Heart?s Desire

It has been many years since I obtained what I thought at that time was my heart’s desire. I was a senior at the end of a five year course at a prestigious university. On our Spring Break, I made what I later discovered was a bad mistake, and went to Florida. Never mind where, but it was sunny and overly warm for someone used to the snows of northern Springs.

Many of the "breakers," some few of whom I knew, were the typical college girls of those days and wore little more than very tiny thongs, no tops, at least during the day in the sunshine. What they wore at night.....

One group from our university, three of the five of them, went to the same college as I, stayed pretty much together, and although I was certain they must be sorority sisters, they just acted that way. They remained, as I said, in a group, but they flirted outrageously with any boy—man, I guess—who passed by, and obviously promised a lot more than they would—or could, I thought—perform. I suppose their group acted as chaperone and emboldener in one. I found myself smitten by one particular beauty, a slim, dark-haired gal from Buffalo, New York, whom I had once dated, back in freshman year.

After three days I was becoming frustrated and bored out of my mind, but luckily my good friend, a gay fellow from Germany named Reinhardt, dropped by. Reinhardt, despite his predeliction for guys, had never hit on me, and we remained pretty close for not having sex; he was in the College of Technology and Engineering, which I thought, being an Arts major, was guys doing things to steel and concrete.

"Actually, not entirely, Herman," he said when I had expressed this thought to him. Reinhardt liked my name, although he said I did not spell it properly (should have been "Herrmann," he’d tease)—God help me, he was an admirer of Herrmann Goering, but as a WW I ace, not as the overly fat Reichsmarschall and possible queer, definite sybarite.

"I see you looking, Herman, and you have want in the eyes, no?"

"Well, perhaps you’re right, Reinhardt, ol’ buddy, but there’s no way I’m going to break one of these gals loose from that bunch, is there?"

"Well, that’s as may be, fr-riend." When he was particularly enigmatic, Reinhardt liked to roll his "r"s.

"What, you engineers have come up with something to pull a girl from her bunch of friends—on Spring Break?"

"No-o, not exactly, Herman, but there just might be something I could help you with.."

When he got excited, which he obviously was now, Reinhardt fell back into a heavy Germanic accent, so he sounded so guttural that I had trouble understanding him for a second or two. I imitated his accent. "You tr-ruly dink you can, hah?"

"Don’t you make fun uff me, Herrmann! I give you der Nazi saliute und ruin your chances foreffer mit pretty Jewish girls, hah!" he replied.

"Shit, don’t do that, Reinhardt, Jewish girls are as nice as gentile, any day." I had in fact been living for about eighteen months with a blonde who turned out to be honestly blonde and Jewish, too. She always amazed me with her personal bias against Hispanics! That’s why we broke up finally. Despite my name, I came from the Southwest and my mother was Mexican. And that’s why I’d come to Spring Break in the nameless Florida town.

"Well, I’m sorry, Reinhardt, but what is this that you think you can do for me?"

"O K. We still develop this, you see, for. . .better I not tell you who. . .and we can use field test. Had no idea who to ask, but will you help us by testing?"

"Sure, I’ll do a lot for you, buddy."

"Would you...?"

"You know me better’n that, Reinhardt!"

"Yah, just the testing, then."

"All right, I trust you not to say one word of this to anyone, even girlfriend, understood?"

"Yes, I swear." "Very well. You meet me in half hour at my room, 431 in P........ Inn. O K?"

"Sure, I’ll be there." I spent the half hour, or part of it, admiring my beloved’s curves and the way she tossed her head. She was, of course, quite unaware of my interest, I thought.

"Well, here I am, Reinhardt. Oops, sorry, did I interrupt some...?"

Another guy was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, but he was clothed. He got a really hard look in his eye. So I was sorry I had said anything.

"No, you’re not interrupting a tryst, you think, eh? This is Martin, he and I work together on this project—senior honors, you know, eh?" I was enduring a mostly "fixed" competition in blank verse withinout college for the same end, and I groaned sympathetically.

