The following is a work of fiction. It is not intended to be read by anyone not legally entitled to do so nor by anyone offended by common gendered sexual activity. Comments and constructive criticism to: Woodrow_h@hotmail.com.
I.
Vicky
The lettering on the frosted glass window of the door of my office reads:
"Woodrow Harrison & Associates
Private Investigations"
After we won the cold war, working at CIA had lost a lot of its appeal for me, so I had taken early retirement and determined to use the skills I'd aquired as a field agent in the area of independent investigations. I rented a small office in a run-down neighborhood in Chicago and a spacious loft in the same building. The office is Spartan, containing only the essentials for communication, a desk for me and one for Jack, my secretary, and a filing cabinet.
The loft is equally utilitarian with one private bedroom, an efficiency kitchen, and a shower room. It has a balcony where I have a kitchenette set.
The communal toilets are down the hall and shared with the neighbors on the floor. I'd not done much in the way of decorating beyond hanging drapes over the windows and making a small parlor area with a couple of secondhand couches and chairs, a coffee table and a Persian rug I'd bought when working in the Middle East.
A state-of-the-art entertainment center was the only feature that brought the place up to date with the 21st century.
Radio dramas and especially television invariably depict the private detective as a two fisted, hard drinking womanizer who is always one step ahead of the cops, showing them up for the fools they are. That image rarely jives with reality. PI work involves a great deal of research, dry, interminable reading and only occasional surveilance. While arrests are often made as a result of my probings, I leave that to the client to get the police after the miscreants. I want no part of lawsuits arising from me roughing anyone up, thus I avoid confrontation as much as possible. There are men for hire if any situation demanded rough stuff, but I rarely engage any of them.
Most of my clients are corporations and businesses that suspect someone of embezzlement or of espionage. My fee is a modest retainer, $100.00 per hour and direct expenses. I give honest accounts and have built a reputation for being effective over the years, so I rarely lack for caseload. Now and then an individual will engage me to confirm suspicion of an errant spouse or to locate a missing person, but I prefer business related work and don't advertize to the general public. The people who do contact me generally have heard of me through a client firm.
Fridays are usually slow days for me. I read the Tribune, the Sun Times, The Southtown Economist, and the Wall Street Journal in the morning, then go downtown for a seafood lunch with my girlfriend Monica, an attorney with a prominent loop law firm. I then return to the office and do any filing that has piled up. Jack has Fridays off.
On this particular Friday, I returned from lunch and saw the blinking light on the answering machine. I hit the playback button and was treated to a sultry, gravelly voice identifying herself as "Vicky", and promising to call back later. The voice was intriguing. I was eager to get the call just to find out if she was as exciting as she sounded. I was not going to be disappointed! I was just putting the last manilla folder back in the file case when the telephone rang.
"Harrison Associates, this is Woody", I said in my standard greeting.
"Mr. Harrison, this is Vicky Stein", cooed the voice on the line, "I wonder if you could see me about something that's been troubling me?"
"You have need of an investigator?"
"Yes, I need a confidential...er...consultant."
"First consultation is on me. When can you stop by?"
"Will you be there for the next two hours?"
"I can be. Do you know where my office is?"
"I have the address, but I'm not terribly familiar with the city proper.
Can you give me directions? I'm coming from Winnetka."
I gave her the directions and told her it should take about an hour to get here at this time of day, but cautioned that the ride home would be during rush hour and would likely take twice that.
With an hour to kill, I locked the office and went up to my loft. I picked out a CD and placed it in the Bose. Torch songs from the past sung by Carly Simon filled the huge room. I grabbed a coke from the refrigerator and flopped on the couch. My favorite track, "Body and Soul" had just finished when a sudden whim made me change from casual slacks and polo shirt to a suit with white shirt and necktie. By time I had completed changing, it was time to return to the office to greet my caller.
I had just opened the "Journal" to the crossword puzzle when the knock on the door came.
