Title:
That Sunday, That Summer Disclaimers:
Not mine, never were, never will be. They belong, That Sunday, That Summer Part 1 That Sunday morning, the front page of the Tribune was
splashed with the reports of Laura Hunt’s killing. Ostensibly, I was thumbing
through the pages seeking my own column, And More Anon, but I was avidly
seeking all news on the death. And then there he was, the police lieutenant, on page two,
those pale, pale eyes glaring into the camera that caught him in the act of
assigning a uniformed officer to keep onlookers away from the crime scene. The
image of that lean and hungry body seized my insides, arrowing right to my
private parts, and I stared in amazement as flesh that for too many years had
lain dormant, suddenly became highly aroused. I could no more resist touching
myself than I could resist the look in Laura Hunt’s eyes the first time I met
her. I flung aside the Tribune and hesitantly reached into my
pajama pants, stroking the silken contours of my erection, marveling at it. The
soft skin of my palm closing over the hard flesh started me to whimpering. I had not done this since I was a boy, and had gotten
caught with my hands in my trousers. Mother had wailed and wept, certain she was
a failure and I would go to hell; after I went blind and my palms became covered
with hair, of course. The mid-morning sun was peeking through the voile curtains
that shielded the floor to ceiling windows of my bedroom when a gentle tap
sounded on the door. My hand jerked away from my groin. “Wha…” I had to
clear my throat. “Harrumph. Yes, Roberto, what is it?” My Filipino houseboy eased open the door cautiously. He
knew my uncertain temper. “Flat foot to see you Mister Waldo.” “Policeman, Roberto,” I absently corrected him. Why
were the New York police paying me a visit at this time on a Sunday morning? My
houseboy was shuffling from one foot to the other and his discomfort in my
bedroom irritated me. “Did he give a name, Roberto?” I snapped. Here at
least was one person who knew better than to cross me when I was in a mood. He approached the bed on soft-soled slippers, holding out a
card. I snatched it from his cool fingers and turned it over. Mark McPherson.
The name was written across the back in bold, slashing letters. McPherson? The policeman from the photo? I could feel the
blood pool in my penis, causing it to swell and grow even harder, and I
struggled to retain my composure. What could the detective in charge of poor
Laura’s case possibly want with me? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and extended my
feet until my houseboy slid my slippers on over them. He stepped back and picked
up my dressing gown, holding it out for me to slip into. I knotted the belt and
nodded for him to return to his quarters. Like a ghost he was gone, not a whisper of sound to mark
his passing. I ran an agitated hand through my hair, my vanity demanding
that I at least attempt to appear calm, debonair, controlled. Above all
else…controlled. I sauntered into my drawing room and struck a pose,
casually tamping a cigarette down on the silver case Laura had given me when my
endorsement of that silly pen resulted in her first big advertising campaign.
McPherson was reaching up to my globe and pedestal vase, twin to the one in
Laura Hunt’s apartment. “Don’t touch that!” I said sharply, forgetting all
about the importance of first impressions, almost causing him to knock the
mercury glass over. A surprising rush of enjoyable heat flashed through my
groin. A normally graceful man was clumsy because of me. In a much better mood, I gestured expansively to the sofa.
“What can I do for you McPherson? Why does one of the brightest stars in the
NYPD firmament need to visit my humble abode so early on a Sunday morning in
August?” He glanced idly at his wristwatch, and grinned sourly.
“Some people have to work no matter what the time or the day.” He obviously
favored his right leg, the silver tibia, souvenir of the Siege of
Babylon, Long Island, and he eased himself down onto the plush cushions of my
delicate couch. It suited the room, but this Cassius in blue serge made it seem
…fussy. I frowned. What had he been saying? He had to work the weekend? “The
Deputy Commissioner does not love you very much?” I knew the Deputy Commissioner, having interviewed him for
one of my columns concerning necrophilia. A small man, in every sense of the
word: small in stature, small in spirit, small in… ways that count with a man.
I had thoroughly enjoyed making mincemeat of him in print! McPherson scowled at the trail of smoke leaving the bowl of
his pipe. “He knew I wanted to go see the Dodgers play the Braves. Fuck
him!” His eyes narrowed as he caught my frown of displeasure. “Language too
rough, Lydecker?” I sniffed dismissingly and walked to the sideboard to pour
myself a drink. “I prefer to leave that kind of language in the gutter, where
it belongs. Is it too early for you, Mr. McPherson?” I proffered the decanter
of fine scotch whiskey. He leaned back and smiled into my eyes, and my breath
caught in my throat. “It’s got to be afternoon somewhere in the world.” I set the decanter down so hard some of the whiskey sloshed
over the side. I stared at the puddle of good liquor that began to dribble onto
the white area rug beneath the antique piece of furniture it sat on, my lips
twisting in annoyance. McPherson got leisurely to his feet; he was my height, or
just a trifle shorter. He took the glass from me. For the briefest flare of time
our fingers touched. My mouth went dry and I had to run my tongue over my lips.
