World Enough and Time Ch. 02

The following story was suggested to me by a reader, whose invaluable assistance in my rendering it to the printed page has been much appreciated. The story is dedicated to that reader. This is Part Two of a three-party story.

*

The next day around 4:30 p.m. Ruth arrived at my office on Beacon Street with two pre-teen boys in tow. One was smaller, younger and sported dark hair; the other -- very nearly the visuographic negative of the first -- was bigger, older and lighter-haired. That morning I had gotten her signed acceptance of the offer to buy the shoes stores couried over to the prospective buyer's corporate offices in the Back Bay.

Later, that afternoon, I also spent a few minutes on the phone with the Vice-President of Business Acquisitions for the firm. He made it clear that he himself had already signed off on a full-speed ahead expediting of the purchase of the five stores and had approved the authorization of two wire transfers, one to Ruth and another much smaller one to the agent who'd helped with the sale, and that all that was still required was the signature of the CEO of the company to effect those transfers. He really wanted to move on the thing, he said, and so, he had scheduled a tentative closing meeting for the following Tuesday morning. By that time, he believed, Ruth would be a little more than $400,000 richer, money that she had, in effect, inherited from her dead husband's life's work.

But now in that late Thursday afternoon, it seemed to me that her dead husband occupied little, if any place at all, in anyone's thoughts. Instead, it was not death, but robust and energetic life that seemed to be front and center when Ruth and her 10-year-old son Tommy and his 12-year-old cousin Danny Sacco entered my somber and sedate law offices.

Maybe they weren't always so high-strung, though I'm fairly certain that I would have been naïve to expect 10 and 12 year-olds to be anything other than excitable -- at least that would have been the most honest description of my own 10 or 12-year old self. But these boys had just come from Fenway Park, where our hometown Red Sox had just beaten up on their archrivals from down Interstate 95, a quaint, little baseball team known as the New York Yankees.

For serious Red Sox fans like me, that day had begun with the trade of one Bernie Carbo to the Milwaukee Brewers. Carbo, whose place in Red Sox history had been cemented last year in Game Six of the 1975 World Series, when his three-run, pinch-hit homerun tied the score 6-6 in the bottom of the 8^th inning in a game that the Red Sox eventually won in the bottom of the 12^th when Carlton Fisk hit his own homer, a walk-off, game-winner down the left field line at Fenway, that he bent around the left field foul pole and which stayed fair only because of Carlton's sheer will and a series of persuasive hand gestures that none of us Boston fans are likely to forget any time soon.

It was a fitting end to a game that baseball historians still consider perhaps the greatest World Series contest in baseball history. Fisk's homerun is also one of the most famous and talked about plays in a sport that at that time was already over a century old. To this day, it still represents one of a handful of the most famous moments in Boston sports history. Still, the Red Sox lost Game Seven the next night, and the Curse of the Bambino lived on to torment us Bostonians and pretty much all of New England for almost 30 more years.

But, if the end of the 1975 season was disheartening, things only got worse during that '76 season. So, that afternoon's 8-2 shellacking of the much-hated Yankees was actually one of the high points of a really disappointing season, and the two boys who had just seen it were eager to tell anyone who would listen all about it.

Ruth arrived dressed much more conservatively that afternoon than she had been the previous night. She looked like she had just come from a business meeting or, perhaps, that she was about to go to a business meeting, and I guess, considering the fact that the news I had to tell her was about to make her almost a half-millionaire, ours was a business meeting of sorts. But other than relaying to Ruth a few minutes later pretty much everything I've already described above, that day was about the boys. After my secretary Milinda ushered the three back to my office, Ruth made the introductions.

"Tommy", she said bending down on one knee to look her son in the face while she put her arm around his narrow shoulders, "I would like you to meet Mr. Murray, my attorney. He is helping me to sell daddy's stores. Why don't you shake hands with him?"

Tommy calmed down for a moment. He seemed a little intimidated, though that wore off quickly. I got the impression that he hadn't met a lot of black people before, at least not black men, and if he had, they probably weren't as big or as scary looking as I was. "It's nice to meet you, sir," he said timidly, but with carefully trained etiquette that was really quite impressive. I had to bend over to shake Tommy's small hand. "It's nice to meet you, too, Tommy!" I said, smiling. "So, you got to see the Sox beat up on those Yankees, huh?"

