AREA 47

SECTION 89:

COURTNEY, Chapter 40

No, he would not initiate her into the Mile High Club.  Drat!  Courtney tried licking his ear, whispering all his favorite naughty sentences, grabbing for his crotch; but Reed refused to take her seriously, and he seatbelted her.  The flight from New York to Los Angeles was uneventful.

His mother was staying over at the home of one of her friends.  Reed & Courty stopped off at his house first.  The California-comfortable home, oversized, four bedrooms & den, awesome view of The Valley from the enclosed back porch that doubled as a rec-room & pool parlor, minimalist living room to accentuate the SPACE; cushy, brown creature-comforts.  Courty was desperate to prove to both of them that nothing had changed in their love affair.  She tried to pull him into his bedroom for an hour——the bedroom resonating with wonderful memories of lovemaking.  It was the perfect on-ramp to get their sex life back on the freeway.

“I’m ready.”

Reed just shrugged her off, placing a business phone call.  “I’m not ready.”

“The H-E-toothpicks you’re not!”

“Courty . . .”  He hung up the phone before it answered.  “Listen, we get pretty rough in bed sometimes.   I don’t want you to ever . . . I don’t know how to talk about it . . . I just don’t want you to ever think of what we do as rape.”

“Fooey!”

“Courty,” Reed said with anguish.  “Some guys raped you!  They made a movie out of it!”  There was horror in his voice.

“I think you should see the movie,” she said quietly.

“JESUS!  It would KILL me!  Are you Crazy?  Courty.”  He put his hands on her shoulders, as they both stood in his living room.  “I’m scared for you.  I’m frightened to death.  You’re not taking this seriously, Courty.  These guys know where you live!  They sent you a copy of the tape, for Christ sake!”

She wrenched herself out of his grip and threw herself down on one of his couches.  “Love me or leave me!” she shouted.

“You’re not facing facts!” Reed shouted right back.  “You can’t just bury all this in a deep hole, and pretend it never happened!”

Silent black-death eyes looking daggers, and then looking away.

“Courty, talk to me!” Reed shouted.  He strode to her, and grabbed her chin.  “Look at me.  Talk to me.”

Her clenched teeth: “Screw . . . You!”

Reed tried to be reasonable.  He let go and sat down next to her.  “Courty, convince me that it’s over.  I’m worried about you.  I’m so worried it’s tearing me apart!”

A Southern California earthquake silence.

Courtney’s trembling voice, tiny against the emotional holocaust: “Maybe I asked for it.”

“Oh, JESUS CHRIST!  Don’t gimme that SHIT!”

“Reed, I don’t remember!  I was smoking hash.  And I was taking some pills——I don’t know what they were.  I don’t remember what happened.  I don’t know how it started!  I don’t know . . . I was just THERE, on the boat, and then it happened.  But I don’t . . . don’t you see?  Maybe I asked for it.  I . . . I DON’T KNOW!”  The last came out an anguished wail.

“That doesn’t convince me that it’s over.  Exactly the opposite!”

“Reed, I probably walked on the boat, myself.  Maybe I told him I would make love to him.  I don’t know!”

“Who?  You said him.  Come on: who?”

“Whoever was behind it, Reed.”

“Why won’t you talk to me about it?  Courty, I KNOW you.  You’re not telling me all the truth here.”

“I’m telling you as much as I know!”

“So you just intend to go on with your life as if nothing has happened, is that it?”

“Yes.  YES!  Exactly!”

“And you intend to tell me nothing more?”

“There’s nothing more to tell!”

“And you don’t think you’re in danger?”

“Danger?  What danger?”

“From these guys!  The rapists who know who you are and where you live!”

“You promised me a bodyguard, didn’t you?”

“Courty——”

“Darling,” Courtney said, getting up, trying to pull Reed up, urge him up onto his feet with her outstretched arms, “let’s go into your bedroom for an hour, and play.”

He looked at her for a long time, not moving.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Courty, you’re the most wonderful woman to ever come into my life.  But you’re acting so weird that I’m afraid to make love with you.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll get herpes!”

“Oh, for Christ sake!  Bleed into a glass, and I’ll drink it!  Drip some of your vaginal juice into a cup and I’ll stick my dick in it and soak it!  I just don’t want to fuck right now!  I’m afraid of what I’ll do to you, I’m afraid of how you will react.  Suppose I hurt you?  Suppose you start crying?  Suppose you hate me for doing it?”

“Reed!”

