Libido: Fiction: Hurricane Curt
FICTION
Friday Night Bedtime Story, October 27. Print me out... take me to bed!
Hurricane Curt

By Sophie DuChien

Hurricane Curt seemed a tough nut to crack. He used to like to think he was a tough nut. But now he’s not so sure.

When we met he was told I write for LIBIDO, and I couldn’t get rid of him. Every time I turned around he was refilling my champagne glass or giving me significant looks. Funny thing is, I liked it.

I was merely tagging along at a reception in the Chicago Cultural Center, having a not bad time, rubbing shoulders with the burly city’s movers and shakers and thinking them a pretty saggy bunch when my friend Faye introduced me to Curt as "the celebrated erotic authoress." He broke off a conversation with one of the rather more celebrated Field brothers to kiss not my hand but the inside of my elbow. "Hellooo," he enthused. "I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you." I couldn’t tell if he meant it or not.

Turns out Curt is an international grain broker with mega bucks, a trophy wife he doesn’t much love ("The only thing she goes down on is the escalator at Nieman Marcus…") and a reputation for giving money to every cause fronted by a good looking woman. Turns out he was free that night. Turns out his approach was about as subtle as a city garbage truck. Turns out he isn’t bald for nothing. This man’s testosterone count would kill most men half his age or deconstruct them to apes.

And Hurricane Curt was used to getting his way.

He convinced me to dance calypso with him, much to the apparent delight of the steel drum band that was pounding away in our corner of the G.A.R. room. He convinced me to send Faye home by herself and to go with him to see the Tip Top Tap at the top of the Allerton Hotel, which has been closed to the public for years, but which was open to Curt because he is a member of the "very exclusive club" that keeps the place to itself. He convinced me to eat -- I now gasp to think of it -- a chateaubriand. And he almost convinced me to take him home with me -- the way he stroked my arm made all the little hairs there -- and around my nipples -- stand up.

Hurricane Curt is a man of many energies, talents and appetites. He plays violin, he practices aikido, he has a farm, he cooks, he loves his two children -- even if they are off at boarding school -- and, why should I duck this?, I find him enormously attractive. When he focused all of his energies on me, I felt positively flustered.

The fact is, I find him so attractive I knew I had to resist him sexually or risk being swept away. At this point in my life, I far prefer being the sweeper to the sweepee, so I removed myself from temptation by going for three days to a friend’s summer house in Union Pier, and wouldn’t you know it, I got snowed in for a fourth day. That’s when I realized I was not going to let myself fall under Curt’s spell; that he is not the kind of man I want to be involved with. But he certainly is exactly the kind of man I want to participate in my men’s project. That’s the one where men get naked and tell me about a defining moment in their sexual evolution.

When I finally drove home from Michigan I knew I could get him to do it, by letting him know that the only way to get to know me in the biblical sense was to dance to my tune. I was not prepared for what followed.

We met in a lovely room at the Swiss Grand Hotel with a great view of the Chicago skyline. He had Dom Perignon on ice, and arranged for a pair of Swedish-style masseurs to help us relax, a touch I admit I liked a great deal.

After our massages and a half a bottle of magnificent champagne, I got him to remove his robe and lie on the bed with his head in my lap so I could massage his temples as the sun set over the West Side. At that point I realized Curt was going through a struggle with himself. He said, "I’m not sure if I can tell you this. It’s something completely unlike me. But I can’t get it out of my mind and it’s making me crazy.

"I don’t know who else I could tell the story to even though I do want to tell someone; because I have been wrestling with this for half a year and it scares me. I mean, I’m 44 and straight. I mean, hell, I have known and enjoyed quite a few women in my time. I like women. I like how they smell when they are aroused."

He grew quiet, but his eyes, staring into space, wobbled in his sockets. I quietly continued to massage his temples, and after a while said, gently, "So what is the issue? You’ve certainly convinced me you are interested in this woman. Is that what you are having a hard time saying, that I am the most ravishing creature you’ve ever wanted to ravish?"

He didn’t laugh. He began to talk.

"I was visiting one of my apartments when the tenant moved out. I have some condos, as investments, all around the North Side. I buy them in neighborhoods that are just breaking, and sell them when the neighborhoods pop. I made a killing in Lake View…"

"Curt, you’re waffling."

"Yeah, well, I was in one of the places after the tenant abruptly left, and I was there at sundown, looking at the holes in the walls and the stained carpet, and I was standing in the bedroom, in a shadow I think, and the window in the room looks out onto the bedroom of the apartment next door. The building is only about five feet away and these bedroom windows are just kind of, you know, right there. And there is a bed right along the window.

