Coming Together Presents: Robert Buckley

By Robert Buckley

A collection of erotic fiction by Robert Buckley, edited by Lisabet Sarai. All proceeds benefit the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coming Together
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458118332

Book preview

Coming Together Presents

Robert Buckley

Lisabet Sarai

editor

Coming Together Presents: Robert Buckley

© 2011 by Coming Together

All digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Cover art © 2010 Alessia Brio

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Coming Together Production

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License Notes

Piracy robs authors of the income they need to be able to continue to write books for readers to enjoy. This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of ONE reader only. This ebook may not be re-sold or copied. To do so is not only unethical, it's illegal. This ebook may not be forwarded via email, posted on personal websites, uploaded to file sharing sites, or printed and distributed. To share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each intended recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, please notify the author immediately. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this—and every—author.

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to Bridget

TABLE of CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

FORTUNE'S FOOL

EXCESS OF LIGHT

SANCTUARY

THE DIAMOND CLUB

WHAT WAS LOST

BAD FAITH

PALADINS

HEARTS DIVIDED

SQUANDERED SINS

INFIDELITY

THE LAST THING YOU REMEMBER

ENDNOTES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE EDITOR

ABOUT COMING TOGETHER

Introduction

I've known and admired Robert Buckley pretty much since I began publishing erotica—that is, for more than a decade. Bob and I have good deal in common. Like me, he's one of the old-timers at the Erotica Readers & Writers Association. We're both well into our second half-century of life; we remember a world before computers, cell phones and social networks, before AIDS, MTV and designer vaginas. Both of us have spent many years in history-steeped Massachusetts. And I believe, especially after editing these stories, that we share some common views on sex: specifically, that people should be free to do whatever they please with their bodies, regardless of how perverted or sinful their activities may appear to others, as long as everything is consensual.

When I approached Bob about working on a Coming Together Presents volume, he told me he wanted to focus on erotica noir. Certainly, the tales in this book are darker than in his first collection A Bite of the Apple, which was subtitled A Collection of Romantic Erotica. They offer up gangsters and private dicks, cops and other sundry enforcers, pimps and whores, each one more hard-boiled than the next. There's violence, terror and betrayal as well as raw and graphic sex. Still, Bob has poured such heart into these stories that none of them has the unremitting grimness of true noir. In these tales, rough justice usually prevails. The true evil-doers, the ones without souls, receive punishment. The poor sinners who are capable of compassion get at least a chance at redemption.

While most of the stories in this volume are contemporary, Bob has also included two historical pieces and one with a deliciously creepy touch of the paranormal. Practically every tale, even the darkest, includes flashes of humor. Bob has an amazing ear for dialect and can write an Irish bartender, an Italian mobster or a clueless Valley Girl better than anyone else I know. He also knows his history—I learned a lot of period terminology while producing this book!

Editing a volume like this, I end up reading each story at least a half a dozen times. Bob's stories don't lose their impact, even after I've worked on them for weeks. In fact, I keep noticing new gems of phraseology or new insights. That, to me, is the mark of a great author: re-readability. I only hope that you enjoy reading Bob's sexy, skeptical, compassionate tales as much as I enjoyed editing them.

All proceeds from Coming Together Presents: Robert Buckley benefit the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America (msassociation.org). MSAA is a national nonprofit organization dedicated to enriching the quality of life for everyone affected by multiple sclerosis. Since 1970, the organization has provided support and direct services to these individuals, as well as raising public awareness of the needs and challenges of MS-affected people and their families.

If you like this book (and I suspect that you will) I hope that you will support the Coming Together erotic altruism movement by purchasing some of the other volumes of exceptional literary erotica available at eroticanthology.com and encouraging your friends to do likewise. Together, we can make a difference—and get turned on doing it.

~ Lisabet Sarai

22 January 2011

Fortune's Fool

The Jaguar knocked me out of my senses. I knew it was a Jaguar because my last unscrambled thought was of the hood ornament that flew past my face as my head smashed into my driver's side window. After that, everything was a jumble; I didn't even feel my left arm snap.

I know I didn't jump the light. I had been headed downtown on a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon on my way to the office for the last time. I'd been told I had to clean out my desk before Monday morning. So I was sitting at the red light, brooding, kicking my ass that I had ever taken the job.

I should have known better. I should have picked up on their bullshit, but I let my guard down. They said they wanted my kind of journalism for their sports magazine, and I ate it up like some kid out of J school. I'm not a sportswriter. I'm an anti-sportswriter. Statistics, championships and that sort of thing don't interest me. I built a rep on stories about how an entire NCAA championship team got off scot-free after gang raping a couple of high school girls on a bus. Or, how college football players who were functionally illiterate were handed diplomas from prestigious universities.