“Courty, I know another girl who was raped once.  She was my best friend’s girl.  Well, they broke up a couple of months after she was raped.  She told me her boyfriend made love with her two days after she was raped.  She was very emotional about it.  I can’t remember her exact words, but it was something like: ‘Another lousy dick up inside of me!’  I mean, she really felt horrible about him doing that to her so soon after she was raped.  She felt like he was raping her all over again.”

“I’m not like her!”

“Courty, if you want to cuddle for an hour, that’s fine, let’s go.  But if you’re thinking of sex, forget it!”

“OK, let’s go in your bedroom and cuddle.  I bet I can cuddle you into a condom.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.  Forget it!”

“Reed!”

Reed made more business calls while Courtney channel-hopped across the satellite dish.  She pouted, angry, thought about calling Mom, thought about clobbering Reed over the head with that stupid stone thing on the coffee table, thought about everything except the violent images on the theater-sized projection TV.

Courtney was so angry she almost missed it, but there was Byron Reed on TV.  One of the adolescent music-video channels.  Reed was lip-syncing a tune Courtney hadn’t heard yet, maximally laid-back in Margaritaville (the 1990’s model of debauchery) while beachstruck nymphets, wearing dental floss string bikinis, heated up the background and cooled down his tequila.  Terrible song!  Horrible lyrics!  Pukey visuals (how could Vlad stoop so LOW?)!  Fire-breathing Godzilla washing up on the shore behind Reed (who was oblivious to the danger, jiggered and jizzless, a rock-a-bye baby crying into his bottle over lost love), nearly naked women running in fear everywhich way.  Butane breath was wearing a Byron Reed T-shirt (Extra Gigantic Huge Bulky Big Triple-LARGE size) and a condom (one size fits all).  Quota on the non-musical madness: Courtney’s finger withered the witless knave into electronic oblivion.

She had never, NEVER refused Reed sex.  Even when she was menstruating & feeling cranky, she had given him long, sexy body-rubs culminating in loving hand-jobs.  She had offered him anal-sex (which Reed had refused), she had masturbated his penis with her oiled mushed-together boobies (Gawd; she had almost laughed him limp, the first time; it was just too silly) . . . Now HE was refusing HER sex!  It was . . . OUTRAGEOUS!  Courtney fumed, she threw death-thoughts at his penis, she cursed his penis into imaginary flaccidity, she shortened his penis to a pimple, his balls to two blackheads, then her imaginary fist went: Sput-tush!!——popping the penis-pimple and doing away with Reed’s blackhead balls.  Sperm-pus all over her fingers.

No, no, Courtney thought, I don’t mean it, just kidding.  She canceled her momentary pulse of anger at Reed.  He was a dense blockhead, but he was trying to be helpful, she had to give him that.  He was trying.

But Reed apparently couldn’t concentrate on business.  He sat down next to her on the couch.

They looked at each other warily for a moment, then he grabbed at her for some cuddles.

“Mmmmm, I hate you,” she said fondly.

But Reed didn’t really act like his loose, relaxed self.  Mostly, he just stroked and held her, sad and silently.

Courtney spoke slowly: “Reed, I’m not the standard rape victim like on one of those TV shows.  For most of it I was drugged out of my mind, and in the beginning, I was in a state of shock, it was like I was watching it happen to someone else, maybe it was a defense mechanism to distance myself from what was happening to me, and maybe five or ten years from now, sharp, clear horrible memories are going to start haunting me . . . but right now, it’s all a fuzzy blur that I can’t quite remember, can’t quite bring into focus, and it all seems just distasteful, like something I just want to forget.  I don’t know if that’s healthy in the long run, but I think right now it just has to be that way for me.  You know, I could be a lot stronger mentally than you’re giving me credit for.  Maybe the best therapy is just for me to get on with my life, like you said, you know, just get back to work.”

They were both silent for about five minutes.

“There’s something I have to ask,” Reed finally said.  “Are you bisexual?”

She jumped a little in his arms.  “Goodness, no.”

He was silent.

Courtney furiously wondered where that question had come from.  What had made him feel that he needed to ask . . . Liz.  It had to be something to do with Liz.  Gawd.

“At least, I don’t think so,” Courtney said.

“OK.  There’s something else I have to ask.  What’s between you and Liz?”

“Gawd.”  She pulled herself out of his arms and stood up.  She sort of walked around in a circle, not going anywhere, and then she sat down away from him, in a wide, padded crushed-leather chair so dreamily soft and cushy that it swallowed her up like a feather-mattress bed.