"Anyway, I was standing there and light went on in the other room and this guy walked in. He was pulling his shirt over his head and he didn’t see me when he went to the closet, and started taking off the rest of his clothes.

"I almost turned away, but something kept me there. I think it was just the idea that I could see him and he hadn’t seen me; it gave me a feeling of power. So I stood there and watched him pull off his socks. He had thick, full black hair, which made me a little jealous. His back was thin but in shape, like a welterweight, and I was fascinated by how his butt looked when his pants came down. It was very firm. I remember thinking that."

I said something I intended to be encouraging about how I liked to watch people take their clothes off, too, especially when they are completely unselfconscious about it.

Curt said, "But that’s just it. It wasn’t unselfconscious. He knew I was watching him. After bending over and stretching to reach something on a shelf, he abruptly turned full around and stood there, one hand on his hip, staring straight at me, with a little smile on his face. I was riveted to the spot, both angry at his trick and embarrassed that he had caught me watching.

"So he walks directly toward me, with a cock that is now at half-mast, and he lies down on the bed. This puts him about six feet from me, and he’s stretched out so I can see him from about his head, which is propped up on pillows, to his knees. He pulls the covers up to just below his balls and arranges his cock so it is lying on his stomach. Then he puts these clamps on his nipples.

"And I’m completely into it. I’m standing there looking at his impressively large cock wondering what is going to happen next when he hunches down on the bed and turns to look at me again. I can’t tell if I want to punch that smile off his face or put my hand on his cock."

Curt let those words sink in, and I felt blood puffing my labia. I had to clear my throat to say, "What did you do?"

"I stood there. I felt myself begin to sweat. I felt myself getting turned on. He put a finger in his mouth and sucked it and I could feel what it would be like if he had me in his mouth. Then he took his wet finger and dragged it down his chest, pausing to pinch a nipple and drop into his navel. By the time it got to the head of his circumsized cock, it was no longer lying on his stomach it was standing straight up. And when he gripped it with his fist, a shudder went through me. I had to pull sticky underpants away from the hot tip of my own cock."

As he spoke, Curt’s penis began to stir. As it engorged it looked like a pink snake expanding from a nest that was just beginning to go a little gray.

"Honest to God, Sophie, it was incredible to stand there. I hadn’t seen a man touch himself like that, sexually, in almost 30 years, since I was a kid and circle-jerked with members of my football team. Only this was much different, much hotter. Embarrassingly hot.

"I knew he must know that by not turning my back and walking away I was into his little performance. I mean, he was looking right at me and stroking his cock, pulling on it and then sliding up and down it."

Curt’s cock was now standing up, rising like an obelisque. I stopped my massaging to open a lubed condom and unroll it down his cock. I picked up his left hand and guided it to his lovely, fat, latex-covered member. I used my hand to wrap his fingers around himself and I tried to sound as soothing as I could, "Tell me how it really felt, Curt. Tell me how good it was while you show me how good it was."

Curt’s eyes had closed and he put up no resistance, stroking himself as if he knew the territory well.

"I like lying like this, Sophie, your lap feels so good, so soft. I know you are turned on. I can smell you through your robe." He had a definite point; it was turning me on something fierce to watch him playing with himself, and I was ovulating, so my hormones were yelling "yoohoo!" in italics. But I wasn’t about to let Curt off his particular hook. His story was too good. When I said "Tell me what happened, Curt. I want to know exactly how you were feeling. Can you remember it?" my voice was husky.

"Yes. Yes. My knees were beginning to go when he suddenly spun up and around and into a lotus-like position facing me. He pointed at my crotch and gestured that I should take my cock out. And, Sophie, this is what blows my mind. I did it. I unzipped my pants and pushed them and my underpants down to my knees. My cock jumped out from my shirt tails, the head shiny with my lubricant. I could feel myself giving off heat.

"It wasn’t like a dream or anything. It was all extremely real. There I was, leaning against the wall, pointing directly at some guy I had never seen before; then we were both jerking off furiously and, Sophie, I am to this moment embarrassed by how hot I felt. It was like the first time I ever orgasmed only this time it was a moment of total abandon. I am a controlling person, but there I was, and it felt really hot to me, really dirty, and when I came, it threw me to my knees."