"Nein, we make out good. Martin has refined to point of excellence, all we need is final test and we can produce. Eh, Martin?"

Martin was sour-faced, but he allowed a fleeting grin to cross his mouth. I noticed that his eyes did not light up as well.

"Yes, Reinhardt. This is our subject?"

"No, this is our object. . ive. . .the tester, Martin."

"Certainly, Can he be trusted?"

I was resenting Martin’s high-handed manner, and I broke into their discission.

"Martin, you’re the guy who set off those fireworks by remote, two years ago, right?"

"How. . .how the hell do you know that?" he asked, taken aback.

"Well, I’ve known it for some time, but. . .you see. . .I’ve never told anyone else about it. I liked the way you set that up, as I understood it, the way it was explained to me."

"Who. . .do you know that could explain that?"

"Well, since I haven’t told anyone about your doing that, I’m not going to tell you who told me. I know he’s never told anyone about it, either!"

"Look here," Reinhardt broke in, "Herman knows how to be quiet when it’s the right time, correct? He will not say anything about the project, nor his part in it, nor who the experimenters are, O K, Martin?"

He seemed angry at Martin, and for a moment I thought that probably "Martin" wasn’t his real name, anyway.

"Very well, then. Herman, you understand that this is, like, the beta copy, not the finished product?"

"Yes, so Reinhardt told me."

"O K. Now, here are your instructions. I understand that there is a person you would like to influence, right?"

"Yes, sh...."

"No, I don’t want to know who, I want to know when."

"Soon as possible, I suppose, We only have three more days of Spring Break, then we’ll all hafta wend our ways back to the university, eh?"

"Yes, sure. Well, now...." he went into a lot of technical stuff that you don’t need to know, but the gist was that I was to sneak up to this "person," affix a tiny "receiver," he called it to his or her neck near the head, or actually on the head, under the hairline. The "beta" model would not sink into the skin, as would the final product, but remain visible with luck, so that Martin or Reinhardt could remove it with "special means." Martin was vehement in making me understand that the effect of whatever I did to the person would continue for several hours after it was removed. He concluded,

"...so you can in effect control what the person wants, what the person sees, what the person likes, tastes—everything about the personality. Got it?" He had become so enthusiastic about his "beta" model that he was almost spitting in my face as he finished his peroration.

"Yep," I said, pretending to wipe my glasses.

"Here it is,"" said Reinhardt, coming into his living room from the bedroom, which I assumed must be his "laboratory."

The transmitter was about the size of a half-package of cigarettes, the "bug," or receiver so small I could barely see it against my hand. It was flesh color, too, which did not help its visibility.

Reinhardt smiled widely at me, after Martin had left, making certain I was going to maintain my silence.

"Well, she is yours, buddy."

"Really..."

"Do you want to try it?" he leered, fondling his engorging penis. Hell, he was only wearing tight Spandex biking shorts, and all his magnificent—if I do say so—physique was visible. It was too damn’ bad he was gay, ‘cause the girls would have really swarmed all over him if he had showed the least interest. As it was, some from other colleges gave him the come-on every day. I wondered where he was getting his loving, but figured that this was Florida, there’d be plenty of his type around.

"Not on me, thank you very much, Reinhardt. I think you’d have me wide-cheeked in about three seconds, friend!"

"Oh, no. Herman, I’d have you going down on me. You have such a lovely mouth, you know?" I hoped he was kidding.

I left, then, and we’re still friends, believe it or not.

Late that afternoon I saw a chance, and slipped up to the "Group," as we college types had come to call the four girls who hung out, always, together. I had a big old Hasselblad with me—my hobby in high school had been "old-fashioned" photography, I developed and printed my own pictures. I hoped I remembered the spiel.

"You girls want your photo taken, nice group you have? Give you a copy apiece, make more for your families and friends?"

I don’t think they recognized me from having seen me around, although my blonde seemed to think I was familiar, or at least reputable, ‘cause she was the one who said,

"Sure; let’s, guys," speaking to her buddies.