I knew I had struck the right cord with my question. "Yes, sir!" Tommy said excitedly. "You should have seen it. We made them look silly today. Fred Lynn and Cecil Cooper each had three hits, and... and... and Yaz made a great catch, and...."

"The game was over by the 2^nd inning," interrupted the other boy who, as I've previously mentioned, was a little older and bigger than Tommy. "After the first inning, those Yankees couldn't even touch Luis Tiant!"

"Mr. Murray, this is Tommy's cousin Danny Sacco -- Danny, say hello to Mr. Murray." I leaned over to shake the other boy's hand, though I didn't have to bend nearly as low to do so. He was as polite and clearly as excited as his younger cousin, and, after shaking my hand and telling me that he was glad to have met me, Danny posed a question. "Did you play baseball, Mr. Murray? You look like you did. You look like you could hit it a mile!"

I laughed. "I doubt that, Danny, but to answer your question, yes, I played. It was a long time ago though -- when I was in high school. I wasn't that good."

"I think he's just being modest, boys!" Ruth said smiling at me. "I have a funny feeling he was really good! Probably still is!"

"Would you play with us sometime, Mr. Murray?" Tommy asked almost ready to come out of his shoes with excitement.

"Sure, I think we could do that! It's always fun to play catch."

"Would you pitch to us, sir? I need to practice my hitting, and I bet you can really throw a fastball," Danny asked.

"You always get to hit," Tommy complained. "It should be my turn!"

I laughed again. "I think I could probably throw a few pitches to both of you! But, Tommy, we might have to put batting practice off for a while. Your mother tells me that you're going to summer camp tomorrow. Are you excited?"

"Yeah, I guess," Tommy said a little disappointedly. "It's fun, and all, but I won't get to play with Danny. That sucks!" Ruth gave Tommy a reprimanding stare, and I could tell he knew right away that he'd said something that had embarrassed her.

"Tommy! That is not a word that you should use. It is impolite," Ruth said firmly, but with the gentleness of someone whose guidance and direction more often came via a carrot than a stick.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Tommy said, dropping his head in shame.

I decided to save Tommy and Ruth any more embarrassment, so I asked another question. "So Danny," I said turning to the older boy, "you're not going to camp?"

"No," he said, sort of proudly, "I have a job at the country club! I'm a caddy."

"Really!" I said with genuine surprise. "A job at your age? Good for you! Golf -- that's not a sport I've played very much. We didn't have a lot of golf courses where I grew up." I knew that Danny was about to ask me where I grew up and a lot of other questions that might have led us in a direction that Ruth might have wanted to avoid, so I changed the subject again. "I'll tell you what, boys, when Tommy gets back from camp, I'll take you both down to the Esplanade some Saturday afternoon and we'll play ball, okay?"

They both looked happy and satisfied with that news, but I could tell that Ruth took my offer of play as the signal that our conversation should probably come to an end. "Tommy and Danny, we probably need to be headed back home soon; we're going to be hitting rush hour traffic. Besides, I'm sure Mr. Murray is busy, and Tommy has to get packed tonight. But first, I need to talk to Mr. Murray privately about the shoe stores for just a moment. Would you boys mind waiting for me outside for just a minute while I ask him a couple of questions?"

"Sure, Mom, come on, Danny, let's go! I'll race you to that flag pole out front! Nice to meet you, Mr. Murray!" Tommy said, smiling over his shoulder as he rushed out my door.

"Yeah, nice to meet you, sir," repeated Danny, fast to his cousin's heels, and I smiled back at both, pleased with myself that I had enlisted two strong allies in my brazen incursion into Brookline society -- if, in fact, that was what had just happened.

Ruth walked over and shut the door. Then, she turned back and came to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. "They really liked you! Thank you, Marcus. You can't know how much I appreciate that!" I nodded; there really wasn't anything to say. Ruth may have been grateful, but quite honestly I don't think I spoke any differently to Tommy and Danny than I would have talked to any other kids that I might have been introduced to. Besides, they were nice boys -- talking came easy.