Try again.  She got up and tried the other chair close to Reed.  Better.

“What did she tell you?” Courtney asked.  “Never mind.  It doesn’t matter what she told you.”  She sighed.  “You know, it’s funny.  I think she raped me too.”  She smiled sadly at him, noting how intently he was watching her, how uneasy he was.  “It was the night you . . . it was Monday, before you came to see me.  We were talking on my bed.  She was telling me some very personal things about her childhood, and I was . . . I don’t know, I was feeling so down and depressed, waiting for you . . . we got closer and closer, and we were touching, and I just didn’t stop it.  I just let it happen.  She started stroking me and petting me, and I just . . . didn’t stop it.  It was pretty one-way.  I didn’t do anything except . . . accept what she was doing to me.”

They were both quiet for a long time.

“Maybe I am bisexual, I don’t know.  I certainly don’t look at women and want their bodies.”  She paused for a moment and then said firmly, “Anyway, it happened once.  I don’t really think lesbian sex is something I want to repeat.  Although . . .”  She laughed, about to admit that she had never had so many orgasms so close together . . . But perhaps that was not the most diplomatic thing to say.  Reed wouldn’t understand.  Quantity of orgasms, even intensity of orgasms, wasn’t the same as the quality of the whole sexual experience.  She wasn’t sure she would be able to explain it.  She and Reed had shared many sexual times in bed that were far superior.  “So that’s it.  All of it.  She claims she’s in love with me.  She got pretty upset when I told her I was in love with you, and wasn’t interested in her.  She said something like . . . she would go down on me as long as I wanted, whenever I wanted, just to be with me.”  She gave Reed a coy look.  “So!” she said, brightly, “you have some competition!  If you won’t make love with me today, I’ll just go back to New York where I’m wanted as a sex object!”

“Come over here,” Reed growled.

“You, come here.”

“I’ll meet you half-way.  Let’s put some stains on the carpeting.”  He plopped off the couch and crawled over like a dog toward her.  He sniffed the air, definitely on the scent.  “There’s a bitch in heat around here somewhere.  “WOOF!”

Courty went 4-wheel-drive to meet him half-way.

She rubbed bruised noses with him.  Reed had the naughty knack of bringing the sexual genie out of the boredom-bottle in the silliest ways.  “What is this,” she said, “puppy lust?  Woof-woof!”

Reed evolved the dogged nose-rubbing into a Big Daddy of a kiss.  They were still tykes on all fours, facing each other.

“WOOF!”

“Are you barking up the wrong tree again?”

With puppy precocity, Reed barked, “Hey, you ain’t lived, little doggie, until you’ve done it on one of those human-type beds.  I’ll race ya!”  His doggie’s tongue was hanging down and lusting.

But she was already off like a whelp!

“Woof-woof!”  “WOOF!”  “Woof-woof!”  Courtney shredded her nylons and got carpet-burn on both knees, edging Reed out of first place at the dog-track.  Reed dashed, right on her tail.  She wasn’t a dog, she was a Fox.  “WOOF!”

Doggoned, if they didn’t hop up on that bed . . .

A doggerel duet, yapping and jumping about, on and around each other, like two hungry canines at dinnertime.

De rigueur was the doggie position.  Gawd.

Reed, having lifted her skirt over her croup with his mouth, was pulling down her panties with his paw.  His obedient bitch had put her panties on last, after her nylons & garters: WOOF!  Reed smelled her deeply with doggie delight, and his mutt’s tongue indulged in some cur-play.

“Reed!  Stop that!” Courty yelled, no longer a pooch.  “You might get herpes!  Stop!  I don’t want you to do that anymore; there’s a small chance of transmission, even when I don’t have any blisters.  Didn’t you read that booklet?  Get a condom.  Reed!”  She waggled her rump, and then jumped forward away from his tongue.

She was angry with him.  She sat back away from him on the pillows.

Reed’s hound dog eyes, looking at her.  “Dogs don’t use condoms.”

“Reed, be serious.  You might even get gonorrhea!”

“I won’t accept obstacles between us,” he said.

“Reed, herpes is a disease, it weakens your immune system.  Even when you have no symptoms, it weakens you.”

“I’m not going to pussy-foot around your pussy, as if there’s something wrong with it!” he shouted.

“There is something wrong with it!”