At that point, my knees were twitching. The thought of this control freak womanizer finding his pan-sexual self was making me drip. It reminded me of the first time I felt myself turn on to a woman. I was so wet I was in danger of slipping off the bed -- or spontaneously orgasming. I really did not want either to happen; I was determined not to give in. Fortunately for me, in the next several moments, Curt went through a very rapid metamorphosis to the limp. He let out a great sigh as the shrunken head of his cock emerged from the condom.

"Sophie, it’s been driving me crazy. I think about that scene at the most inappropriate times. During the day when I’m in my office I get hard-ons. When I’m lying in bed with my wife, or Joani, whom I have been seeing for a couple of years, it has just the opposite effect. My erections just evaporate. I can’t come with a woman now. I only come when I’m thinking about jerking off with this guy.

"Sophie, I’ve never been impotent in my life. When a woman opens to me, even my wife, I respond. But now, something else is happening. And I don’t like it. I’m too old to suddenly go gay, but twice now I’ve had the powerful urge to go to gay bars, and just sitting there having a bad beer I get an erection. I don’t really talk to anybody and I certainly haven’t picked anybody up, but there I was sitting on a stool with a cock like a rock. I had to hold my coat in front of me to walk out of there. Both times. Sophie, I’m not at all sure what to think."

I could feel Curt’s body grow increasingly tense and I could sense the increasing difficulty he had in getting the words out. This was not easy for him. And to be truthful, I did not know what to say to him. I certainly hadn’t expected this. I felt his pain, and I wanted to tell him not to worry, that the problem was in blindly fighting his feelings not in the feelings themselves. I wanted to make a joke, but I couldn’t think of one he wouldn’t misinterpret.

Now I realize that for me what was happening was that the old Sophie maternal gene had kicked in. I felt sorry for him, and I respected that for Curt this was no joking matter. I wanted to let him know that it was okay for him to share his deep secret with me. So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I kissed him.

Lightly at first -- and upside down -- I kissed his lips, his nose and his eyes until he began to respond. Then I slid his head from my lap and moved my body around to lie alongside him. My robe fell open and the kisses became deeper. I remember distinctly how good it felt then to kiss Curt, and I was pleased to note that his snake began to grow again.

Of course the problem then was that I found myself facing my own control issues again. If I was to reassure Curt that he could indeed make love to a real woman, I would lose control and I would violate the cardinal rule of my project: No doing it with my subjects. So I did the next best thing. I kissed him deeply and I worked my hands down the places where our bodies touched until I found his nascent erection. Under the condom, it was still slick with his oil and warm, and it felt good in my fingers as it thickened and hardened. I managed to open and place another condom without breaking lip contact.

Meanwhile his fingers had found me and proved that I was even wetter than he, so I had to move quickly before my body threw itself on him. I slid his hand onto his erection and pulled my tongue from his mouth to say seven very difficult little words, "You know I can’t fuck you now." He began to protest but I put my fingers to his lips. I said, "But you can kiss me and rub yourself on my thigh. I want to feel you come. Do it for me. Please."

Well, to bring a long story to a close, he did. And it was an earth-shaker; he definitely filled the reservoir tip of that condom. I love being with a man when his orgasm is as intense as that. In fact, it was so good I could hardly wait for him to fall asleep so I could bring myself off.

In the morning I didn’t let Curt leave until we had a very long talk about this hitch in his self-image. I convinced him that the best way to deal with the problem was to work it out in some safe way, and we determined that at least at that moment Curt did not want to touch another man or be touched by one, but that he wanted to be with another man while they masturbated.

Well, hey, for Sophie, that was easy. I arranged for my young friend Christopher the dancer to put on a special one-on-two performance -- that is, Curt and I sat on a bed, naked, except for his condom, in the Ritz-Carlton and watched Christopher do his thing. For balance -- of more than one kind -- I nibbled on his ear and whispered encouragement, until at a moment of extreme passion Curt announced that he had to have me. For my part, my oven surely was stoked. I pulled up my skirt, pushed over my panties and impaled myself on him. (Technically, I told myself, I was not violating my own rules because this was after the interview session.) We got off so intensely that neither one of us even noticed when Christopher arched a load halfway across the room.

Since then, Curt has had no problem with his women. The even better news is that Curt tells me he’s feeling much more comfortable with himself in all his manifestations now. He’s told both his wife and his mistress about this little addition to his sexuality and, big surprise, they both have been understanding and relieved that his seeming lack of interest was an emotional hang-up and not some indication that their relationship was over. So understanding, in fact, neither objected to his flying off to San Francisco with an intro from yours truly for a San Francisco Jacks party. I can’t wait for him to tell me all about it.

My next challenge is to get him to tell his wife about his mistress. And his mistress about me.