The Sporting Eye hired me after my story about the university that provided a virtual harem of female students for the use of their basketball and football teams.

That's how I came to this town and this mag. Eight months later I'm out on my ass because I went after the town's sacred cow, Terry Hanchuck, one of the most overrated quarterbacks in NFL history. Unfortunately for me, around here he's a god. And you know what happens to a mortal who screws with a god. I knew I was pushing my luck, but since the magazine was national, not local, I thought I'd avoid the flak.

Hanchuck was protected by one of the greatest offensive lines ever fielded, giants who didn't let anyone get by them. They never got any credit. Hanchuck and his so-so arm claimed all the glory. The truth was I could have thrown TD passes with all the time and protection that line gave him. The previous Sunday, a tackler got within twelve feet of Hanchuck and he started bitching about his defenders. The word I picked up was that for the first time in his sorry pro career Hanchuck was going to get sacked, and sacked hard the next Sunday.

My main interest in Hanchuck was, at last count, seven illegitimate kids in seven NFL franchise towns for whom he refused to pay support. There was also a tidbit I picked up about a benefit banquet during which Hanchuck, just to show that he could, demanded the mayor send his wife and his daughter to his hotel room. The mayor never thought twice about it. So the missus and daddy's little girl serviced the QB god.

When I interviewed Hanchuck, the dumb shit never denied it. In fact he boasted it was all true. He acknowledged his record as a deadbeat dad, too, with pride. I had asked him if he felt any obligation at all to the women he had impregnated and abandoned.

A woman is just someplace to stick my dick, he said with a smirk. Hey, I didn't force 'em. It's not my fault they didn't take the pill.

During the interview a little wisp of a girl, maybe twenty if she was that old, waited on Hanchuck. She behaved like a supplicant, eyes averted, at times almost cowering. She was bone thin with long dark brown hair. Her breasts were huge though, all out of proportion to her bony frame. She had just handed Hanchuck a bottle of beer and was creeping away.

Fuck! Hanchuck yelled. Is it too much to ask to get a cold fucking beer! He threw the bottle at the girl. It just grazed her cheek.

That was it. What the fuck's the matter with you? I said as I stood up.

Still seated, he looked up at me dumbly. What? Don't worry about that stupid cunt. Hey, you wanna blow job? She'll do it if I tell her.

I got up, stopping long enough to check the girl. Hanchuck called after me, Hey, where'ya going?

You're an asshole, Hanchuck, I called back. Maybe that was enough of a hint that what I was going to write about him wasn't going to be the fawning puff stuff he was used to.

I wrote the entire story on my laptop at home. The next day, before I had a chance to transfer it into my PC at work I was called into the office. The managing editor told me to kill the story. I refused. He fired me. I left, and in the process left all my stuff, including the laptop.

So that's how I came to be sitting at the light. It had to be green for a few seconds because the guy behind me started leaning on his horn. I started into the intersection and WHAM!

I remember an EMT asking me my name and how old I was. It sounded like he was talking down a long tunnel. My vision kept graying out on me. I felt annoyed. Damn, I know how old I am, stop asking me stupid questions.

I recall another voice. A woman's shrill, reedy voice that kept going on and on. I think I remember seeing her, too, talking to a cop. Look at my car, she kept saying. Do you know who my husband is? He's a very prominent lawyer.

I remember thinking, who gives a shit? Then I was in the ambulance. I heard someone say I had a broken arm and a possible concussion. I was getting my wits back, enough to realize I didn't have any medical coverage since getting canned.

One of the EMT's shouted, Man, I just heard Hanchuck's got hurt.

No shit, his partner replied. Damn, is it bad?

Yeah, it's his throwing arm, they think he busted it. Shit, there goes the season. Hey, they're bringing him to Stanwyck General. Maybe we'll get to see him when we bring this guy in.

At the ER I was given a cursory look by a couple of MDs who mumbled something about getting my arm set and sending me up to get a CT scan. Then they disappeared and I was left alone in a cubicle for what seemed like hours. I drifted in and out of consciousness.

A small, dark man appeared. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and a serious expression. He lifted my chart and his face seemed to get even darker. He stepped just outside the door and called, Nurse, nurse, come here.

A sweet voice, girlish and sultry all at once, replied, But, Dr. Mukurjee, I'm wanted in Trauma 4.

The doc's lilting Indian voice became testy. The entire hospital staff is in Trauma 4. I need you to take this patient to CT scan immediately.

Aw, but...

Would you prefer I write you up for insubordination?

No, doctor. I'll take him up right away.

She stepped into the room and my addled brain snapped into focus. Damn she was pretty. A coffee-and-cream skin tone with an emphasis on the cream because her complexion was flawless. Liquid green eyes. Her lips were full and, right then, very pouty. Light brown bangs in tight but soft spirals reached her eyebrows. The rest of her hair was tied back in a soft ponytail. Her curvaceous frame could have been poured into her nurse's sheath and she moved her hips in a lazy hula sway. Her small, round breasts pushed pridefully against the fabric that contained them.