McPherson’s pale eyes stared deeply into mine then dropped to my mouth. He seemed to be fascinated with my mouth. He was leaning
toward me and I stood there unmoving, I was going to let him take my mouth. I
was going to let this legendary cop, this detective investigating my dearest
Laura’s murder, do whatever he might want with me. Things I had dreamed of,
but shied away from in the light of day. I moistened my lips. He would strip me naked and take me, here, on the white rug
in front of my elegant sofa. He would place my legs over his shoulders, exposing
all my body below my waist, spreading me, holding me open. His privates would
rub against mine, making me so impossibly hard. And then he would start to push
it into me… My eyelids felt suddenly heavy and began drifting closed of
their own accord. My lips parted. I could feel his breath on them. “That’s a very interesting clock you’ve got there,
Mr. Lydecker.” I drew back in shock. “There’s one just like it in Miss Hunt’s
apartment!” His face was bland, but his eyes told me he had noted every
nuance, every flicker of emotion. My face flushed. “The clock? …Yes, it was mine. I gave it to Laura for
her twenty-fifth birthday.” I couldn’t bear it. “What are you doing,
McPherson?” “Just letting you know who’s running this
investigation, Lydecker! Don’t get in my way!” He knocked back his drink
like it was mother’s milk and gently set the glass on the sideboard. “I’ll
just let myself out.” His grin was cocky and he walked jauntily to the door.
“Oh, and Waldo, I wouldn’t leave town, it I were you!” And then the cheeky devil had the unmitigated gall to wink
at me! #### Part 2 It was Sunday. The antique shop should have been closed. Mr. Claudius, nee Cohen, was fidgeting behind the counter
while I examined a new specimen of mercury glass. It had been on display in his
window when I had sauntered past on my usual constitutional. I had called him
and ordered him to come down and open his shop immediately for me. He had complied, but I could see his reluctance, especially
when he realized what had caught my attention. “Lovely! Positively lovely!” “It’s not for sale, Mr. Lydecker.” I had been caressing the smooth, cool lines of the bowl
with sensitive fingertips, almost orgasmic at the thought of owning such a fine
piece. My gaze shot up to pierce him like a dagger. “What do you mean, it’s not for sale? You had it in
your window!” His face was becoming a rather sickly green. “It was a
commission I undertook for someone else, Mr. Lydecker. Another customer. I took
money for it. I can’t sell it to you!” His tone was becoming desperate. “Nonsense! I’ll give you twice what you paid for it!”
Carefully I set it back down on its pedestal and picked up my Irish hardwood
engraved walking stick. I reached into the breast pocket of my topcoat for my
billfold. The bell over his door jingled, and Mr. Claudius jumped.
“I’m closed!” he snapped tensely. The man who entered stepped casually out of the shadows.
The light of the dim bulb that swung fitfully above the ancient cash register
illuminated the contained features of Mark McPherson. My breath caught painfully in my chest and I felt myself
grow hard. “Lieutenant McPherson!” The antique dealer visibly
relaxed. “You know Mr. McPherson?” I queried irritably. I wanted
those pale eyes looking at me. Only at me! “The Lieutenant got me out of a jam one time. What can I
do for you, Lieutenant?” The two men settled into a friendly conversation, and I
began to seethe. I turned sharply, and my walking stick connected with the
mercury glass bowl. It fell off its pedestal and the sound it made when it came
into contact with the floor was like chimes mourning the passing of something
beautiful. Claudius whirled around. His cry of dismay pleased me,
although I took pains to conceal my glee. “Oh dear. So sorry. I had no idea it
was so close.” Claudius was actually pale, wringing his hands as if a
member of his own family had been killed. I swallowed my smile and smoothly
extended a handful of bills. “This should cover the damage. Next time,
perhaps, you’ll contact me first!” I turned to find McPherson watching me with cold eyes, and
a shiver of lust burrowed deep inside me. I wanted those eyes warm with
appreciation as he took me, buried himself in me. My eyebrow rose, and I stared down my nose at him. “You
wanted something of me, McPherson?” The tone I used had been known to make
maitre d’s quake with trepidation. The police lieutenant merely cocked his own eyebrow at me
and gestured toward the door. Behind us, Claudius was bemoaning the lovely piece
of glass as he swept up the broken shards. When McPherson spoke, his breath was warm on the back of my
neck. I hadn’t realized how close he was to me. More than anything I wanted to
lean back into him, letting him bear my weight. And then his hand on my back was
urging me out of the antique shop. “I need you to answer some questions.” “Am I a suspect?” I asked sharply. Oh, he was smooth! “Not at all,” he responded as he
ushered me into an unmarked car. “Miss Hunt’s apartment,” he instructed
the driver. I felt a frisson of unease. “Why are we going there?
Don’t you want to take me down to headquarters?” He leaned back against the seat and pulled out his pipe.
