" 

"Uh, whut was the question?" 

Laughter in the courtroom as the judge bangs his gavel repeatedly for order 
and Delaney looks down, shaking his head and smiling. 

"I will explain to my client the terms and conditions of the family 
counseling and the probation, your honor," Ms. Delacroix says. 

"Do so, Ms. Delacroix. 

"And you sir; if it should come to the attention of this court that there 
has, been one more disturbance in your household of whatever nature, if the 
periodic medical examinations of your wife and daughter reveal anything 
untoward, I shall at once vacate the suspension." 

"Have yo'se'f a veh nice trip, yo' honor." 

"What?" 

"En-joy yo' vacayshun, suh!" 

More laughter, as the judge rolls his eyes. 

"I shall explain vacation of suspension to my client, your honor," Ms. 
Delacroix says. 

"Just, just get him outta here!" 

Bang of the gavel, followed by, "Next case!" 

And Delaney looks at his watch, secure now in the knowledge that he will be 
done here by noon. 

He can have lunch and easily make the suburbs by two. 

"Hello, Mabel. I'm Howard." 

"Oh yeah, Murray's friend. C'mon in, Howard. Hafta excuse the way the place 
looks. Don't trip over the vacuum cleaner there. 

"I was gonna do the living room, but Guiding Light was on, then General 
Hospital. You follow the soaps?" 

"No, I generally have better-I mean, I usually catch the news instead. When 
I watch TV, that is." 

"You're better off, Howard. The soaps can be pretty aggravating sometimes, 
the problems some of those people have. 

"Well. I guess we could get right upstairs. 

"You tilt, you really thought I was hot on the tapes, huh?" 

"Couldn't wait to meet cha," he says, as they climb, side by side. 

"Yeah, well, I don't do those any more, y'know." 

"So Murray said." 

"Too much hassle, the commute, y'know? "I mean, it ain't like I need the 
money. It was just, just somethin' t'do, so I did it for laughs for awhile, 
t'share my goodies with the world, y'know? 

"As you can see, I do have more than enough t'go around." 

And she takes off the bathrobe, proud of her voluptuous, overblown body, the 
breasts enormous, not yet too pendulous, the stretch marks clearly showing 
on her chest. 

"I usually wear a bra, but I knew you were comin'," she explains, stripping 
the unmade bed of its covers, rumpled at the foot, then centering herself in 
the bed as Delaney strips. 

Delaney loses himself in nature's bounty, wallowing on her breasts, playing 
all the games, from telephone to earmuffs. 

He slides down her body, hands and mouth, eye and tongue confirming her 
thereness, her reality, her abundance. 

She raises and spreads her legs, knees bent, as he dives into her muff, into 
yet another specimen of that which is out here in such abundance, meat and 
meat and meat-delicious, sumptuous, yielding, waiting for him. 

Quickly, he forms a rock-hard erection. 

Deftly, he inserts it. 

And scoops up her legs from beneath, doubling her up on his prong, grasping 
her breasts, kneading and fondling them, feeding them to himself, one at a 
time, sucking her tits as he fucks her. 

So that he is above and below her, inside and outside and all around her, 
enveloping her with his virile, lusty, pumping presence. 

And her face is red, eyes closed, concentrating not so much on her 
imagery-because she is lazy, vapid, would not go to the trouble to go beyond 
present reality-but on the feelings which he has awakened within her, as 
much spectator to her body's reactions as their generator and a participant 
here. 

And her body does not disappoint, because Howard does not disappoint. 

No, he activates the nerve endings of her vagina with his pruriently 
pounding prick, bringing her to life, to the one kind of life she fully 
understands, understands as one understands the sensations of the body, 
understands the lascivious intimacy, the powerful presence of the aroused 
male and his organ on her, in her, containing her with a total presence. 

And this understanding feeds upon itself, becoming deeper and deeper as more 
and more of her body becomes aware of its engagement, its involvement in the 
task at hand. 

And she smiles, eyes closed, sexual sweat beading on her forehead now, face 
turning redder and redder, the scarlet spreading slowly to the swollen 
surfaces of her breasts as they balloon on her chest. 

Ever novel, ever familiar, ever dependable, her responses. 

And Howard sees that she was right not to make the commute, not when home 
delivery is available. 

Because he senses, not some frenetic, desperate escape here for her, but 
mother a genuine, deep-seated happiness. 

Because this is right, this has meaning for her, a strictly physical, 
intensely sensual meaning and no other. 

And that's fine, that's okay. If one must be meat, then one might as well be 
happy meat, as she so very clearly is. 

She is both serene and excited, calm and aroused, hungry and in the process 
of being satisfied-at the moment, by Howard. 

No question as to why she is doing this, what she is trying to prove, to 
accomplish here; what you see is what you get. 

And what she gets is enough, enough and more than enough for her, more than 
enough to give meaning to her existence. 

Murray is an artist in one sense, she in another, all her creativity bound 
up in the generation within herself, the utilization by herself of the 
materials at hand to produce pleasure, pleasure which is the promise of 
still more pleasure, pleasure in turn which is used to awaken, to summon 
from within herself that which is greater than herself, to call forth the 
pleasure beyond pleasure. 

A bit of an effort for her, but not too much, because Delaney is well 
endowed and fully proficient, and now no effort at all, no need to respond 
because response has become automatic. 

The ultimate pleasure is upon her. 

And she doesn't have it; it has her. 

It has her and the feedback of it from her rapidly encompasses Delaney as 
well. 

So that here, now, they are climbing the rainbow together, are almost at the 
peak of their shared capacity to contain their ever-expanding sexual 
pleasure within themselves, to wallow in it, revel in it, lose themselves in 
it without- 

They are coming and coming, gently, easily, his spurts, his jets of jism 
into her hot, streaming depths alternating with the powerful contractions of 
her vaginal muscles, in the throes of her series of multiple orgasms. 

Thus do they ascend to sexual paradise, together and yet alone, thus do they 
land back on earth, together, alone. 

Because there is him and there is her, but there will never be a them; she 
doesn't know him and doesn't want to. 

He is the right man for her because he is faceless, he is everyman, the 
local and temporary, universal and universally available representative of 
the male principle, servicing her needs and satisfying her desires, a kind 
of public utility, which is just fine with Howard, which is all that he can 
ask of her or for himself. 


End

   Stories Copyright respective authors. 