Doc Savage

Doc Savage Cover

The sun was barely up and already muggy; more August than October. That’s why I hadn’t gone out that morning-had humped and sweated two thick, buggy ridges the day before and felt wrung out. Didn’t feel like archery season. I liked the woods in the fall; not the summer, so I let them go without me-I’d hunt the evening; spend the day reading and chilling. That’s what I was doing when Jerry’s girlfriend Lynn padded softly into the kitchen. We were all staying in her grandparent’s decrepit farmhouse in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

I wished I could say I was reading Kerouac, Gary Snyder, even Hemingway but actually it was one of the Doc Savage series; don’t remember which-there were a ton of them and I’d had most as a kid. Brought them hunting with me because they were small enough to pack and there was something reassuring about them. Having read and re-read them for years, they calmed me and brought me back to earth when I got too high. Which was hard to avoid when hunting with Jerry and the boys.

Lynn said “Mornin”, soft and sleepy and I looked up with a ready smile to find her completely and totally naked, a wrinkle from the bed clothes traced along her hip. Not a thread, not an earring, nothing. “I can’t sleep in anything in this weather”, she said. “I hope you don’t mind.” No, I told her, I’m fine. I put my head down to read again but that didn’t feel right. If she came down dressed I wouldn’t read and ignore her.

The smells of sleep swaddled her-all like baby milk, vanilla and dried sweat. She picked a cup from the sideboard and poured, her back to me, skin shining in the morning dim of the old house. Sugar was there and the cup tink-tink-tink-tinked as she stirred. She had a great ass-that I knew from the jeans she wore. Her butt was like Marcia’s a little smaller, maybe firmer. No, couldn’t have been. Marcia’s butt was bounce a quarter off it firm. Marcia-Jesus. Hadn’t thought of her in months. She liked me to spank her-the first girl who ever asked for it. I didn’t get it at first, but I’m a quick study.

She laughed like I was tickling her; and she’d fake these little ‘ooohs’, and ‘ouches’ like I was hurting her. As if ever that could have happened. She broke up with me when she went off to college. Didn’t want any encumbrances she said. That was her word. I thought I was going to be her husband, but suddenly I was an encumbrance. Christ.

“I’m going back upstairs”, Lynn said turning a little my way so I could see her tits. She liked them and should have, but her eyes, looking sideways, betrayed nothing. She was giving a show but couldn’t tell if it was for my benefit or hers. “There’s a cross breeze up there-feels sweet and you can still taste the last bit of evening.”  I thought to say ‘Yeah’, but some kind of weird, strangled sound came out, so I kept my mouth shut as her bottom disappeared into the shadows and creaking, back up the stairs.

I had never been so hard in my freaking life. It was like all my morning-wood ever rolled together but I didn’t know if it was Marcia’s memory or Lynn’s reality that lit the fuse. I read a paragraph, Doc was in trouble, but remembered nothing. Read it again-then a page, then the same page again. I tried reading aloud in a whispered mantra to bank the fire but it wasn’t working.

Then I heard the creak again-on the stairs. I knew, and started reading harder, silently but unable to drown the sound of her bare feet scuffing across the old hardwood.

“I thought you would follow me.”

She was still naked, her body-facing me now-luminous in the knife edge of sunlight that was peeking through the kitchen window. Golden dust motes twinkled, a cape swirling in the air above her.

“I could.” I kept my eyes on hers as she waited to hear more. “Can I spank you?”

The corner of her mouth lifted; her eye caught the sun. She turned slowly, languidly, a weekend swimmer taking a turn in a pool. “Sure”, she said over her shoulder as her butt walked off again into the shadows.  “Just not too hard.”

For a second, I thought of Jerry. No, less than a second. I’d known him since first grade but it wasn’t like we were brothers or anything. I cringed at the squeaking sound the chair made pushing away from the table.