Helplessly, I watched as his long fingers competently handled the bag of
tobacco. The rich scent flooded the back seat of the car. I moistened my lips.
He filled the bowl with the tobacco and pressed it down, then lit it. Again I was drawn to his mouth, those chiseled lips, and I
wondered with a kind of desperation what they would feel like ravaging my own. “Actually, I’m meeting Laura Hunt’s fiancé and her
aunt Susan there.” With difficulty I recalled that he was taking me to
Laura’s apartment. “Why do you need me there?” His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin **** Laura Hunt’s home was in the exclusive area of town. In
the six years since she had come to New York from the Midwest, she had done very
well indeed. Due in large part to my friendship with her. Traffic was scarce that August Sunday. People were either
summering on Long Island or were glued to their radios listening to the baseball
game. Still, it took a good twenty minutes to get to Laura’s apartment from
Claudius’ antique shop. I tried to make conversation with the detective next to me,
but he was silent, his eyes fastened on the little child’s game he held
between his strong hands. Tilting it first one way and then the other in order
to get the little steel balls into the holes, he ignored me completely. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from those long-fingered
hands. There was a sprinkling of fine hairs on the back of his hands and the
nails were blunt and neatly kept. More than anything, I wanted those hands on
me, those nails gently scoring the flesh of my buttocks as he pulled me close to
his own arousal. The car drew to a halt. “We’re here!” I stared stupidly at the brownstone where Laura had lived. “Coming, Waldo?” No, but that was something I would truly like to enjoy.
With him. I followed him up the shallow steps and into the vestibule
of Laura Hunt’s apartment. Shelby Carpenter, Laura’s fiancé and her Aunt Susan were
already there when we finally got to Laura’s door. Shelby flung it open,
exuding Southern charm, playing the bereaved fiancé to the hilt. I sneered at
him as I tossed my walking stick aside and went to pour myself a drink. “What are you doing here, Carpenter?” I demanded as I
took a healthy sip of my highball. “The lieutenant asked Susan to meet him here. Since I was
with her at the time, I volunteered to accompany her.” “You were with her? How long had you been with her,
Shelby? All night perhaps? How would Laura have felt about the fact that the man
she no longer intended to marry was keeping company with her aunt?” “Shelby has always been very good to me!” Mrs.
Treadwell hastened to intervene. “He’s been the soul of kindness during this
trying time!” “Of course!” I said dryly. “See here, Lydecker, what do you mean to insinuate when
you say Laura no longer wanted to marry me?” I loved these little battle of wits with Shelby Carpenter.
He always came to them unarmed. “Simply this, you cheap gigolo! Laura had come
to her senses. She told me Friday, when she broke our dinner date, that she had
decided to call off the wedding!” Shelby lunged for me, and McPherson casually stepped
between us, tossing the big Southerner back toward the couch with negligent
ease. Oh, I wished the others were not there! I wanted to melt in his powerful
embrace, taking his mouth hungrily! Just through that door there was Laura’s bedroom, frilly
and feminine, and McPherson’s masculinity would contrast pleasingly with it. I
wondered how many nights he spent in this apartment, trying to decipher the
mystery that was Laura Hunt. If I walked past her house, as I so often did since
her death, it I climbed up those flights of steps to this apartment, and crossed
to her bedroom, would I find him sleeping, exhausted, in her bed? //Standing in the doorway, I observed the strong, sleek
lines of his back, naked to my avid stare. The sheets were bunched at his waist,
but I could see the outline of his body beneath the delicate pastel material. My
fingers itched to trace the muscles. His knee flexed, and the sheet fell away, revealing the
scars that marred the smooth beauty of his thigh and calf. I reached out and
stroked his leg. With a soft sigh, he turned onto his back, and the sheet might
as well not have been there. His erection was tenting the material to an
alarming extent. Could I accept something that large inside me? It was all I dreamed of, since meeting the detective. I leaned over and hesitantly touched my tongue to the
moisture beading on the tip of his arousal. Liking the taste, I began lapping at
it, setting it to quivering. And then I slid my lips over him, loosening my
throat and taking as much of him as I could. I tilted my head back and saw that he was awake now,
watching me with slumberous desire. His hands tangled in my hair and showed me
the rhythm that pleasured him most. I knew that eventually he must ejaculate…must come. Could
I swallow that? Could I not? He was thrusting harder and harder into my mouth. I was
quaking with unfamiliar passion. I needed to have him touch me. I needed this
more than anything I had ever needed. And then…// Shelby must have been sniping at the detective. “Methinks
yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look!” I resented the fop from using my label on the man
with whom I was enamored. “If Lieutenant McPherson is Cassius, then who are
you Shelby? Envious Casca?” Carpenter’s refined features tightened in anger. I loved
these little battle of wits with him; he always came to them unarmed! “Perhaps I am Casca,” he snarled. “But I see you
as Caesar!” I knew better than to preen, I had cut too deeply his amore
proper. “Oh?” He continued, paraphrasing Robert Graves this time, “No
woman’s husband, every man’s wife!” I blanched and recoiled. #### Part 3 “Not only was Shelby Carpenter very chummy with Laura’s
aunt, but he was sleeping with one of the models who worked for her as well!”