We really did need to discuss the sale, and so, I asked her to sit down and then related everything that the Vice-President of Business Acquisitions had told me, and explained that, come Tuesday, if, in fact, that was when the closing took place, Ruth would be a fairly wealthy woman. But the truth was, that was not what she wanted to talk about.

"Marcus, tomorrow afternoon I am taking Tommy out to Camp Bournedale in Plymouth, but on my way back, I'm hoping we can meet. Would you like that, Marcus? Would you like to spend the night together? We could get a hotel room."

I smiled and shook my head, and Ruth stood up again, walked around my desk and came to me. I stood up, too, and then bent low to kiss her face, and, in so doing, to offer her a promise of my undivided attention the following day. "Maybe instead you'd like to come over to my place, Ruth. It's small, but it's nice, and it's only about a 10 minute walk from here on River Street, only a block off Beacon. I walk right passed the Commons almost the whole way back home. If you want, I can give you my address and phone number, and you can meet me there."

"I'd like that, Marcus!" She said, and she kissed me again. "I'm so excited -- I think I make those boys look calm and collected by comparison!"

"You hide it pretty well." I said, and I kissed her again.

She smiled. "It will probably take me about an hour or a little longer to get back here from the Cape, so I would expect to be to your place by shortly after 5:00 if that's okay. Tommy has to check in by 4:00 p.m. tomorrow. I know that you usually work until a lot later than that. Is that going to be too early for you?"

"No, tomorrow's Friday, and I think I can afford to leave work a little early. I can probably be there by, say, 5:30. Why don't I give you my spare key and I can meet you there after I'm done working. My building is the Lincolnshire. You can park your car in the parking ramp -- spot 701b, just off Chestnut Street. I only own one car, and there are two spots, so the extra one is all yours. Here, I'll write it all down." I found one of my business cards, wrote the address and phone number on it, as well as the directions to the parking ramp, and handed the card and the extra key to her.

"Do you like lingerie, Marcus? I thought I might wear something sexy for you, that is, if you'd like me to!"

"I thought what you wore last night was pretty arousing. I'd be plenty happy with that!" I said, holding her around her waist.

"Oh, I can do better than that!" She said with a devilish grin, and she kissed me one last time. "I'm going to buy some new things tomorrow morning, before I take Tommy to camp. I think I can afford it now!" She smiled really brightly, and I felt another rush of blood. "And, Marcus, I owe it all to you. Thank you so much for your help. I truly am grateful."

"You don't have to thank me, Ruth. You've paid me. It wasn't like I did this for free. In fact, I think I owe you some money!"

"Oh, Marcus!" She said with disappointment. "I'm a little insulted that you think I'm so naïve as to be unaware of the fact that you haven't been charging me for your time. Don't you dare give me a penny back! I know I owe you probably twice what I've paid you!"

"Okay," I smiled "God knows I don't want to insult you, Ruth! You're far sharper than you give yourself credit for. I should have known I couldn't slip anything passed you!"

"I think I can settle up with you this weekend, Marcus!" She winked, and now I realized that she could feel me growing bigger. "I'm going to leave now, Marcus, before your secretary figures out why your pants don't fit you so well, anymore! Oh my god, but I am so looking forward to that!" She said, breaking our embrace and looking down at the lump in my trousers.

She took several steps toward the door. "Bye, Ruth. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Mr. Murray, and thank you," she said for the benefit of my secretary, just as she opened the door of my office and stepped out.

The end of the day on Friday couldn't come fast enough, and when I left work just before 5:30 that afternoon for the 10 minute walk back to my condominium apartment, I was already getting hard just picturing Ruth. Still, what met me when I opened the door to my 7^th floor entrance that night was more sensuous than I could ever have imagined.

It turned out to be quite a weekend and when it ended, Ruth and I were something more than attorney and client. I don't exactly know what we "were." There was still the specter of racial relations hanging over all of Boston at the time, and I suspected a lot of other places in the country as well, so I suppose for that reason, we couldn't really be characterized as boyfriend and girlfriend, because we had to hide our love affair from a good number of people.

Then again, when we were not in the company of those we knew, we did nothing to hide our expressions of affection for each other. It was kind of an odd situation, but we were freest to show physical warmth when we were in public settings, around a lot of other people, and, because the private settings we put ourselves into often found us in the presence of those that either one of us might have known, we were less likely to express ourselves romantically at such times.

