Author of Heaven's Tale

The Dragon Lady

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I’m very sorry to be late posting.  I still have an erratic internet connection. This post is one of the first stories that I wrote in 2000.

The following story has sexual content.  Please don’t continue if such material is offensive to you.  Thank you.

The following was written as Exercise #7, p.204, The Art of Fiction

  1. Write a monologue of at least three pages, in which the interruptions – pauses, gestures, description, etc. – all clearly and persuasively characterize, and the shifts from monologue to gesture and touches of setting (as when the character touches some object or glances out the window) all feel rhythmically right. Purpose: to learn ways of letting a character make a long speech that doesn’t seem boring or artificial.


The Dragon Lady

        “Well, that’s an intimate question.”

“I’m serious.  Tell me how you lost your virginity.  I won’t laugh.  It wasn’t traumatic was it?”

I grinned and turned my head back and forth very slowly.  She giggled.

“Well tell me then.  And make it delicious.”  She uncoiled, and reaching with her hips, she rubbed her vulva against my leg.  “Come on.  Talk delicious to me.”

“All right,” I said.  “But this could take a while.”

She shrugged and reached up to rub her left nipple.  “Take your time,” hand rotating slowly.

“Okay.  The story begins in Lanesville, the fishing village on Cape Ann where my family had a summer place.  I turned fourteen that year.  Several families had built houses in the village, and several of the children fell into my age bracket.  From the first arrivals in June, we began pairing off.  Susan Sullivan told me the first day that we were a couple for the summer.  I actually admired Nancy King. a local girl, who made it clear that she wanted to experiment with all those things that feel so nice.  Most of our days and nights were now devoted to arranging ways to sneak out alone, finding safe places to go and practice.  I took both of them into the woods — individually, of course — where we kissed for hours, and I would eventually be rewarded with permission to cup a breast or rub a buttock or suck some toes.”  At which I grabbed her foot and yanked it toward my mouth.  She yanked it back and stared at me.  Then she reached with the same foot and began stroking my hip.


“Sex was in the air that year.  Or maybe sex was in the air every year, and I was just noticing.  But the adults were immersed in it, too.  Two beautiful stewardesses had a cottage down by the water, and they dated two seniors from Harvard who had a place a few miles down the road.  Their summer was an endless string of gin and tonics, barbecue, and skinny-dipping.

“Next door to the girls lived the Tahanys, a bizarre couple.  Marianne was tall and thin, with dark skin and salt and pepper hair that hung to her buttocks.  She was 42, had high cheekbones, and was rumored to be half Native American;  we called her the Dragon Lady.  She carried an unusual odor that I now know to be the smell of sex.  She liked to drink, and she and my Mom were in the habit of getting really high in the afternoons, slugging down Manhattans for hours.

“Donald, the husband, stood about six inches shorter than she — a squat, ugly little bear.  He was rumored to have immense strength.  Once, the story went, he and Marianne had a terrible argument.  She was drunk;  he was enraged and began to beat her.  She ran from the house and jumped into her little car, a Metropolitan made by American Motors.  By the time she got the engine started, Donald had reached the vehicle.  When Marianne tried to drive off, Donald picked up the rear of the vehicle, and the wheels spun uselessly.

“She was just one of the women rumored to be hot, but this type of speculation was dangerous because mothers and fathers were so much part of  the crowd.  Carolyn Steinberg, for example, but that’s another story.”  I lifted her foot off my thigh and stood abruptly.  She looked up, blinking.

“Want something to drink?  I’m parched.”  She nodded and handed me her glass.  I went to the kitchen counter and started assembling drinks.

“So the summer passed.  I snuggled my hand between the sweet, hot thighs of Susie Sullivan and Nancy King both.  One late night, I peeked in the window and saw one of the Harvard boys link up with one of the Stewardesses.  My parents and their friends partied every weekend, guzzling enormous amounts of alcohol and allowing inhibitions to drop away.”  I brought the drinks back, handed one to her, and settled back into the corner of the couch.  “Speaking of which,” I said, holding out my glass to clink, “Cheers.”  We both drank deeply.

“But when Labor Day weekend rolled around and all the families went back to their hometowns, I was still a virgin.  Started back to school in that unenviable state.  I attended St. John’s Preparatory School for Boys which as the name implies had no girls.”  She crinkled her nose in dismay at me.  “I couldn’t agree more.  But I went home nearly every weekend and we had our afternoons free.  Sometimes, girls from my hometown would drive over after school, and we’d go park in the woods and make out.”  She licked her lips at me.  I shook my head.  “Lots of kissing, a little bare tit, some butt rubbing.  Once Ann Gray and Diane Leach came together and…but that’s another story.”  She snapped her fingers, disappointed.

“Anyway, one weekend I went home, and discovered Marianne and my Mom, hanging out and drinking coffee.  They told me that I had a job the following weekend.  Donald needed some help building a little apartment at the back of their house.  He would pick me up at school on Friday, and I would stay at their house for the weekend.  I would be paid minimum wage which back then was $1.10 per hour if I’m not mistaken.

“So that Friday, I waited on the corner with my little bag, and suddenly the little Metropolitan screeched to a halt in front of me.  The convertible top was down.”  She opened her eyes wide, questioning.  I smiled wickedly.  She scrunched down and held her foot out to me.  I took it and began stroking very gently.