I told Mark McPherson gleefully. “Of course Laura found out!” We were in the elevator riding
up to my suite. “About her aunt?” He was playing with that damned game
again. When I scoffed at it for being a child’s toy, he simply replied, “It
takes coordination, and good eye/hand control.” I dropped the subject. “*Not* about her aunt, about Diane Redfern!” His eyes flashed up to meet mine, then went back to that
damned toy. “Interesting. Describe this Diane Redfern, if you don’t mind?” I really couldn’t say much about her. “About Laura’s
height, I would imagine, and the same coloring as well. I don’t pay much
attention to women who model lingerie!” My tone was arrogant. I didn’t want to talk about the little tramp who had
stolen the affection of the man with whom Laura had imagined herself in love. The object of this conversation was to point the finger at
Shelby Carpenter, to paint him so black that his guilt would be a foregone
conclusion. “Really? Most men would. Most men would sell their souls
to keep company with a woman as beautiful as Diane Redfern!”
“My dear fellow, I am not most men! I have better taste than
that!” I sniffed and exited the elevator, leading the way to my door. “Laura Hunt was more to your
taste?” What was he implying? “Oh,
not to begin with,” I hastened to assure him. “I molded Laura into what she
was.” “And what would that be, Waldo?” His pale eyes were lit
with something I hadn’t seen before and I fumbled as I tried to insert my key
into the lock. The way he said my name curled around my …cock, causing
me to grow painfully hard. As if he was actually stroking it. I could feel his
hands on my cool flesh, heating it. I shuddered and dragged my thoughts back to
Laura Hunt. “When Laura first brought herself to my attention, she
was a simple, inexperienced girl from the Midwest, working for a third rate ad
agency. I made her into the cultured, sophisticated woman who owned that
apartment in which you’ve been spending so much time, McPherson!” “You know that, do you? And how is it that you know so
much, Waldo?” He crowded closer to me. I backed away a single step,
breathless, and hit the wall. I forced myself to stand firm, wanting nothing
more than to throw myself into his arms. My reaction to the lean
detective annoyed me. No one else ever did that to me. I permitted no one to
encroach on my personal space; I was the one who violated others’
comfort levels. Yet this man constantly challenged me, pushing past my borders,
past the boundaries I set. And I allowed it. Because I wanted him. He reached toward me, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from
his mouth, from those lips that I wanted on mine, on my…cock, on any part of
me he cared to claim. And then his hand was on my doorknob, twisting it,
thrusting open the door and I stumbled backwards into my apartment. This was unacceptable! I straightened my cuffs and squared
my shoulders, determined to ignore the heat that flowed off McPherson in waves. My entire adult life I had kept people at a distance. Not
because I feared being hurt by them, but because they were, quite simply,
unworthy of me. When I found Laura, I thought I had found my soulmate, my female
counterpart; or at the very least, someone who, with a little judicious
handling, could be. Instead, she fell in love with the first unsuitable man to
come along and catch her eye, the artist Stuart Jacoby, who, if nothing else,
had enough talent to paint her as I saw her, elegant, untouchable, an ice
princess. Of course, I discouraged that romance and put an end to it
simply by pointing out his foibles and silly affectations. Jacoby was too pretty
to be taken seriously! I remember Laura’s startled glance, but then she
laughed lightly and ended their relationship. And as one failed love affair followed another, I was the
one to put the pieces back together again. It was getting most trying, but I was
convinced that Laura and I would live out our twilight years together, contented
old bachelors. But this…this whatever it was she had with
Shelby Carpenter was the final straw, as far as I was concerned. I had to work exceptionally hard to destroy that
engagement, and then it was Shelby himself who put the final nail in the coffin
of their idyl. I will never understand how he could go to a woman like
Diane Redfern after having the essence of Laura in the palm of his hands. What a pity that Diane’s indiscrete note to Shelby found
it’s way to Laura instead. So careless! I can’t imagine how a thing
like that could happen. **** “Where’s Roberto?” McPherson asked casually as he
went over to pour himself a drink. “You’re making very free with my expensive liquor,
aren’t you McPherson? I don’t remember inviting you in for a drink.” He tilted his head and looked at me with those pale eyes.