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Everything Changes

There had been a light snow around midnight so now I could see the bunnies in the yard, little dark blobs against the light gray. Hadn’t seen them for a while-it never occurred to me that they were haunting the yard all night, nibbling the frozen clover invisible in the darkness. She had stayed over and even the cats were on edge. She slept soundly upstairs allowing me to slip away for a glass of ice water and a pill. Quick shower against the funk of the night sweats while waiting for the tranq to take over. Had to stay ready when she was here. Didn’t know when she would come to me strapped, needing me to roll over and bite down on the pillow. It wasn’t as painful as it had been, but not comfortable, that’s for sure. Actually, after a few times, it felt more sad than anything. She no doubt got more out of it. She forbade haircuts recently-wanted to yank at it. Probably got the idea from that bumper sticker; you know the one: ‘If you’re gonna ride my ass at least pull my hair’, or something like that. She’s gotten pretty handsy lately. We were having dinner a couple of weeks ago over on the South Side at a new place-no one knew us. Everything seemed fine and I said something, can’t even remember what, and when I looked up she slapped me-full across the face. The restaurant was a white tablecloth place, all muted and quiet like and the slap rang out like plates hitting the ceramic floor. Her eyes were not flashing, like they would when she was angry. More questioning-curious. I rubbed the sting out of my cheek and said nothing while the diners settled back into their grazing, masticating and murmuring. Later that night she caned me beforehand and the pain was a true distraction leaving no time to feel anything- which I guess was the point.  Over the last four months I’d pared my book collection from over twelve hundred to eight and sent two closets of suits I never wear to the Veterans. I sold the motorcycle, still in pieces, that had been a project for years so I’m making progress. Still, when I told her once-I think it was the weekend of the slap-that I was in the mood for sex she said ‘Sure. What kind?’ I was stuck for an answer which probably led to what happened. It was fine though-she made it worth my while in the long run. But I have to have a ready answer next time.

Lines

I knew there was a line. Plenty of them-actually. Too fucking many of them. And they always moved, sometimes blurred, but they were there. And why were they scratching at the door so early, the cats? By rights, they were hers and she should have taken them with her. Some bullshit about no room, allergies, carpets, whatever-she just said what came into her mind at the time. So she’s gone, the cats are here. Three years of cooing, baby talk, petting and combing-out the fucking window. So I hadda get up-they wouldn’t stop. I stepped into the hallway dragging my feet so I wouldn’t trip over them-or stomp them-and went downstairs not turning a light on, so they would know somehow that it was the middle of the night and not time to be getting up. With only the streetlight watching I opened the can, split it into two bowls, added warm water and leaned back, listening to them lapping in the dark. I sure as hell wasn’t going to make coffee-had to be too early for that-so I opened the fridge for orange juice. None, of course. But there was a beer. A few actually, left from last night. How long ago could that have been? An hour? Two? It mattered somehow: was it still night, or morning? Quickly tired of waiting for an answer, I popped the top on one and closed the door, slipping back into the shadows. I expected to shiver at the first swallow, but it went down so nice. Nothing had felt that smooth in weeks. My cigarettes were in the jacket pocket over the chair. I grabbed the pack and headed for the door to smoke on the porch but caught myself. My fucking house now. Using a cat’s bowl for an ashtray I sat at the table and drained my first, or one of my last, beers of the day.

Chrissy

thedutchmountains.tumblr.com

thedutchmountains.tumblr.com

Shitty to say, but there was a special joy in hearing that they’d split. That’s small I know, I’ll own that, but they had a good run, time-wise anyway. How am I supposed to feel? She ditched me to marry that dick. Not right away, of course, but within the year. Her kisses were so soft you could be fooled into thinking she had no teeth-just a tongue or two and a couple pair of lips. The first time with her, sliding along the leather back seat of Bull’s Caddy while he got loaded in Frankie’s Blue Note, is still in my top five and probably always will be. I was love sick and gob-smacked when she told me she was going to give it another try with him. That was it; she had only dated he and I and I was an interlude.  I went back to fishing in the deep, wide sea and they bred two footballers; hideous little brutes that grew to look just like him. Now they’re split and there’s nothing to be done. I’m entangled like a feral shoat in a discarded bundle of bob wire: squealing and wishing for freedom but completely out of ideas for winning it. Besides, heard she preferred women now. I can see how being married to him would turn her off the sex. Probably surprised it didn’t turn her off the species. But really, she had a killer laugh, a great smile and beautiful teeth. I just never felt them. Not once.

