Duplex

The bedroom seemed to be cut from the same wood as the living room. A rich chocolate brown, masculine, bold. The bedspread was a patchwork quilt and was soft, inviting as Whitney fell back onto the bed.

Again, Harold put his head between her legs and licked and sucked at her pussy.

Just as Whitney was about to explode in orgasm, he knee walked forward, teasing and torturing her breasts with hands and mouth. Then he kissed her gasping mouth.

And in one fluid movement, he buried his thick cock into her pussy.

Two pumps and Whitney screamed in orgasm.

He allowed her time to catch her breath, then began a slow in and out. Then he gave her pussy a few quick jabs. Then he gave her a few long, slow strokes.

"Oh, God!" Whitney groaned as another orgasm began to well up in her guts.

When her orgasm began, she wrapped arms and legs around him and pulled him into her as deeply as she could. A moment later, he bellowed and began to pump a stream of semen into her pussy. The warm seed spurting into her triggered yet another orgasm in her. Her orgasm seemed to milk more of him into her pussy.

A few moments later, she relaxed her grip and he fell away from her.

Then he again showed her that there was a large difference between men and boys. He got out of the bed, went into his bathroom and fetched a washcloth. He took the time to warm the water before wetting the cloth.

Then he gently sponged her pussy clean.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Man! You crazy? Thank you!" Harold said.

He put the washcloth into his sink, then returned to the bed. They cuddled for a few moments, gently touching each other.

A moment later, he got out of bed, went to the living room and fetched her drink and the bag of chips. He brought both into the bedroom where she still lolled on his bed.

"What? Now I want me them cookies," she laughed.

He grumbled good-naturedly and she laughed. Walking through his living room, he picked up her bra and squinted at the tag. His eyes opened wide when he read 35E printed on the tag.

In the kitchen, Harold found the bag of cookies, also grabbing the razors and shave gel and baby oil.

He got a towel from his bathroom, brought it to the bed and wiggled it underneath her hips. Then he handed her the razors and gel.

"You want do it?" she teased.

"Damn, Whitney, I'm 'fraid I cut you bad," he admitted.

His cock stirred to full hardness again as he watched her smear the gel around her crotch. His cock jerked and twitched as she carefully dragged the razor over her pubic mound.

He again wet the washcloth, then wiped away the remnants of gel. Then he worked the pump on the baby oil bottle until a 'sploot' was heard and a stream of the warm oil splattered into his cupped hand.

"Mm-hmm!" Whitney encouraged as he applied the oil to her crotch.

They kissed, tongues wrestling with each other as he massaged her crotch.

Then they made love again. After their lovemaking, both napped briefly.

"Baby, I'm hungry yeah," Whitney whispered softly into Harold's ear.

"What you hungry for?" Harold asked.

"Know what I really want? Just a big old cheeseburger," she admitted.

"Chuck's got that one pound burger," Harold offered.

"Dead End's closer," Whitney said.

She wiggled into her clothing, ran a brush through her hair, which did nothing to improve it and smiled as he appeared, dressed in button down shirt and dress slacks.

"Baby, we just going get burgers," she teased.

"Yeah, but it a date yeah," he said.

Again, she wrapped both her arms around his left arm, clutching onto him as they left the duplex. She didn't let go of him, even as he locked his door. She only let go of him when he opened his passenger door for her.

When he sat in the driver's seat, she put her arm on his. She touched him from driveway to parking lot of the bar.

"My first boyfriend? Had this old truck, bench seat? Could sit right next to him when he drove us around," Whitney commented as Harold helped her out of his sedan.

Again, she wrapped her arms around his arm, put her head on his shoulder as they walked to the door of the bar.

The waitress smiled a vacant smile as she gave Harold and Whitney laminated menus. She nodded when they both ordered draft beers.

"Draft? Girl I'm loving you," Harold declared.

She studied his face for a long moment, unsure smile on her lips. Then she kissed him, a soft lingering kiss.

"Baby, don't say you in love with me unless you going mean it," she whispered directly into his ear.

Even over the loud music, Harold heard her words, heard the sadness behind her words. Peering into her eyes in the dim lighting of the bar, he could see her brown eyes searching his.