“Oh, I think you have no objections to my drinking your whiskey, Waldo. I
think you have no objections to…anything I might want to do. Where is your
houseboy?” he repeated. My mouth went dry. “He’s not…it’s his afternoon
off.” The detective smiled, a cool quirk of his lips. Those
lips… “Then we’re alone.” I couldn’t speak, simply nodded. He was walking toward me
again, the amber liquor in the glass washing gently over the single ice cube he
had dropped into it. Again I backed away. The wall stopped my involuntary
retreat. Our eyes met and held for a second, for an eon. Without taking his eyes from mine, he raised the glass to
his lips and took a healthy swallow. Moisture glistened on his mouth, and the
scent of the fine scotch teased my nostrils. //And then it was on my mouth, and I could taste it,
could drink it from his lips. His knee insinuated itself between my thighs,
pressing high against my cock, and I was rubbing myself against him shamelessly,
and it was better than anything I had ever felt, better than my hand all those
years ago, better than my imaginings, better than…// I returned to reality with a jolt, flushing furiously. “I want you to show me that hidden panel in your clock,
Waldo. And then…” I know I was looking at him like a child who had just been
offered an all-day sucker. “And then, McPherson?” Was that husky voice mine? “And then…? Well, we’ll just have to see, now won’t
we?” #### Part 4 The phone rang, breaking the tableau. I pulled myself
together and went to answer it. I held out the receiver mutely. His pale eyes never left mine as he took the phone.
“McPherson.” And then he hunched his shoulder and turned his body away, the
voice coming across the line a soft sibilance I strained unsuccessfully to hear.
“All right, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I said as soon as I can!”
he snarled and slammed the phone down. “Is there a problem, Mark?” Time seemed to stand still. “*Yes* there’s a fucking problem! Every time I start to
get close to you this fucking case gets in the way!” His eyes were hot, and
they raked over me from top to tail. Especially tail. I couldn’t help but
notice how drawn he was to the way my trousers molded over the contours of my
buttocks. Under his gaze snagged on the material that tented over my
arousal. For I was very aroused, more so than I had ever been. I
wanted him. I wanted him in me; I wanted to be in him. I needed that physical contact. “Mark!” His name was a prayer. “Fuck this!” He threw his hat aside and strode toward
me, seizing me in his arms. And then he was kissing me, his hard lips forcing
mine open so his tongue could surge inside and duel with mine. One hand held my
head motionless for his assault, while the other reached down my torso to stroke
the front of my slacks, finding and fondling my cock. “Mark!” I moaned. My hands were around his taut
buttocks and I squeezed. His fingers wound in my hair and jerked my head back. “Do you want me, Waldo?” He leaned forward and his
teeth grazed the curve of my throat. “Yes!” I was trembling with desire. He took my mouth
again, biting my lips, swallowing the groans that were becoming a melody of
passion. “Are you thinking of me?” In answer, I thrust my hips against his hand. “Yes! *You*
do this to me!” I said hoarsely. “*You*, and no one else!” And then somehow we were on the bed and he was tearing my
clothes off, careless of how he left them, flinging them on a chair, on the
dresser, on the floor. When I was naked, he sat back on his heels and looked
down at me, at the flesh that was hard and aching and dripping with fluid. He leaned forward and with a broad swipe of his tongue
tasted me. I shuddered and angled my hips up, mutely inviting him to dine on my
flesh. His hot mouth began to take me in until I was buried deep in that wicked
throat, and then his head was moving, bringing me closer and closer to a climax
such as I had never before experienced. And then he stopped, when I was so close I could have seen
the face of God, could have reached out and touched it. “Please!” I begged. “Please what, Waldo? Fuck you? Or would you rather fuck
me?” That image was my undoing, and I began spilling myself over
my chest, over the bed. Over Mark’s suit. He was still dressed, while I lay before him naked,
sprawled in abandon, my legs over his thighs. The corner of his mouth kicked up
in a grin. “Looks like we don’t have much choice now, Waldo.” I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down. “Stay
where you are and don’t move!” he ordered me, and helplessly I watched as he
began to peel that blue serge suit off, revealing one pale stretch of body at a
time. He watched me watching him, and by the time those trousers were removed, I
finally got to see his erection for the first time, a rod of steel encased in
velvet. He was prepared for this, and I was ashamed that I was so
easy. And excited that I was so easy. He had a tube of some kind in his hand,
and pressed it into me. The feeling of having something there was disconcerting,
arousing, and the feel of the cool lubricant being squeezed into me was
voluptous. I arched up to accept more of it. But then it was gone, and before I could wail a protest his
fingers were inside me, stroking me, stretching me, finding a spot that I never
even knew existed. My breath was coming in harsh pants, and I was wantonly
pleading for more, begging for it. Mark pulled his fingers out of me and flipped me onto my
stomach so rapidly I was almost dizzy. He hoisted my buttocks up high and then,
for the first time, I felt a man’s cock slide into my ass. The rhythm he established was indescribable. I was hard
again in an amazingly short amount of time, and I was enclosed in his fist. But
as much as I needed to reach climax, Mark held me back, taking me so far and no
farther, starting at the beginning again. I was backing onto his hard flesh, wild with the feel of it
deep inside me, completely out of control for the first time in my life.