 

Untenable

 

Nem pomes? She asked.

What?

Nem. Pomes? I see that one page only has five lines on it.

Figured pomes.

Yeah, poems, he said as she, beside him, flipped through a magazine

Tearing out coupons.

He let his gaze lift from the page-beyond Kleinzahler to the

Cracked plaster ceiling, where dust would work loose

When trains rumbled by.

This was untenable, he thought, squeezing his eyes tight.

He had to make a move.

If he could sober up for a week, maybe, he could figure things out.

Then, to his right, was her breast again;

Firm and round as an orange, jiggling only slightly as she flipped pages.

He lifted to see the other one-as happy and round as this one.

What? she asked.

Nothing, he said laying his head back down.

It was her house after all.

And her beer which she buys and doesn’t drink.

Wine on the weekends.

And he was, through no fault of his own,

Between paying gigs.

He put the book aside and rolled into her, mouth open

Like a blind bear cub.

She folded the magazine to hold in her right hand

And guided him home with her left.

He cupped his mouth over her tightening nipple.

Suddenly, things were tenable again.

Maddie – 2

 

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(Continued from Maddie Marx)

Happily for Maddie she didn’t have to hop after her ear for long. They were going no further than the room Chelsea and Gennie had just visited. The original group of a dozen or so still mingled but it looked as if the physicals were over. Tommy Bellow, his jeans up and a drink in his hand, was standing against the wall chatting with Nurse Kim. All conversation stopped as Chelsea dragged Maddie-still yelping “Ouch! Ouch!”-into the room.

Gennie followed trying to be inconspicuous. She was equal parts mortified, excited and aroused. Is Chelsea really going to spank that girl here in from of everyone?

“Please Ma’am…not in front of everyone…OWWW!” as her ear took a strong twist before being released. Maddie gave the room a quick glance. Holy shit! She thought, there’s a hundred people in here!

Chelsea surveyed the room. “Excuse me”, she said coolly. “Is there a paddle here I can use to thrash this girl?”

I guess she is, thought Gennie and a bird in her chest flapped a wing. She slipped over toward Tommy and Nurse Kim. “Hi”, whispered Gennie, not wanting to call attention to herself. Tommy winked at her and slid down the wall a tad, giving her space to fit in. Gennie had to look up.

“You’re taller than I thought…” she said.

“Well, standing up, sure”, he grinned. Gennie flushed.

“I have this”, Nurse Kim said moving to the corner and retrieving what looked to be a yardstick but upon further review, was a little thicker and wider and varnished to a bright gold. There were bright red numbers etched on it though no one thought it had ever been used to measure anything. Except perhaps one’s endurance.

“Ah, perfect”, said Chelsea taking the offered implement. “Remove your blazer, Miss Hawkins. It’s liable to get a little warm in here for you.”

Maddie fumbled at the thick tortoiseshell buttons and tried to still her shaking hands. This is what she wanted after all. Wasn’t it? Pretty much, yeah, but maybe she had ended up with more than she bargained for as her mother always used to warn her. Her hands grazed her chest as she doffed the blazer and she was conscious of her nipples-firmly ensconced in her bra and blouse-aching as they hardened. Sheryll would joke that Maddie could come at the sight of a hairbrush. That was an exaggeration, of course. Just. But an exaggeration.

Chelsea took the blazer and lay it gently over a chair. “Stand here”, she said indicating a spot in front of the desk. Maddie moved slowly, outwardly reluctantly, into position. “Bend over” was Chelsea’s next command, “Palms and elbows on the desk.” Maddie did as she was told feeling her skirt lift slightly in back.

She held her breath, knowing what came next. The room collectively inhaled as Chelsea pinched the hem of the thick tartan skirt and lifted it up over Maddie’s back.

“You’ve given me no choice, Miss Harris”, she intoned.

“There’s always a choice Ma’am” said Maddie glancing back over her shoulder.