I got up, strode over to the door, opened it, and all but gasped. Vicky was one knockout of a woman! Shoulder length black hair framed a dark oval face with brown eyes that flashed as she smiled at me. The full, sensual lips parted over gleaming white teeth. The sensible tan suit she wore complimented the robust figure, and the 4" heels pulled her legs into a shape most models would die for. I guessed her to be about 40, but tastefully made up, and well preserved.
"Mr Harrison? I'm Vicky Stein." She said it with some authority, as if I should recognise her as one of "the" Steins or something, though there are thousands of people with that name here in the phone book.
"Please come in Ms. Stein".
"Call me Vicky"' she said as she floated to the chair beside my desk.
I cleared the paper off the top of the desk and sat down. "What can I help you with Vicky?"
"It's my husband", she said with a hint of exasperation in her tone, "I believe he is having an affair."
"Have you confronted him with your suspicions?"
"Yes, and he laughs it off. Tells me he is just busy with his job and that's why he isn't coming home some nights."
"And you want me to verify that he's telling the truth or lying, is that it?"
"I need some closure. I have to know if he's seeing someone."
"Do you suspect anyone specific?"
She squirmed a little in the chair and bit her lip. "I do, but I have to explain something first before I tell you".
I leaned back in my chair and spread my hands in a disarming gesture.
"About 10 years ago, Mo and I had noticed a drop off in our sex life. We did a lot of experimenting at the counsel of a therapist, but nothing seemed to work. Finally he suggested that we try swinging."
"Swinging? As from the chandeliers?" I asked naively.
"No, swinging as with other couples." She said it so matter-of-factly that I was caught off guard.
"We'd go to parties and swap partners for sex. At first it seemed to help.
Mo was very attentive and affectionate, and our lovemaking returned to its earlier intensity. We both enjoyed the variety, and since both of us are "fixed", there wasn't any fear connected with it.
About a year ago, Mo started working late on Friday nights. We couldn't go to the party because of this, though he encouraged me to attend. I went once or twice, but it wasn't the same without him along. It just felt strange to me to be boffed by somebody's hubby while she had to play twiddle twat."
Just hearing about this was giving me a considerable discomfort in my trousers. I couldn't help imagining the disappointment of the guys who'd gotten the opportunity to lie with this magnificent specimen and then be cut off from her.
"So I quit going. Mo continues to work late, and he hasn't touched me in 3 months."
"Mo is short for....?" I broke in.
"Morris. Morris Stein."
"The attorney?" I raised my eyebrows. Morris Stein was well known as a criminal lawyer with a stable of rather unsavory clients including some mobsters and people with porno related businesses.
"Yes", she said, "that's him."
I gave a low whistle. This could be a real hot potato. "Connected" guys don't appreciate people delving into their private affairs, and neither do the people they're connected with. I began to have severe misgivings about this.
"Before you decide whether to take the case, Mr. Harrison, I wonder if you'd do me a favor?"
"What's that?"
"I've been thinking about spending two hours in traffic getting home. I'd rather miss rush hour and wondered if you'd have dinner with me someplace downtown. My treat of course."
Wow! Here was another hot potato! If I were seen having dinner with a hot looking babe like this and it got back to Monica, I'd have some heavy explaining to do. On the other hand, I waffled, this was a potential client, one that could easily afford the fee.....In the end I agreed and made a reservation at Gioco for 6:30.
It was just 5:00, so I suggested that we enjoy a cocktail in my loft til it was time to take the 10 minute cab ride to the restaurant. She agreed, and a few minutes later I was splashing gin over two glasses of ice garnished with bleu cheese stuffed queen olives.
She sat demurely on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles. As I handed her the drink she gave me that dazzling smile and I almost spilled it in her lap.
"Would you mind if I smoked?" She said producing a Virginia Slim from her handbag.
"Not at all, in fact I'll join you." I said, holding my lighter out with a shaking hand. "Would you like some music?"
"That would be nice", she said, "do you have any jazz?"