“Mark! Please! Oh, God, Mark!” Time seemed to slow, and stand still. **** “Why, no, there’s no problem. What made you think
so?” I turned my back on him, trying to hide my dismay. Oh God,
what was happening to me? “I just need to get back to Laura’s apartment. It seems
they’ve found one of her diaries.” One of her diaries? Shortly before her death, Laura had
assured me that she had destroyed them all, dismayed at the willing dupe she had
been, determined to never again allow a man to influence her. Of course, she didn’t include me in that group. “I’ll go back with you, shall I?” He grinned at me and I felt the blood pooling in my cock
again. “You might want to change.” “Well, you’d give her a bit of a shock if she saw you
like this!” He stared pointedly at a point below my waist, and in confusion I
glanced down. At the damp stain that marred the cool gray front of my
trousers. #### Warning on this one: just a scoche implied f/f, and for
those interested, I might be persuaded to do something about it! Part 5 Laura was such a beautiful woman I mused as we drove in the
unmarked police vehicle back to her apartment on Fifth Avenue. Whoever rang her
doorbell late Friday night had destroyed that beauty with a shotgun blast at
extremely close range. Pity. No man would now defile her cool loveliness. She would be a
goddess, out of the corrupting reach of mere mortals! My thoughts began to wax
poetic. I would write a column about her that would immortalize her in the minds
of the American reading public, and her memory would be forever enshrined. Of course, those who did not read my column
wouldn’t have appreciated Laura anyway. I shrugged the thought of them
aside. In any event, they were unworthy of my consideration. McPherson and I climbed the stairs to Laura’s apartment
in companionable silence. Perhaps he was thinking of the doll who once got a fox
fur from him. Perhaps he was ruing the fact that he would never get to meet the
living, breathing treasure that was Laura. Or perhaps he was planning on how to best get me
into bed with him. I considered that notion carefully, breathlessly, and
thought I would make him work hard for that pleasure. And I thought that I
would be the one to …fuck him. Although, if any man could persuade me to be sodomized,
Mark McPherson was the one for whom I would do it. Almost able to feel him
pumping away inside my tight channel, I licked my lips and savored the images
that flowed through my mind. We arrived at her door, but instead of knocking for
admittance, McPherson reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. The key to Laura’s apartment! He let us in! Detective Ryan, who had been assigned the duty of keeping
the morbidly curious away from the crime scene, nodded briskly to his superior
and glanced toward the bedroom. I ignored him, and strolled to stand before the lovely
clock, twin to my own, that stood
in its place of honor. It was so delicate, so finely crafted. The epitome of
everything I had worked so diligently to bring out in Laura. “I gave this to
Laura. I shall want it back, of course, along with the mercury glass bowl.” “Aren’t you being a trifle premature, Waldo?” I gasped and whirled around, my vision blurring at the
sight of the ghost who stood in the bedroom doorway. “Laura!” She took a step toward me. I teetered on the verge of
collapse, and then slumped unconscious to the floor. **** It was a momentary weakness. I recovered in time to hear
her say reproachfully, “You should have told him! You should have let him
know!” McPherson scowled at her. Foolish man, incapable of falling
beneath her spell! And then my breath snagged. Suppose she fell under his
spell? I struggled to sit up and requested a glass of whiskey.
Finally, as she pressed the glass into my hand, I forced myself to look at the
woman with whom I had planned to end my days. Was that only two days ago? How quickly life can change! I
had set the scene so carefully, her favorite meal prepared by my own hands, our
favorite wines, the popular music she loved more than the classical composers I
strove so valiantly to get her to appreciate. McPherson lit his pipe and watched me sardonically. I felt sick, and I know my hand was shaking as I tried to
lift the glass to my lips. The whiskey spilled over the side, spotting my tie,
dampening my vest. “Laura!” “Yes, darling. Are you feeling better?” “Sorry,” I apologized grudgingly. “A wee touch of
epilepsy. It’s an old family weakness.” She looked at me with puzzlement in her soft dark eyes and
I bit my lip, determined to restrain the anger building up inside. “You’re…you’re not dead! Darling.” “But a welcome surprise, for all that!” I forced myself
to say, disturbed that McPherson had known she was alive but failed to inform
me. “Er, Laura, if you are among the living, which I’m inordinately thrilled
to see, of course, who was the woman who was killed Friday night?” Who had
been slain in Laura’s stead? Tears pooled in her lovely eyes. “Diane Redfern.” I was nonplussed. “*Why* was she in your apartment?
Laura, why?” She sighed, a soft puff of breath. “She wanted to
apologize for her behavior earlier in the week. And then she broke down and told
me she had been evicted from her flat because Shelby had caused a scene. So of
course I insisted that she stay here. I was going away for the weekend
anyway.” I looked confused, and she patted my hand as if comforting
a young child. “I needed time away from all this to sort things out, Waldo.