I had left a bottle of Syrah that I'd already opened and recorked sitting on the wine cabinet in the living room next to two glasses and a note inviting Ruth to help herself. I thought maybe a couple of glasses of wine might relax us both and would be a good way to start the evening.

I didn't think Ruth would want to jump right into sex, and I figured a little wine would ready us for the lovemaking that was sure to follow soon after the always awkward moments that two people invariably have before they make love for the first time. But the second my key hit the lock to open my condominium door, it became readily apparent that any chance of easing our way into sex was not to be.

Ruth met me at the door holding a glass of the Syrah, the garnet color of which stood in sharp contrast to the outfit she was wearing. It featured a silk and lace bra with scalloped-edged, black cups that pushed her ample breasts upward and inward and was accented with a teal or turquoise-colored Lycra material under the cups, in the back, and on the shoulder straps. The outfit came with tiny, matching panties that also featured all three materials and the two colors, and a pair of black, fishnet stockings that were also highlighted by the teal/turquoise accent around the hold-ups that clung insistently to her upper thighs. The entire outfit was rounded off with a pair of black, stiletto heels, gold, hoop earrings and a matching gold necklace.

I hadn't even shut the door before she kissed me for the first time, and that was a prolonged and feverish kiss that had me close to rock hard before our lips parted. By the time we managed to make our way into my living room with Ruth's free arm wrapped around my neck and her body cradled in my arms, she spoke for the first time, "Oh, Marcus, I am so glad you're here! I've been so preoccupied thinking about this moment that I nearly drove off the road several times on my way to and from Plymouth. The anticipation has just been so powerful. Did you think about me, Marcus?" She asked me, and kissed me again, this time running her tongue even deeper into my mouth, as she released her embrace and slid her buxom body to the floor, whereupon she reached for the front of my trousers with her free hand.

"Yes, Ruth, I've been thinking about you all day or, more accurately, for the past two days, or, come to think of it, for the past two months, but, Ruth, you've surpassed anything I could have conjured up in my imagination. My god, you look unbelievable! I can't believe you bought that outfit for me! It's perfect!" Her fingers found the outline of my already hardened cock.

"Ooh, you have been thinking about me! I want so badly to suck this!" It surprised me that she would use the word -- I thought Ruth was too proper and refined to pepper her conversations with obscenities like that -- and because it was such a surprise me, it reminded me of a conversation I'd just heard.

"That is not a word that you should use, Ruth! It is impolite," I mocked, grinning from ear-to-ear. I decided in that moment that I loved teasing her, and I was going to keep doing it whenever I had occasion to.

"Why, you little dickens!" She said, shaking her head and grinning at me, "I guess I can't say anything around you without you using it against me! You attorneys are all alike!"

"It is also impolite to call a man 'a little dickens' when you're touching his penis!" I said, grinning even more broadly.

She laughed loudly. It was an unashamed, unpretentious, but feminine laugh, and I fell in love with it immediately. "Well," she said, after composing herself, "for that, I do apologize! There is nothing little about this, Marcus!" And with that, she set her glass down on the coffee table and sat down on the couch in front of me.

Just as she had two nights previously, Ruth unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my pants, and unzipped me, and after I had removed my suit coat, she again let my pants fall about my ankles. Next came my underwear, and when I stood before her again shamelessly, she reached for me with both hands.

Her left found my balls, and she touched my scrotum delicately and then began gently kneading my testicles in her palm. With the painted thumbnail and fingernails of her right hand, she tried to encircle my girth, but failing to do so, she began stroking the lower half of my length with the circle she'd made of her soft hand. Then, with both hands she brought the tip of my black stiffness to her mouth.

At first she ran just the very point of her tongue up and down the backside of my cock right at the nexus of the crown and the shaft. I groaned audibly. Then, after a half minute or so of concentrating only on that tiny, sensitive spot, she lowered my shaft so that it pointed directly at her chest and changed directions, licking around it with just the very tip of her tongue in 360° circles. She had to raise and lower my shaft so that she could continue to circumnavigate all around that sensitive ridge without breaking physical contact until her talented tongue had left a wet trail encircling my entire cockhead. It was so sensitive that at several moments during every agonizingly slow revolution, I shuddered involuntarily.