"We talk more later," he said and she nodded, then kissed him again.

"Oo-wee, that volcano burger? Bet that hurt," Harold declared, now peering at the menu.

"I tried it; made me sweat all over," their waitress admitted as she put the two drafts on the table. "Then I had me some bad heartburn whole night."

"Chili burger and the sweet potato fries," Whitney decided.

"Same for me," Harold agreed.

"And for dessert today? We got the chocolate mint brownie pie," the girl said as she picked up their menus.

Every now and then, Whitney did look around the bar. She did watch the girls as they gyrated on the small stage, removing articles of clothing. She did watch the cook behind the counter as their burgers were being prepared. But for the majority of their time in the bar, Whitney kept her eyes on Harold.

"You know, you got them little, what they call them? Right there, in your eyes," Whitney said, gently tracing his crow's feet with a fingertip.

"Called Crow's Feet; shows I'm getting old," Harold smiled at her.

"How old you is?" Whitney asked.

"Fifty eight," Harold admitted. "You?"

Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in surprise.

"You how old?" she whispered loudly.

"Fifty eight, born May ninth, Nineteen fifty eight," Harold said. "You?"

"Ninety three," Whitney said. "Valentine's Day."

The waitress put their burgers down in front of them and asked if they were ready for another beer. Both nodded agreement and the attractive young woman walked away.

"You twice as old as me?" Whitney asked

"If my math is right, no," Harold smiled as he attempted to pick up the very messy hamburger. "Be another twelve years before I'm twice old as you."

Whitney tried to do the math in her head. Then she shook her head and used her fork and knife to eat the hamburger.

They ate in silence. Harold used a handful of napkins to wipe his hands clean, then gave the still silent Whitney a wistful smile.

"Now you know how old I am? Guess don't want see me no more?" he asked gently.

"Y'all ready some of that pie?" the waitress asked.

"Y'all still doing that fresh ground? Yeah, piece of that pie and cup of coffee," Harold agreed. "Whitney? Want some?"

Whitney looked at him, then silently nodded her head. Harold smiled and told the waitress they wanted two cups of coffee, two slices of the mint chocolate brownie pie.

"I uh, now you know I'm just a kid," Whitney said, linking the fingers of her right hand with his left hand.

"Kind of why I wanted that pie," Harold said. "I ain't really all that hungry, but..."

He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek.

"But, this going be our last date? Kind of want stretch it out long as I can," Harold admitted.

"Kind of thought, want get rid of me real fast," Whitney whispered, lips quivering.

"I could? Make this date last forever," Harold said.

She studied his face.

"You uh, you ain't trying get rid of me?" she asked.

"No, no, but Baby, why you want be with some old man? Pretty like you? Should be with some boy your age," Harold said.

"Was with some boy my age," Whitney said, squeezing his hand tightly.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"How I met you, remember?" she said.

They dawdled over the pie, each drinking two cups of the dark rich coffee. When they finally left, Whitney clutched onto his arm, nestling his arm between her large breasts.

"Baby?" she asked as they stepped out into the silent, humid air.

"Uh huh?" Harold asked.

"Baby, I don't want this be our last date," Whitney admitted.

"Need go home for anything? Toothbrush? Change of clothes?" Harold asked as he unlocked her door for her.

She looked at him in the dying light of the setting sun, then smiled. She gave him directions to the apartment she was staying in. She brought him into the ground floor apartment.

The smell of urine was overwhelming when she opened the door. A man sat in a battered wheelchair, squinting at a small tube television. He looked up when Whitney sauntered in, tilted his can of beer and drank deeply.

"Fuck; how long it take do a shoot?" he snarled at her.

He saw Harold standing behind Whitney. He nodded toward the stranger.

"Your dad?" he asked.

"My boyfriend," Whitney said. "You eat today?"

"Yeah, fucking microwave burrito," the man said and crushed the empty beer can in his hand. "Stuff tastes like shit."

"Need change your pants before I go?" Whitney asked as she walked toward a dark doorway.

"Naw, ain't shit myself," the man said.

"Sure?" Whitney pressed as she stepped through the darkened doorway.

"It's my ass hole, think I'd know if I shit myself," the man yelled at her.

"Well, come see," she called out.