She grumbled under her breath as she guided the gurney out into the hall and toward a bank of elevators. She paid no regard to me whatsoever. As the elevator door opened a hulking young man, way over six feet, emerged. He could have been one of Hanchuck's line backers. The girl, who was all of maybe five feet, five inches, excitedly jumped up and down in front of him.

Oh, Maleek, oh, can you do me a big favor, Oh, please, please, please...?

Tianna, baby, I'm on my break and I've done all the favors I'm doing for you for one week.

She grabbed his meaty arm and nuzzled her delicate chin in the hollow of his massive biceps. Oh, Maleek, honey, just this one favor?

Damn, she's good, I thought. Poor Maleek didn't stand a chance.

Ain't no such thing as one favor with you, Tianna. Okay, what you want?

Take this guy up to CT scan for me so I can go see Terry Hanchuck.

Maleek made a face and whined, Oh, what you want to bother with that chump for?

Tianna just smiled, her green eyes gleaming. Maleek just shrugged his shoulders, took hold of the gurney and guided it and its passenger onto the elevator as Tianna bolted away like a fawn.

Now Maleek was muttering under his breath.

You hear anything about Hanchuck? I asked him.

Huh? Ah, well, sir, a friend told me his arm's broken in four places. Looks like his career might be finished.

I guess he shouldn't have disrespected Mr. Bubba Washington.

Maleek's face broadened into the widest smile I could imagine on a human. Damn, he said, I thought I was the only one who thought like that in this town.

Serves the prick right, I said. Maybe he'll have to get a real job now, like cleaning out pay toilets.

Maleek's smile became even broader and brighter. When we got to CT scan he patted me on the shoulder and said, Be cool, man.

While inside the CT tunnel I was interrogated about my health insurance, or lack of it. A woman with rhinestone framed glasses berated me for not having any while waving a pencil over her clipboard venting her disgust, as if she was going to have to pay my bills.

Later, after my arm was set in a cast, Maleek appeared again. Dr. Mukurjee had me admitted for observation. Maleek brought me to a room just being vacated by the previous occupant, who was traveling with a sheet pulled up over his head.

This guy paid in advance for the TV, Maleek said, nodding back at the fresh cadaver on its way to the morgue. Help yourself.

The TV showed nothing but local talking heads, mostly sportscasters lamenting Terry Hanchuck's injury. I hadn't heard of mourning like this since the Kennedy assassination. I turned it off in disgust.

Later in the evening my arm was really hurting. A huge, no-nonsense head nurse administered a dose of morphine. After that, it wasn't like I couldn't feel the pain. I just didn't care.

I drifted off to sleep, dreaming weird dreams of Terry Hanchuck tossing footballs that turned into beer bottles in mid-air and fell shattering onto the heads and into the faces of young women who just giggled and laughed at the assaults.

The giggling drew me out of my sleep, though I was still mellow from the medication. Laughter turned into excited conversation among three young women. I detected Tianna's voice among them and deduced that whatever they were up to, Tianna was the ringleader.

Are you sure this is his room? one girl said.

Yes, Tianna replied. A guy in records told me.

But, there's a different name on the patient roster, a third girl said.

Again, Tianna replied, They always list celebrities under phony names. Now, are we going to do this, or what?

They were just outside the door now. If we get caught, we could get fired, the third girl said.

Look, Tianna spoke again. You want to be able to say you gave Terry Hanchuck a blow job? Better yet, you want to be able to say you had sex with him?

Both of the other girls answered at once, Yeah.

Then let's do it. Kravetz won't make her rounds for another hour almost. So let's do him.

The light snapped on and Tianna scolded, Turn that off! Keep it dark.

The light snapped off again. Three girlish silhouettes entered the room. I could pick Tianna's out from the other two, one of whom was short and busty and the other tall and preternaturally thin.

Tianna sidled up the side of my bed and felt the cast over my left arm. Terry, Terry, honey? she cooed. We've come to give you some extra special bedtime care, okay?

One of the girls pulled the bedclothes off me and the other expertly removed my jonnie. Three pairs of feminine hands wandered over me. Morphine notwithstanding, my cock stood out like a flagpole. One eager pair of hands clasped it in a chokehold. Ahh, she sighed.

Joann! Tianna protested.

Me first, you said I could, Joann whined back.

Oh, all right, go ahead, but don't take forever and don't make him come.

Joann's mouth closed on my cock and the thought occurred to me that she might be part St. Bernard. Her oral cavity was fleshy, cavernous and wet. She had a tongue like a whale's and in a short time my balls were soaked in her drool. The suction she created was incredible and in my morphine haze I contemplated the head of my dick popping off.