“Eyes front Missy!”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Maddie settled. She was fine with the view she was offering. Field hockey was a memory but she spent enough time at the gym and playing in an intermediate coed soccer league to know she was in shape. Of course, Sherryl would pinch her bottom now and again and say something supremely witty like “I found that five pounds you were looking for” but she was a beanpole. Maddie was fine with her backside.

She felt the stick touch her and rub back and forth smoothly over the cotton. She gritted her teeth and waited.

“It’s a good thing she’s not in my class”, Nurse Kim piped up.

Chelsea stayed her stick for a moment and turned toward the throaty lilt of the beautiful mahogany woman.

“Why would that be Nurse Kimani?”

“In my class, three detentions would automatically assure a punishment on the bare bottom.”

“What?” thought Maddie. “WHAT?” She had been spanked in front of others certainly. Usually it was the four of them drinking spritzers and playing cards at Emily’s apartment. Or at the Lodge. That was fun. And hot. This? “Say yuck, she told herself. YUCK!” but no word came out.

Chelsea looked toward her charge and thought she saw her head dip slightly. A nod? An assent? She’d given her the safe word-she could opt out of anything at any time. They definitely had the attention of the room.

The bright white cotton strained across her strong bottom. Looking at her hamstrings and the cut of her thighs, Chelsea-and everyone else for that matter-knew she was an athlete. “What the hell…” thought Chel warming to the task. “No ‘Yuck’, I’m playing.”

“I’m new to this school”, Chelsea announced as if on stage. “I’ll go with Nurse Kim’s suggestion.” Then, without another word and minus any flourishes, Chelsea stuck her thumbs in the elastic and pulled the panties down quickly off Maddie’s bottom. They fluttered to the floor.

“Oh dear GOD!” screamed the voice in Maddie’s head. “I’m bare ass in front of a room full of strangers! Too late for ‘Yuck’ now.” What had she been thinking? Her mom tittered again: something about biting off more than you can chew. No, I’m fine…she said to herself. This is fine. I can handle this. Happily, her bottom was full enough to secrete her most intimate parts inside and under voluptuous folds and crevices. Still, she held her legs primly together already feeling a dampening there.

“That is a beautiful ass”, said Tommy quietly to Gennie.

“Yes”, she agreed. “Very.”

“You like that?”

“You don’t?”

“Yeah, but….”

“Don’t worry. I thought your bum looked very sweet too with the thermometer sticking out of it.”

His no-doubt witty rejoinder was interrupted by the sharp CRACK of Chelsea’s stick across the fulsome center of Maddie’s bottom. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Don’t let your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash”, echoed in her head. It wasn’t her mother saying it, but she got it.

She braced for the second swat and even pushed her bottom back a little. Chelsea delivered a smack that echoed off the crown molding and hardwood floors. The bad girl flinched but uttered not a sound.

The third was harder still then the forth the hardest. She slapped the table hard. “Dammit!!” she hissed through gritted teeth. Chelsea listened, but heard nothing else.

“You have something to say Miss?”

“No”, she winced.

Chelsea reared back and struck again and Maddie took it silently.

“She’s good…” Tommy whispered.

“I’d be crying….”

“She might get there…Your friend is really working her.”

By the time she paused there were six bright red stripes across the girl’s ass and she had started to wriggle and undulate in a way that threatened to expose all that she had wanted to keep hidden.  Chelsea gave her a break to compose herself. Not being able to help herself, Chelsea patted, then rubbed both creased cheeks feeling the slightly raised welts.

“A few more Miss Hayes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m going to place them lower…here”, she illustrated, sliding her finger, then fingers, along the untouched softness of Maddie’s sit spots. The girl gasped at the touch and growled low in her throat as the torturing touch lingered then stroked back and forth, back and forth leaving their own little white paths. “These will be memorable”, Chelsea whispered close.

“Yes Ma’am” Maddie said.

The stick’s first assault on the soft bottom cheeks was firm and loudly cracking. “You BITCH!” thought Maddie gritting her teeth and tensing back there. Chelsea saw the tightness in the cheeks; the clenching dimpling the skin and tightening the doors to all the openings. This would never do. So instead of swinging away and swatting, Chelsea slapped lightly but firmly.