"Any particular artist? I've got quite a collection."
"Brubeck?"
"Good choice". I pulled a CD out of the "B" section and the rhythms of "Take Five" began tickling the speakers. I turned the volume down to let the music drift into the background.
"Nice place you have here." She initiated small talk.
"I like the spacious feeling."
"You could have concerts or recitals in here" she said, " I bet you could get over a hundred people in this room comfortably."
"My housewarming had more than that and no one felt cramped."
"Is that where you sleep?" She pointed to the bedroom door.
"Yes", I replied.
"Seems like awfully cramped quarters compared to the rest of it."
"Holds a king-sized bed and a walk-in closet. Don't need much room for just that. How's your drink? Want me to freshen it for you?" I tried to change the subject as all this talk about bedroom was making me uncomfortable; the thought of her hair splayed out on my pillow involuntarily invaded my mind.
"Thanks", she said, "but I'd like some wine with dinner and I do have a long drive later".
The CD had ended. I looked at my watch. "I'll call the cab now."
The telephone is in the kitchen and out of the line of sight of where she was sitting. I called the cab company and when I returned, noticed that she had removed her shoes and sat with her long legs tucked up beneath her. She had also taken the liberty to change the CD. The low, sexy voice of Barry White oozed from the speakers.
Great! I thought, all we need is the candles to complete the seduction. I consider myself a professional, and it would be decidedly unprofessional to fuck the client, but she was a real temptation. Thank goodness we had to leave for the restaurant soon.
The cab tooted from the street. Vicky replaced her shoes, I grabbed my jacket and we went down the stairs.
As Italian restaurants go, Gioco is one of the better ones in Chicago. Not a spaghetti and meatball joint run by mom and pop, but a first class haute cuisine establishment with a sophisticated chef. We were shown to a table in a tastefully decorated room trimmed with expensive looking carved wood. I ordered a bottle of Soave Bolla, opting for a whole pimento while Vicky asked for the traditional antipasto. We both felt the Veal Marsala looked good and ordered that for our entree.
As the waiter left to get the wine, I leaned over the table toward her.
"You said you had a suspect in mind..."
She looked around the room furtively. Satisfied that no one was there that she recognized, she looked at me earnestly.
"One of our swing partner couples is a client of Mo's. He runs a large bookstore and theater in Old Town."
I couldn't recall any large combination like that, but she clarified it by mentioning the name: "The Bijou".
The place was known for showing films of homosexuals and was frequently raided by the police vice squad. I'd never been into the place, but could well imagine what went on in the seats while the films were showing.
"Darlene and Alan Lipshitz stopped coming to the parties right after we did.
She belongs to the same tennis club as I, and one day after a match we were schmoozing at the juice bar. I mentioned that we were not going to the parties any longer. She said she'd noticed I was alone at the last one she'd been to and wondered about it. I explained about Mo's working late all the time, and she commiserated, adding that Alan was spending more and more time with the theater. Something clicked in my mind. I recalled that Mo had always seemed more enthusiastic when he and Darlene got it on at the parties, and here she was alone at night neglected by her husband."
"So you feel this woman is having an affair with your husband?"
"I think it's distinctly possible, but I have to know for sure."
The waiter showed up with the wine and the appetizers. I poured us each a glass. We clinked and sipped.
"I'll need some addresses and a picture of your husband at least." I said indicating I'd decided to accept the case. I figured this should be pretty easy, likely wrapped up in less than a week.
She was way out in front of me. From her bag she drew out two photos; one of a middle-aged, rather corpulent male in a business suit, the other of a well tanned, trim blonde in a tennis outfit and a paper with addresses and telephone numbers.
"This is Mo taken about six months ago, I took this one of Darlene two weeks ago."
"Nice looking woman," I said, "I can see the temptation."
Vicky gave a little moue sod I added quickly, if lamely, that she was definitely the better looking. She seemed satisfied with that as I made another entry in my mental book of things one never says to a woman.
