Free Butterflies in Heat by Darwin Porter Page B

all night."
    Yet her contracting and pulling only goaded the inevitable. Soaked with sweat, he tensed—holding back as long as he could. But his release was violent, spasm after spasm. His energy drained, he collapsed on top of her.
    She turned her head around, wanting to be kissed.
    Ignoring her at first, he started to pull out. His job over, he'd earned his supper. After all, he didn't kiss fags. But the compelling hunger of her eyes—unlike the desperation in Ralph's—told him he'd better satisfy her in that way. Pressing toward her, his mouth met hers. He was quick and efficient. But also thorough, competent in his job. Kissing her was no more unpleasant than many duties he'd been called upon to perform.
    The nails of her right hand dug into his back. "I need you!" she cried. "No man has ever made me feel like that. No man. Don't ever leave me, please."
    "Fuck, Lola," he said, slowly pulling out of her body—even though her muscles were fighting his going. "Who's gonna leave? I'm gonna stick around a while."

    In the middle of the night, she rubbed her butt up closer to his. It was good to have someone young and alive with her tonight. All those nights listening to the commodore's snoring was more than she could bear.
    In some ways, Numie was like a son-lover to her. All her life she'd wanted a son, and had cursed nature for making that dream impossible for her.
    He'd come into the bar when she was at loose ends. She was fearing life was passing her by. She certainly wasn't getting any younger, and the commodore's days were clearly numbered. The prospect of her own aging—faced with that empty bed—was getting too much for her.
    Numie had been more than just a robot moving inside her only hours ago. She thought he was really falling for her. She could just tell. Chalk it up to her woman's intuition. Of one thing she was certain: she wasn't just a job to him, another performance in a lengthy career. After all, he'd kissed her—and he didn't have to do that.
    He'd satisfied her sexually, but he'd also awakened other longings in her — longings she'd tried to forget. She needed deep down involvement with another human being, and just not for sex either.
    She'd seen desire well in Numie's eyes when she had stood practically naked in front of him. It must have been exciting for him to view a body such as hers. She could just imagine some of the tricks he'd turned-probably all with pudgy middles and everything sagging. Her breasts hadn't altogether fallen yet, and she'd strictly watched her diet. Her figure had remained trim. When Numie grabbed her breasts, she knew she'd turned him on. Her only disappointment was that he had failed to take one of them in his mouth. She loved to have that done.
    Reaching over in bed, she stroked his smooth thigh with her hand—not enough to wake him up, just enough to make contact with him. Then she pressed her mouth gently against his. He moved, but didn't wake up.
    How exciting he was to her!
    She snuggled next to him, resting in the cradle of his arm.
    Through this man lying beside her tonight she could rediscover her own long-lost girlhood.
    She just knew it.

    At six o'clock that morning, a loud banging was heard from downstairs.
    "What the hell?" Numie asked, turning over and sinking deeper into the satin-encased pillow.
    "That's my nephew," Lola said sleepily. "Be a sweetie and let him in. He's come for that cat."
    "What a time to wake up," Numie said. "Why don't you give him a key?" Nude, he stumbled out of bed and made his way down the steps into the bar.
    The first rays of light were breaking through the glass panes of the door. The calico cat still slept on the bar. Taking the night latch off, he pulled back the door.
    There on the early morning sidewalk stood Castor Q. Combes.
    "Violet eyes," the boy shouted. "You owe me money."
    "Castor, you little informer bastard. Come on in."
    "You owe me a dollar," Castor said. "You didn't finish the tour. And