They grouped and I fussed with "camera angles" for several minutes until I could properly maneuver myself alongside her and ask to adjust hers and one other girl’s heads to the "proper angle; the light, you know."

The other girl was no problem, and I had a moment of trepidation when it was time for me to touch Leslie—her name—but I did, and I could feel the little bug adhere to her skin way up under her hairline.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What?" I was innocence.

"Nothing. I thought...." She gave up and held her head the way I’d told her.

I took about eight good pictures out of twelve in all, and promised to have them developed in the evening about seven, so they could pick the ones they wanted me to print or enlarge for them. Boy, I was generous!

I had a monstrous hard-on which I was concealing as best I could with the camera when I gave my first sub-vocal command.

Leslie, come with me and help develop these.

I actually said out loud, "Uh, Leslie, that’s your name, isn’t it, I’ve seen you around at university, would you like to help me develop these?"

The other three kidded her a bit about darkrooms and so forth, but she said "Yes" quite cheerfully.

We walked together up to my room, introducing ourselves on the way. I had no real idea where the hell I was going to get developer, a tank and the plate I’d need to do a decent job on the photographs. I must have transmitted that puzzle to Leslie, for she said,

"Stuck for the fixin’s? Believe this or nor, Herm’, I have the bottled fixin’s for the shots in my room!" She was uing my nickname right away, a good sign, I thought..

"Oh, you-all don’t room together?"

"Naw, that’s just protective coloration. Come on along, and we’ll get these thing done." She seemed truly interested in photography, as I found out talking with her as we walked over to her hotel, She had a suite, she said, not just a room. She told me as we talked—I kept well away from touching her, on the way—that her parents were wealthy, but that she was on a full scholarship because she had been in the Honor Society and her school’s valedictorian. She was not a bit bashful about that, but she wasn’t one bit boastful, either. Just the facts, ma’am.

I asked her if she had made love with anyone recently, and she got angry, as I thought she would.

"It’s none of your business, Mister Nosy Herman!" she fumed. "I’m leaving. I wouldn’t make love to you with all my clothes on and ten yards, backyards that is, between us!"

She turned to go, pulling on her little jacket which I had thought so cute, and had asked her to shrug out of as I did not want to acid to get to it..

"Hey, lady, this is your room.

You’re going to come back here and tell me when you last made love. You’ll want to touch me with no clothes on, babes!

Maybe I’d better leave." I was so contrite.

"N-no, Herm’, I’m sorry. You stay, I’ll tell you. You were just curious, weren’t you?" Sbe had stopped with her hand on the door knob.

"Uhm-hmm." I smiled.

"Take your glasses off, an’ I’ll tell you." That surprised me, but I did so.

"Now take your shirt off, I want to see your chest."

Lord, she was undressing while she was telling me to undress! I was shucking out of my clothes faster than she told me to, and she was down to her black bra and very thin lace panties by the time I was standing there bare, my penis sticking up from my crotch like a flag-pole.

Come on, babes, you want to suck on it. You want it in you!

"It was my sophomore year in university, Herm’ an’ I was not very happy. This guy promised me all kinds of things, and I fell for it. We fucked and fucked all one week-end, but I haven’t had anyone since. I’m clean, if that worries you, Herm’, an’ I am certainly hot to trot! It was all I could do to stay with those girls, you know? I was getting ready to rape one of them, honest!"

"Come here, honey, let me hold you." I was gloating, I fear.

"Wait. I’ll just get out of these...." and she slipped off the panties—God, she was wet already—and bra, then walked to me with her hand over her pussy hair.

Right in front of me she stopped, smiled a little hesitantly and knelt in one fluid motion. Her soft hand stroked my bouncing penis for a few moments, just on the top. It felt like absolute heaven, and I wondered if I could keep from coming. I had sex more recently than she, I think, but her touch was so ecstatic that I had to summon all my will-power to keep from shooting off in her hand. I am glad I held it, though, for her sweet mouth slowly engulfed the glans, and then she was sucking me into her, deeper and deeper. I was astonished that this little girl could do such a thing, and then I realised that her soft hands were playing a part, as she sucked and masturbated me with a combination of hands, tickly fingers and mouth. I was, really, just about to come when she stopped and got up to look me right in the eye.