Harold could see a dim light come on in the room Whitney had disappeared into.

"Why? I told you I ain't," the man demanded.

"Because, I'm ge gone all night," Whitney answered.

A moment later she called out, "I know you don't like it, but it's easier for you, all right?"

Muttering obscenities, the man wheeled himself into the room Whitney was in.

Harold wished he could go back outside; the smell in the apartment was horrendous. But outside, the mosquitos were teeming, hungry for blood. A few minutes later, a smiling Whitney stepped back into the living room.

"Wash my hands real quick," she explained.

The sound of running water drowned out the wrestling match on the television. Then Whitney reappeared, grabbed a plastic grocery bag and walked over to Harold. She smiled up at him, gave him a wet kiss, then called out to Jimmy that she was leaving.

"So?" Jimmy said in a surly tone of voice.

"Need anything before I go?" Whitney pressed.

"Just go," the man snapped as he wheeled himself from bedroom to kitchen.

"Going love what I brung sleep in," Whitney giggled as they drove to the duplex.

"I bet I'll love anything you wear," Harold said.

"Aw, you so sweet," she sighed.

Upon arriving home, she scampered into the bedroom, demanding that he fix her a drink. He made a rum and diet cola and grabbed himself a beer. Then he set her glass on a coaster on the coffee table and sat in his normal chair.

"No, no, want sit next to me," Whitney demanded as she stepped back into the living room.

She had applied more makeup, freshened her bright red lipstick, tousled her mop of hair even more.

Her 'sleep wear' was a baby doll nightie that stretched taut over her substantial chest, attached by a single bow that tied between her globes of flesh. The panties were just a scrap of material that covered her hairless mound.

"Wearing that? Yeah, I sit next to you," Harold agreed and walked around the coffee table.

She grabbed the remote control and found a reality show. Harold wondered at the intelligence of the people involved in the show; who in their right mind would agree to go into the wilderness alone? But years of marriage had taught Harold not to offer such an opinion until there was a commercial break.

"No, no, I mean, it's interesting, how these people figure out how do this stuff," she argued during a commercial for a feminine product.

Then she kissed him and demanded that he find where the cookies disappeared to.

"Bet they still in the bedroom yeah," he said but dutifully fetched them for her.

The show ended on a 'cliff hanger' of sorts; a bear had wandered close to the area the protagonist was hunkered down in.

"Yawn, I'm tired yeah, you tired?" Whitney asked, pretending to yawn.

"Yeah, guess so," Harold agreed.

Whitney showed that she was a skilled cocksucker, and an enthusiastic one. Harold warned her, but she just kept sucking and stroking his cock.

Then she swallowed every drop he pumped into her mouth.

He licked her to two orgasms. By the time she screamed through her second orgasm, his cock had hardened again and he crawled up between her splayed thighs.

"Yes," she hissed as he sank himself into her hairless pussy.

They fucked hard and fast until Whitney cried out in orgasm. Then he slowed his pace and stroked his cock in and out of her wet, slick pussy.

"Fuck, God damn you can fuck, hear?" Whitney gasped as another orgasm welled up inside of her.

"No," Harold said and kissed her gasping mouth. "I can make love."

"Oh!" Whitney gasped and screwed up her face in orgasm.

A moment later, Harold stiffened and pumped his seed into her. This triggered another orgasm inside of her and they lay, grunting and thrashing against each other.

Again, he cleaned her pussy of their juices. Then he pumped a handful of baby oil and gently rubbed her bald mound. She giggled as he also massaged the oil into her belly, making sure to delve his slick finger into her navel.

She pulled a loose tee shirt out of her grocery bag and slipped that on. Then she pulled back the patchwork quilt and snuggled down. Harold found a pair of pajamas and pulled them on, then he did his nighttime ritual; checking front door and back door were locked, checking that the stove was off, that the faucet in the kitchen and the two bathrooms were not dripping.

When he returned to the bedroom, Whitney was on her side, cuddled up against the pillow he would be occupying. He smiled at her and slid under the covers. She immediately put her head on his chest and let out a sigh of contentment.

Richard's mattress had a large dip in the middle; you had no choice but to roll into that rut. And Richard did not seem to like being touched when he was trying to sleep. But with the rut, it was nearly impossible not to roll into one another.