We ate the appetizers and the waiter was there with the main course as soon as we finished.
I'd kept refilling the glasses as we drank and only now noticed the bottle was half empty. Better take it easy I thought. She had a lengthy drive ahead of her.
We finished dinner and both declined dessert. She paid the tab and excused herself to go to the powder room. I took the opportunity to do the same. I stepped up to the urinal and unzipped. The door opened and a short, thickset man stepped up to the urinal beside me. I got a feeling all of a sudden that this fellow was sizing me up as we both stood there pissing. He might have just been checking me out for size comparison or maybe he was gay and was making those subtle overtures they do, but maybe he was more than that. Gut instincts has saved me from messy situations in the past; I knew immediately I wanted nothing to do with this one. I zipped up and got out of there pronto, the stranger right behind me.
Vicky was waiting for me outside the restaurant. A cab stood at the curb.
We got in. I began to give the driver my address when that feeling returned.
"Just go up to Grand Avenue and turn West" I said.
As the driver pulled away from the curb, I turned and looked out the back window to see the man from the washroom get into a black sedan with one of it's headlights burned out. The sedan followed us. My instinct was right! This was no professional. That burned out headlight was a dead giveaway. I decided to play a little game with him.
"Go up to Chicago Avenue and go West to the police station" I reinstructed the driver.
Sure enough, the car turned after we did. In front of the police station a couple of cops were lounging around smoking cigareetes. I had the cabbie stop and got out. I explained to the officers that I felt we were being followed by a car with one headlight, pointing out that it should be an easy bust for them and would allow us to go about our business unmolested.
To my delight, the car in question was approaching. One of the cops stepped into the street and waved the driver over. I thanked his partner and got back into the cab.
"Grand and Ogden" I gave the driver my address.
"What was that all about?" Vicky asked.
"Don't know, but we were definitely being followed. They'll take a little time writing him a citation and I never saw the guy before so I doubt he knows where I live."
"Why would someone be following you?"
"No reason I can think of, maybe he was following you."
She fell silent at that and did not speak until the cab pulled up to the door of my building.
I paid the driver and looked over at the red Lexus parked at the curb.
I hesitated a moment but then asked the mannerly question.
"Would you like a cup of coffee before you start off for home?"
"Yes", she replied. "Let's get out of the street. What you said about me being the one who was followed has made me a little nervous."
We climbed the stairs to my loft. While I made coffee in the kitchen, she asked to use the telephone. She called her home explaining that she didn't want Mo to be worried, but got no answer. With a sigh she hung up the receiver.
"If he's over there plowing that bitch I'm going to sue her for every dime she has."
It was a little after 8:00, not an unreasonable time for a man to work late and grab some dinner.
"Why don't you try his office?"
"He says he doesn't pick up the phone when he's there."
I nodded and brought the cups to the coffee table. She followed, and kicking off her shoes, sat down on the sofa.
"I take it there isn't any Mrs. Harrison?" She opened conversation on a personal note.
"In my line of work it's better to be single. The hours vary wildly. Not a good family environment."
She smiled at me coquettishly. Where the hell is this going I asked myself.
This gorgeous woman who hadn't had a man in her in three months was coming on to me. Now that she's a committed client she's definitely off-limits, I tried to convince myself but despite myself I felt a growing erection.
"What do you do for.....release?"
I could have said it was none of her business and chilled the atmosphere, but decided to be upfront with her and told her about Monica.
"But she doesn't live with you?"
"No, we date occasionally. Her schedule is almost as hectic as mine."
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. It's been making Vicky a dull girl for awhile too."
Dull? I'd like to feel those long legs wrapped around my back. Hardly a dull proposition.
"Well at least you have the option of the swingers' parties."
"I told you I didn't feel comfortable going alone. It's not fair to the other women and most of the guys are grunts anyway."
I could imagine they were. I couldn't recall seeing any bronzed Adonis movie star types when in Winnetka, though that's not to say there couldn't be any.