"Time for you to come to bed," she said, in a little girly voice, smiling as she said it.

I damn’ near pranced over to the big double—maybe a queen?—bed and flopped on it as she pushed me playfully from behind. I turned back over in a flash, in time it seemed to have her straddle me with her dripping puss and lower herself with a long moan of pleasure onto the throbbing thing, Now, I have no idea how she did it, but without leaving my penis, she and her tight puss managed to keep me excited, on the verge but never coming, for about twrnty minutes. I did feel her push on some knot or other between my anus and my balls, but that just made me want to come more, but I started over again building to that point! Didn’t get soft, though.

"Whatta. . ..whatta ya doin’ to me, Les"?" I managed to gasp, about halfway through.

"You like it, don’t you, Herm’?"

"God! Yes, Les’, but you’re driving me crazy, too, really!"

"I could go back to sucking you, couldn’t I?" she asked in a thoughtful way.

"Jee-zus, Leslie, please get me off, I need to come, really badly, honey, please!" She laughed at me and continued with the gyrations.

When I came it was as though every single drop of the 87% percent liquid which is supposed to be in the human body flowed into her in the next few minutes. I could not stop jerking my hips up into her pubic bone, shooting more gism than I thought any man’s balls could hold every time. I felt as though I were riding a cloud, at last, so spaced out was I.

She, too, came and came, until we had so moistened the sheets that she finally rolled me over off the bed—I barely caught myself—and yanked them off before the mattress, too, was soaked.

"Oh, my God, Leslie, will you marry me?" I thought hastily that I did not need to marry this witch with her extraordinary sexual capabilities to have her for the rest of my life, but I sub-voc’ed.

Leslie, say yes, you will marry me when we graduate.

"Do you love me, Herm’?" she asked, serious for the moment. I had to think about that for the second or two that it took to start her getting angry again. I could not have that.

"Yes, by the Good Lord above us, I do love you, Leslie? What’s your major?" The silly question was born of my sudden realisation that I did love her, that I did want her around for the rest of my life, and that we’d better be married. It’d be fun, I thought.

The absolute silliness of the non-sequitur had her laughing so hard, whether from hysteria or pure love of the ridiculous, I didn’t know, but she sure wasn’t mad at me. "Oh, you complete dip-shit, Herman! I love you too, crazy man. Now, get up and help me remake this bed. This is a house-keeping apartment, and I have to keep it nice for you. Wait’ll my friends hear about you and me!"

Oh, Christ, I thought suddenly, what the hell will Reinhardt and Martin think? I better get the damn’ thing off her soon. And what would happen if she wasn’t really in love with me, wanting to marry me as much as I wanted to marry her? Good God, I was really in deep. Wait. Should I tell her? That thought took about thirty seconds to resolve. I wanted to, God, I wanted to, but I had given my word, hadn’t I. . .to Martin, to Reinhardt, and Martin had objected, too?

Well, I managed to placate the two experimenters with a full. . .almost full. . .report of the effects of the bug and the transmitter and they were happy with that. But. . .and this was the big but that ruined me for the rest of my life. . .they could not get the damn’ bug off Leslie! We tried giving her knock-out pills, tried hypnotism, nothing worked. I made Reinhardt—that bastard Martin disappeared when he found out he couldn’t get the bug off!—promise that the particular transmitter would be destroyed and that he would not build another on the same frequency. Fat lot of good that did me.

Leslie and I have a good marriage, I love her very much, and she does love me. We have three pleasant grown up children, a grandchild on the way, but!

Every once in a while she goes off with very little notice for "a week with the girls," and I can never find out who the "girls" are!

D’you think that utter bastard Martin...?