The bed at Jimmy's was a hospital bed and the mattress was hard as a brick and smelled of urine. The couch was lumpy and also reeked of urine.

This bed had a nice, firm mattress. It did not smell of anything but the dryer sheets Harold used when he laundered the sheets.

And there was an extra pillow on the bed. Richard did not have any extra pillows; she'd wadded up her clothes and used that lump as a pillow.

Harold ran his hand from her head to her shoulders to her spine and rubbed up and down her back.

"Hey, ask you something?" Harold said, voice low.

"Yeah?" Whitney mumbled, close to sleep.

"Too soon say I love you?" Harold asked.

"No, ain't too soon," Whitney agreed, shaking her head.

"Love you," Harold said.

"Love you yeah," Whitney said.

Within moments both were sleeping soundly.

Harold woke up to the smells of coffee, bacon and toast.

"Turkey bacon?" Whitney shrilled when Harold staggered into the kitchen. "Man! Threw that out yeah."

"Then what that is?" Harold asked, nodding toward the skillet.

"Went to the store; you know Super One open all the time?" Whitney said.

She gave him a passionate kiss, then dumped the beaten eggs into another skillet.

Over breakfast, Whitney admitted to Harold that she had no job. Her source of income was the occasional photo shoot at Parasols. She'd been supporting herself by caring for Jimmy Mouton, a paraplegic. In exchange for her care, he let her stay in his apartment, eat his food, and take a few hundred dollars for car insurance and upkeep.

"Met him when I was going nursing school," Whitney said.

"Why you ain't still in school?" Harold asked.

"Money," Whitney shrugged.

The second bedroom was turned into an office when Harold put a small desk in and bought Whitney a laptop computer. Whitney was a dedicated student and applied herself. Within a year of returning to school, she became an LPN and began working for Dr. Pelieur, an Ob/Gyn in DeGarde.

"Told Dr. Pelieur going need off in about five, maybe six months from now," Whitney said as she walked into the unit.

"Uh huh?" Harold asked as he pulled the lasagna out of the oven. "Don't care what you say, ain't no frozen lasagna going be as good as mine."

"Mm-hmm, smells good," Whitney agreed as she kissed him.

"Now, why you needing off?" Harold asked.

"Having us a baby yeah," Whitney said.

"Having..." Harold said and nearly fainted.

*.*.*

Shirley pushed her buggy down the aisle of the Super One Foods grocery store. The police had arrested Sam; they'd actually been looking for him. Seemed that she wasn't the only foolish old woman the toad-like man had swindled.

She'd been able to recover most of her money; Shirley had Parker Johnson to thank for that. The man had moved at lightning speed to secure what he could.

But money was little comfort when she spent most nights feeling like a foolish old woman.

Rounding a corner, Shirley saw a familiar figure, dressed in shorts and pullover shirt, sandals on his feet.

"Hey, Harold, how you doing?" she asked, forcing cheerfulness to her voice.

"Huh? Oh, uh, hey Shirley, how you been?" Harold asked as he put a large bottle of baby oil into the buggy.

"Baby? Can't reach that no, you get it?" Whitney asked, pointing to a bottle of vitamins on the top shelf.

Shirley looked at the young woman that called her Harold 'Baby.' The woman wore a crisp white nurse's uniform. The uniform was stretched; Shirley recognized the baby bump underneath the white blouse. She had a slightly large nose and her cheeks bore light scars, probably from acne. Her hair was a tousled mop of dirty blonde and her eyes were a flat brown.

"Yeah, this one?" Harold asked the young woman as he did reach the bottle.

"Baby? She called you..." Shirley asked as the young woman took the vitamins and put them into Harold's buggy.

"I uh, Shirley? This is Whitney. We uh, we're married," Harold said.

"Married? Harold! She half your age yeah!" Shirley protested, looking at the pregnant woman next to her ex-husband.

"Uh, no, got 'bout another eleven years go before I'm half his age," Whitney smiled pleasantly.

THE END

**Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. I do thank you for reading my stories.

I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, rate my submissions. I do read comments, do take to heart the critiques readers offer.

Have a sweet day.