You know how badly I was hurt by Shelby’s behavior. I went to my place in the
country and spent the weekend tending the garden there.” “Can that be verified, Miss Hunt?” McPherson was
watching her closely. “Why, certainly, Mr. McPherson!” Laura was holding
tight to my hand. “Of course!” //Of course. She couldn’t tell them what happened
after she had let the beautiful model into her apartment. She couldn’t…// Laura was not looking into my eyes. Her nails were digging
into my hand, but she was refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m really not feeling too well, darling. Would you
mind if I took advantage of your delightful bed once again?” I knew I was making it sound as if Laura and I had shared
that bed, although my love for her was above such a crass thing as physical
expression. She finally looked at me, shocked, but my whole attention was
focused on the detective. McPherson was watching me through his lashes, and I felt a
shiver course through me. “Of course, darling,” Laura managed to say, and I left
the two of them alone. I was exceptionally tired. I sat down on the edge of
Laura’s bed and leaned over to untie my shoes. My walking stick was in the
living room where it had fallen, but I had no use for it at this moment. My fingers froze on my laces. I could hear their low tones
in the next room, so cozy, so friendly, so …interested in each other! I could
not permit that! I was willing, finally, to let Laura go, but I wanted Mark,
more than I had once wanted Laura, and I was not about to lose him! I had not had a decent night’s sleep since that note from
Diane Redfern to Shelby Carpenter had fallen into my hands, earlier the week
before. Now the events of the past few days were beginning to catch up with me.
My eyes felt gritty, and I rubbed them with the heels of my hands. I needed to sleep. I needed to deal with this situation. And then everything fell into place. It was really so
simple: I would just get rid of Laura. #### Part 6 It was really so simple: I would just get rid of Laura. But I was so tired. Exhaustion dragged at my eyelids. I
removed my jacket and placed it carefully, neatly across a chair, then lay on
Laura’s bed, on the frilly pink duvet. The pillow under my head carried the
faint trace of her scent…and something else, but I was too weary to puzzle it
out at that moment. My hands were folded primly over my chest, as if I was laid
out for my own wake. After that one episode with Mother, I made sure my hands
never wandered below my waist. She had pounded it into my brain how dirty, how
very disgusting that act was. What now, Mother? What would you think about the things I
want to do with that lean, hard-muscled detective in the next room? What I want
him to do to me? I closed my eyes and pictured her in the corner, sitting on
that fragile Queen Anne chair, next to the piecrust table that I had persuaded
Laura to buy. And the horrified look on her face as Mark entered, closing
the door gently behind him, smiling into my eyes. “I’ll leave you to what
promises to be a disgustingly earthy relationship!” I could hear her say, but
Mark would not let her leave. “Stay in that chair, Mrs. Lydecker,” he would order
her. “Well, I never!” Mother would sputter, and Mark
would turn that smile on her and she would sink back into the chair, breathless. It truly is difficult to believe Mother ever did, but she
must have, at least once. Witness my presence on this planet! And then that attention was focused back on me. “You have
too many clothes on Waldo. That’s your problem. You always wear too many
clothes!” Those long, competent fingers began undoing the buttons of my vest,
helping me to sit up as he pulled it off. My tie was the next to go, the Windsor
knot unraveling easily and he tossed it aside. By this point I was quivering with the need to feel his
hands on my naked flesh, and was quite willing to agree that yes, there were
entirely too many layers between my skin and what I needed. Now he was working on my trousers, edging them down over my
hips, pausing to remove my shoes and socks, and then stripping off my remaining
clothing. His smile held the lure of danger, and he leaned over me, taking my
lips in a kiss that left me hungry for more. “Mark…!” ‘Tell me what you want, Waldo,” he murmured as he
nuzzled the point where shoulder and neck joined. His mouth opened on that spot
and I felt his teeth on me. “Oh my God! Are you biting me?” I shuddered, my
cock engorging with blood. I was virile! I was powerful! I could slay invading
armies! “Do you like that? Do you like me marking you as my
property? Because that’s what you are now, Waldo. You’re mine!” He sat back, that smile of masculine possessiveness in
place once more, and he began to work on his own clothes, removing them
leisurely, driving me mad with each deliberate movement. I reached out to help
him, but he forced me back down onto the bed, and placed my hands beside my head
on Laura’s pillow. “No, you stay like that. I don’t want you to move. Do
you understand me? Just… watch me.” A drop of precome leaked from me, and he leaned over and
licked it off. “Do you want to be inside me, Waldo? Do you want to fuck
me until I scream from the pleasure of it?” “Yes!” My voice was a hoarse whisper. Laura was in the
next room, she could walk in at any time and see me naked on her bed, my legs
spread as I offered myself to this hungry detective looming over me, but I
didn’t care! I was mindless with desire. His words painted a picture that drew
me to the edge of the precipice, daring me to throw myself into the fiery
depths. “Please, Mark, let me fuck you!” His smile turned cruel, and I was reminded of a predator
scenting its prey. “I don’t think I will, Waldo. I don’t think you deserve
that privilege!” He was naked now, and he straddled my body, his cock just
before my mouth. “Open wide, Waldo. Take me in your highly educated mouth and
suck my cock! Show me how much you like it!” My lips parted in excitement and he took advantage of that
to slide his engorged flesh between them. He
began rocking his hips to a tempo that became increasingly more violent. His
fingers entwined with mine, forcing my hands to remain motionless, when I wanted
nothing so much as to clutch the taut curves of his buttocks and urge him even
deeper into my mouth. And then he was pulling away, no longer fucking my mouth
with that glorious cock of his. I uttered a moan of protest. “I’m not done with you yet, Waldo!”