SLAP—SLAP—SLAP landed the stick. “You need to loosen up Miss Hayes…loosen up and open up.” The paddle was now an onslaught of light cracks in the same place, pinkening rather than reddening the skin. The room seemed to lean forward noticing the shift in tone and tempo.

“Holy shit!” whispered Gennie leaning into Tommy. “This is….”

“Yeah.  Very. Punishment’s over”, he said. “This is reward…”

“You better open girl,” said Chelsea with a menacing smile. “I could do this all night. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP!!

She was already wriggling again trying for relief, but was afraid to open. What if they saw how wet she was. She didn’t know, of course, but it felt like a river was running through her. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP! Oh dammit, she thought. SLAP—SLAP—SLAP! So what? Who cared who saw what? SLAP—SLAP!! ALRIGHT! she pushed backward, not revealing much, not opening completely but making the effort. Chelsea struck once more on the top of the left leg allowing the tip of the stick to impact lightly inside the firm thigh.

“Very good”, announced Chelsea. “Are you finished?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you ma’am.”

“Alright then. You may stand and pull up your panties.” As she did, the crowd dispersed with murmurs of approval all round. “That was hot”, was heard. “I bet her butt is hot.” “I’d like to feel it and see….”

“Shame to cover that up”, said Chelsea. “It’s very pretty-very well marked.”

“You did your job”, Maddie said softly. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet.

“Are you OK? I gave you the safe-word…I figured that…”

Maddie looked up, her face almost as red as her bottom but her eyes shining. “There are only two words I want to say to you”, she said huskily her throat conspiring to choke them off.

“What are those?”

“Fuck me.”

(Continuing…)

Balzac

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Nose picking at Morrison’s grave

Flew to Paris years ago on business. I was saddled with a mid-level manager who was as loose as uncooked pasta so I had to entertain myself. Because it was those times, I snorted coke crouching in the lav then couldn’t sleep the whole way across the Atlantic; drank too much in the darkened plane till I got tired of it then dropped a Quaalude. The times, as I said.

By the time we landed the drugs had cancelled each other and I was straight, but wine drunk and it was midmorning. He wanted to go to the hotel to “freshen up” whatever that meant, but it was my first trip to Paris so I commandeered the cab and barked “Pere Lachaise!” Where? he asked. Cemetery, I said. We’re in Paris and we’re going to a cemetery? Who’s buried there? Balzac, I told him. Balzac. Turned out to be true but what did I know? Just said it. Didn’t want to tell him we were going to Jim Morrison’s grave.

The jig was up when we got out of the cab and picked up a map from an old woman on a folding chair and started following the makeshift signage. As we got closer, the graffiti thickened, the litter deepened and just as we reached the small circle of pilgrims passing a joint, which I grabbed at, the sun hit me like an ax and the night of red wine split my skull. Somewhere there is a picture of me talking to a pack of German girls one of whom had some English. None of them thought Morrison was buried there. That he was dead at all. I had no problem with him being dead-that it could happen. That’s what people did: some sooner some later. I never thought he wasn’t buried there.

Until the morning, years later, when I saw him working in a bait shop in North East, PA where we had gone salmon fishing. We were almost sick at the time, having drunk all night and barely sober in the cool autumn morning. Aside from the fishing and wine, North East was known for fresh donuts made in a bakery with huge foggy widows on the main drag. People lined the street for them. That was back then-not now. Now it’s all Horton’s and Dunkin and that shit.

So the first thing we did was split two dozen fresh, gooey hot glazed donuts and sweet steaming coffee from Styrofoam cups. Then went to the bait shop near the creek where Jim Morrison sold us salmon eggs and hooks. It was surreal. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I even called him “Jim” and he looked at me like I was nuts. It wasn’t till later, on the stream, that I realized the guy didn’t look like Morrison at all, but like a fat Val Kilmer. I had them confused from the movie.  Fucking embarrassment. Coulda been worse. Coulda thought he was Doc Holliday.

Caught three nice steelhead that morning, on the eggs I bought and only puked once behind a tree. Kicked leaves over it. Turned out to be a good day overall.