“There’s something wrong with your head, not your pussy.  Call it a commitment, call it an investment, but we’re a team, a pair, and I don’t want some bullshit disease coming between us.  I won’t accept a reduction in intimacy.”

She threw a pillow at him.  “It can kill you!” she shouted.

“Bullshit.”  Reed looked & lusted at her; at her angry body, her panties down below her ruffled, unthinkingly high skirtline, the panties caught around her knees, her nylon stockings with runs in them.  She Was Absolutely The Juiciest Piece On The Planet!  There wasn’t anything about her that didn’t excite him.  The way she wanted to fuck, but didn’t want to give him herpes . . . The way she had arranged her body: excited, angry, pornographic, defiant, urgently sexual . . . Her unbalanced hair, that he had come to love; even the feminine twist of her wrists, the pouting shake of her head, her voice so high and sweet and seductive even in hostility . . .

“Unbullshit!” Courtney shouted at him.  “It weakens your immune system.  If you’re exposed to the AIDS virus, the herpes virus increases your chances for coming down with the AIDS disease.  And that can kill you!”

Courtney could see the fire Burn in his eyes until he popped.  “EITHER YOU GIVE ME HERPES, OR I TAKE IT BY FORCE!”  He jumped on her!

She yelped!  Tried to fight him off!  “Reed, Stop!”

But he was a Molotov sex cocktail, his angry hands burning her flesh, locking her into a helpless, squirming pretzel.

“Reed!”

It was not a frolic; it was vigorously carnal, taking, stealing, skin-scorching violence pushed right to the brink of flesh damage.  He ripped her panties into rags just by the force of his hands opening her thighs.  He had his cock out already, jamming it down under her dry buttocks.

Courty froze up, every muscle locked up, tight!  She choked.  Fear-tears drenched with gang-rape remembrance.

Reed stopped, released her, rolled awkwardly off of her.  He stood there beside the bed, looking down at her, his face pained; his erection deflating as quickly as a balloon with the air let out of it.  His pants and underwear were down around his ankles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, empty and defeated.

Courtney looked up at him through her tears.  Her whole body was quaking.  She knew that Reed would never hurt her.  Her tears had pulled the plug on his aggression.

Oh, she loved him so much!  The tears started by fear, now cried with the sheer, romantic vitality of the moment.  Reed was so genuine, so authentic.  He really was the honest-to-goodness, One And Only.  He absolutely refused to see any devaluation in her.  If she had an incurable venereal disease, he wanted it too, so urgently he had almost raped her to steal it.  She was enchanted by him; that someone would love her enough to risk his health, really to disregard it, to be closer to her.

Tactlessly, she reached and grabbed that part of him closest to her.  His whang.  Long and limp and rubbery and sad, deflated and dejected.  Gracelessly, Courtney scooted over to the edge of the bed and sat sidesaddle.  Embarrassing them both, she pointed his penis into her mouth and began to suck; softly, her tears ceasing.

He stood there, inept.  She sat there stiffly, fingering and fellating him back to size.

Somehow the botched and bungled sexual attempt was overstepped.  She surprised herself, and unselfconsciously lifted her dress and played between her legs with one hand.  As he grew, she grew less clumsy.  Her second surprise was that she enjoyed having his erect penis in her mouth, enjoyed feeling how she was affecting him.  She did not feel subservient.  She couldn’t help but think of the penis that she had bitten off.

“I thought you didn’t like to do that,” Reed said.

She gave him a playful little bite on the tip.

“Ouch!”

“I’ve developed a taste for it,” Courtney said slyly.  She licked him like an ice cream cone, and then devoured him again.  The thought that she could actually bite off his penis was a tremendously exciting fantasy.  She could really do it.  She had done it once.  She could do it again!  Goodness, she was dripping.  She was drenched with excitement.  She raked her teeth far down over his throbbing dick, and indulged in another sporting little bite.

“Ouch!”

Goddess, what a fantasy.

“I’m going to come in your mouth.”

Courty clamped down and sucked Reed back onto the bed.

“Hey.”

She released her mouth penis-lock, spread her legs widest, lay back, pulled him by his penis until he was on top of her.

“What’s mine, is yours,” she said simply.  She inserted him into her liquid love palace.

If he had thrust three or four times, violently, the way she had taught him——his penis more like a plow than a piston——they both would have come right then with very satisfying simultaneous orgasms.  But he elected upon a long, leisurely soak, which they both enjoyed even more!

COURTNEY, Chapter 41
 

Copyright 2005 Area 47