I'm not exactly a hunk myself, so it was a bit puzzling that she was here in my loft and steering the talk in an obvious direction. I finished my coffee and looked at her half-empty cup.
"Want some more?"
"No thanks. Why don't you put on the stereo and sit here next to me?"
It was more a command than an invitation. I turned on the Bose and Barry White's voice again filled the room. Nervously, I sat next to her, careful to keep a distance between us.
She placed her hand on my knee. I jumped involuntarily.
"My goodness, Woody, relax. I'm not going to bite you."
With that she leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth. I wanted to0 resist, but those full sensual lips were too insistent. Her tongue jabbed into my mouth and I went fully hard in my pants as it touched mine. We began necking. She brought my hand to her breast and then drummed her fingers up my thigh up to my hardness.
"We really shouldn't be doing this," I said lamely as she began unzipping my trousers.
She pulled the trousers to my ankles and stuck her hand down the waistband of my boxers. The long fingers wrapped around my dick and began carressing it gently. We kissed again, this time a long breathless one that left us both gasping.
I couldn't believe this was happening. This beautiful, sex-starved woman was seducing me in my own loft! I almost lost it when she knelt down in front of me, and pulling my shorts to my ankles, took it into her mouth. She knew what she was doing. The tongue teased the cockhead, covering it with her saliva.
I felt that familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach and pushed her head away. She smiled up at me cherubicly.
"There's a better place for this." My voice was husky.
She got up and I waddled into the bedroom ahead of her. I sat on the side of the bed and removed my shoes and stockings then the rest of my clothes while she stripped in front of me, leaving that expensive wardrobe lying in a heap beside the bed. Her ponderous breasts hung in my face as she slipped down her panties. They were full and capped with prominent nipples that begged attention. I nibbled at them for a moment. She stood up fully naked before me and I gulped in admiration. Few women look as good with their clothes off than with them on, but Vicky was the exception. A slight tummy topped an amazing bush of hair on her mons that trailed off down her inner thigh halfway to the knee. I wanted to taste what lay below that thicket, and she did not disappoint me.
She pushed me onto my back, lithely jumped up on the bed, straddled me in a 69 position and treated me to a faceful of heaven as her skilled tongue resumed its exploration of my throbbing pole. Long, sharp fingernails teased my scrotum and that delicious spot between it and my anus. My tongue found her clitoris and alternated between it and that magic spot 2" into her vagina.
She orgasmed quickly, her thighs squeezing my head as her body shook with the impact of it.
I pushed her up off me and had her get on all fours. Standing by the side of the bed I pushed my straining cock into her as deeply as I could.
"Oh!" She screamed, "Yes! Shove that big cock in there! Fuck me! Slap my ass."
I caressed her globes, giving them an occasional slap as I burrowed into her. 0 She was hot and wriggling, pressing back against me in a frenzy of lust.
After her second orgasm, I pulled out of her and tasted her again. She smelled strongly of both of us. She gave a combined laugh and moan. My face was wet from her as I resumed plowing into her with my eager tool. Five minutes passed, then my body tensed. I gripped her asscheeks tightly letting my load into her. The pulse as the semen ran up to the head and streamed into her was so intense I thought I would pass out. Her vaginal muscles contracted on me, jealous of every drop of my emission.
As my cock shrank out of her she crawled forward on the bed and collapsed.
I lay down beside her and took her in my arms. We kissed, not as passionatly as before but peacefully basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. We rolled on our backs and enjoyed a cigarette together, sharing the warmth of each other's body. She looked at her watch.
"Oh my! It's after nine! I've got to go."
I knew she had to, but I sure didn't want to hear it. Lying naked on the bed I watched her dress. Once finished, she stepped over to the bed, gave me a light brush with her lips, fished a card out of her purse and handed it to me.
"It's my cell phone number," she said, "call me if you need any more help or have any information for me."
With that she quickly left the room and down to the street. I watched as the Lexus pulled away. There was no sign that anyone was following her.