Mark’s voice was like dark velvet, gliding over my nerve endings,
making me impossibly hard. For a moment he was gone, and I was bereft, empty and
aching, but then something hot and tight and slick began to engulf my cock as
Mark lowered himself on me, finally giving me what I had been begging for all
day. All I could see were the pinpoints of light exploding
behind my eyelids. My lips parted as I struggled to draw in enough breath to
survive. Mark pulled me up to him as he crouched and worked my cock
in and out of his ass. His tongue surged forward to fill my mouth, and I sucked
on it as if it was my last hope of heaven. His cock was pressed tightly between
our abdomens and I reached down to take it in my hand, squeezing and stroking
and out of my mind with the joy of having him, of being buried deep in his body. My own orifice was empty and aching. “Please Mark, I need
you to…” But before I could finish my plea, I erupted in a Vesuvius of
visceral pleasure. For long moments I hung suspended, then fell helplessly to
earth once more. I still felt empty. Mark lifted himself up and off of me,
then shoved me onto my back and settled himself between my legs, pushing them
back, parting my buttocks, pressing his cock into my ass, setting up a hard,
pounding rhythm. And I was filled with him, surrounded by him, inundated by
his touch and his taste and his feel. With a hoarse cry he came, his mouth
descending to take mine as he pumped his life’s essence into me. “I’ll love you forever, Waldo. Only you. Always you!” I sank into a peaceful sleep. **** I woke with a start, to find myself fully dressed, down to
the proper knot in my proper tie. I stretched and I moaned, my body stiff and
aching in places that had no business to ache! When I stood, my legs refused to support my weight and I
staggered before I could regain my balance. What had I done? What had been done to me? Dismissing that errant thought, I decided it was time to
rejoin the others. With a tug, I straightened the lines of my vest, and reached
to put on my jacket. A shrug of my shoulders settled it comfortably. I ran a
hand over my hair and got it into some semblance of order. Sure that once more I was my dapper, debonair self, I
opened the door of Laura’s bedroom, to come to a shocked halt. Laura was in Mark McPherson’s arms, her hair a fall of
amber satin against the curve of his shoulder. Her mouth was pressed to his in a
kiss ‘long as my exile, sweet as my revenge’. My heart felt as if it was being cut out with a very dull
knife. Wildly, I scanned the room. My walking stick! I stumbled to it, making some small noise that shocked them
out of their little slice of heaven. Where they had had no thought of me. The smooth hardwood of the stick was a cool comfort in my
hand. They stared at me, she with nervous defiance, and he …coolly, as if to
see what I would do next. “When a man has everything in the world that he wants,
except the one thing he wants most, he loses his self respect.” Laura recoiled from the venomous glare I aimed at her
before I turned to Mark. “Do you think I’ll leave you to the pawings of a
woman who cannot tell dross from gold? Do you think I could bear the thought of
her touching you, loving you?” The walking stick, a cleverly contrived weapon, was in my
hands as if was an extension of them, and my forefinger squeezed the trigger. The explosion sounded like the end of the world, in
Laura’s elegant sitting room. Her
eyes were wide in horror. McPherson’s were cool with satisfaction. It was the end of the world, my world. I stared down stupidly at my chest, where a blossom of red
was spreading over my vest. My shot had gone wild, hitting the clock I had given
Laura, ricocheting off that to shatter the lovely mercury glass bowl, and ending
its trajectory by destroying the portrait done by Jacoby. Mark’s bullet had found its target. I wavered for a
moment, and then fell to the floor, catching myself on the arm of Laura’s
sofa. My eyes sought and held McPherson’s. “Goodbye, Mark. Goodbye, my…love.” ~End On to A Moment to Last My Life Through
Author: Tinnean
Fandom: Laura
Pairing: Waldo Lydecker/ Mark McPherson
Rating: NC-17
first and foremost to Vera Caspary. And secondly to the fantastic
screenwriters of 20th Century Fox.
Summary: Lydecker and McPherson meet for the first time while the detective is
investigating the murder of Laura Hunt.
Series/Sequel: No, but let's see where this goes, shall we?
Warning: m/m
Note: if you read the book or saw the movie, no spoilers; if you
didn't, then yeah, I guess you'd better beware! This is based on
the movie characterization. Clifton Webb played Waldo, Dana
Andrews was Mark McPherson.
I was puzzled. “Why? This is one of my favorite suits. Laura loved it!”
”Oh, Waldo, no, and I’m so sorry Detective McPherson let you be surprised
like that! It was so cruel!”