A pair of lips kissed mine. It was a sweet, almost tentative kiss. Bony arms framed my head and I knew this was the thin girl. Her tongue darted into my mouth like a fish and seemed to reach places way at the back of my throat. I imagined her tongue emerging from my other end.

Joann was working me furiously. Tianna warned her to slow down, but to no avail. I launched my orgasm and she greedily slurped and swallowed all I could give her. She finally released my mauled cock.

Joann, Tianna cried. I told you not to make him come.

The other girl stopped frenching me long enough to add her disapproval. You are so selfish, Joann.

Oh, stop bitching, Stacey. You'll get your share, Joann hissed. Then she began to do a kind of victory jig, chanting, I swallowed Terry Hanchuck's come, I swallowed Terry Hanchuck's come.

Tracey took my right hand under her skirt and rubbed it between her thighs. Damn, I thought, this girl should eat more. Then she guided my fingers between her cunt lips releasing a dam-burst of wetness. My fingertip found her clit and she worked it while resuming her deep kissing. Meanwhile, I felt Joann grazing her ample breasts along my thighs. My cock sprang back to life.

Tianna unbuttoned her sheath and shrugged it off her shoulders. In two graceful moves she disposed of bra and panties. Her proud tits poked into the air crowned with delicate caramel nipples.

Suddenly, Tracey shrieked out her orgasm as her pussy contracted against my fingers.

Damn it, Tracey, Joann snapped. She ran to the door to see if anyone had heard. It's all clear.

Tracey sank into the corner of the room. She had finished herself off.

Now Tianna climbed onto the bed. She straddled my head and eased her heart-shaped ass down grazing my lips with her pussy. Delicate, coiled hairs tickled my nose and I almost sneezed. Then I felt her pouty lips lock around my cock. Her tongue flicking about my shaft was in stark contrast to the nuclear-powered suck that Joann gave me. Tianna was all tease and finesse. I felt my jism begin to boil again. Her pussy aroma was all musk and citrus and my tongue eagerly sought entry. I slurped along her vaginal walls then back to seek out her love button. I began to tease her as much as she teased me.

I was getting close and so was she. Now she rapidly reversed direction and lowered her cunt onto my cock. She rolled those hula hips while holding her hands above her head. Her pretty little tits jiggled and bobbed sensuously. I envisioned a rocket launch and my cock exploded inside her. Her belly convulsed as she cried, Oh, yes, baby, baby, baby...

The light snapped on. Nurse Kravetz demanded, What's going on here?

Tianna shook off her orgasmic haze, looked down at me and screamed.

For my part, I pretended I was in a stupor. Kravetz, shrieking, herded the girls out of the room. You nasty little harlots! You'll be fired for this; you'll lose your licenses.

Tianna was in shock. She looked like she'd been injected straight into her brain with Novocain.

I moaned, What's happening? I dreamt people were doing awful things to me.

Kravetz tried to soothe me, There, there, just go back to sleep, dear.

A commotion followed out in the hall. Two of the girls were crying and Tianna was bleating about, It was supposed to be Terry.

Male voices joined in the commotion. After a bit they moved farther down the hall and silence followed.

The next morning events followed in rapid succession. First, motherly Nurse Kravetz woke me and inquired, Do you remember anything about last night, dear?

A little, I said. It's all so confusing. I'm not sure what happened to me.

Kravetz gently patted my head. You'll be getting a visit today from hospital administration. They're very concerned about what happened to you. She smiled and started out of my room, muttering, Little tramps ought to be put in jail.

No sooner had she left then two cops strode in. The older of the two nodded, How you doin', pal?

Okay, under the circumstances. What can I do for you guys?

Just here to give you a heads-up, pal. That woman that totaled your car yesterday, and who nearly totaled you, well, she blew a 2.0 on the Breathalyzer. She was three sheets to the wind.

No kidding? I said. Gee, thanks guys, it was nice of you to let me know. Do you usually make special visits like this?

The older cop spoke again, Let's just say we do you a favor, you do us a favor.

How so?

Her husband's a fucking prick lawyer who screwed with some cases me and my partner were on. We're hoping for a little payback is all.

I see, I said. Hey, fellas, I love screwing dickhead lawyers.

You're okay, pal. Make his life miserable.

He waved and then he and his partner were gone.

A moment later a tall, white-haired man in an expensive suit entered.

Hello, sir, he began. How are you feeling today?

Like shit, I replied.

"Ah, yes, well, I'm Richard Witherspoon. Perhaps you've heard of me?

No, can't say as I have.

Well, then, my law firm, perhaps? I'm a partner in Hobart, Witherspoon and Charlataine.

Nope, I said, and he appeared genuinely puzzled. I added,