“She was drunk; her eyes were a little watery.  I could see a Manhattan glass on the floor between her feet.  ‘Donald was busy,’ she said.  ‘Asked me to pick you up.’  I jogged around to the other side and got in.  She took off, driving quickly.  I don’t think she said two words the whole trip.  At the house, she showed me to the room where I was to stay and told me to come to the television room when I had settled in.  A few minutes later, I went down the hall to the room she pointed out with the TV.

The TV room doubled as their master bedroom.  When I entered, she was sitting on the bed, still wearing black slacks and talking on the phone.  The TV picture flickered, but the sound was off.  That mysterious smell was strong, and she patted a spot beside her on the bed.  I stepped over and she took my hand and guided me to sit beside her.  She held my hand tucked under hers and said her goodbyes into the mouthpiece.  Then she turned and put her other hand on my face.  She leaned forward and kissed me, eyes wide, watching.  I froze, but my lips responded at least.  She chuckled, and I licked across her lower lip.  She cocked her head at me then took one hand and put it on her shoulder.  She took my other hand and placed it on her thigh.  ‘Don’t be afraid to touch me,’ she murmured and pulled me down on the bed.

This part was familiar territory, so I began kissing and stroking in the usual fashion.  But she was impatient.  Grabbed my hand and placed it carefully between her legs which she drew apart slowly and dramatically.  I began rubbing enthusiastically, and she responded.  Suddenly she grabbed my hand, guided it to the top of her pants, and unzipped.  I could feel bare flesh and the elastic of her panties.  My fingers slid down and hooked under the panties;  their tips brushed the coarse top of her pubic hair.  Her hand fell on my hip, and her palm slipped slowly downward.  Bang! the door downstairs, and she jumped to her feet, rearranged her clothes and whispered, ‘It’s Donald.  We’ll finish this later.’  I jumped up, too, and tried to re-arrange my erection.  She giggled and moved to the TV.  Just then Donald clumped in.”

I reached for my drink and she looked at me with a funny smile.  “You must have been ready to explode.” she said wryly, and she leaned forward and patted my lap with its partial erection.

I grabbed her hand and held it on my growing penis.  “I was.”  She stopped resisting and began lightly stroking.

“I’m not going to let you get distracted,” she said, still stroking.  “What happened next?”

I closed my eyes and ground my hips against her hand.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said and pulled her hand away.  “Finish the story.”

I groaned and reached for her, but the hand was gone.  I tried to glare at her but finally gave up and grinned.  “OK.  But get ready because things get a little kinky soon.”

She chuckled happily and stared expectantly.

“We all had supper together, then Donald had to go pick up some nails and tape and stuff for the next day’s work.  I went along, and, after riding in silence for a few minutes, I told him.”

“What!” she jerked forward.

“Yes, I told him the whole story.  I don’t know what possessed me.  I still can’t believe it myself, but I did.  I described the seduction scene in some detail and told him that she had whispered, ‘We’ll finish this later.’

“At that, he cleared his throat and told me that he had no objection, but that I should be careful because she had professional-level talents, and I would probably be disappointed by anyone else after her.  Somehow, I was not dissuaded.

“So the scene was set.  We picked up our materials, returned home, hauled everything up the stairs.  By then it was about 8 PM and they told me to get into my pajamas then come watch some TV.  I did, and when I arrived, Donald was in the bed watching a sitcom.  Marianne had on a long terry cloth robe and stood brushing her long hair by the fireplace.  I sat down on the edge of the bed.”

“You must have been nervous,” she broke in watching me closely.

I laughed.  “Not really, you know.  I knew something was going to happen, and I was really excited.  All right, a little nervous, yes.”  She smiled triumphantly.

“So Marianne said she was going to take a bath and went into the bathroom letting her robe slide off as she passed through the door, giving me a glimpse of her naked from behind.  I watched TV with Donald.  Marianne shouted banter to us from the bathtub and finally hollered, ‘I’m tired of shouting.  Bobby, I’ll bet a dollar you don’t dare come in here and talk to me.’

“Hey, a dollar’s a dollar, right?  So in I went.  She sat submerged in a sea of bubbles.  The tub was old fashioned, with claw feet and deep.  I sat on the toilet, and we chatted.  She was very flirtatious, moving the bubbles away from her breasts and extending her legs and soaping them down.  She said, ‘I’ll bet a dollar you don’t dare scrub my back.”

“Hey, a dollar’s a dollar, right?  So I sat on the edge of the tub, and she handed me the washcloth.  I bent to the task.  She purred and wiggled.  Finally she asked for her drink, which I brought and then she looked at me.  ‘You’re all wet, Bobby.  You might as well be taking a bath.  I’ll bet a dollar you don’t dare get in the tub with me.”

“Hey, a dollar’s a dollar, right?  So I slipped off my pajama top and looked down at my bulging bottoms.  She motioned me to take them off and, when I did, my erection stood forth.  At first I was embarrassed, but then I noticed that she was staring at it, making lip pouts and smackings so I guess she didn’t mind.  I stepped into the tub and looked down.  She pulled her knees back and opened her legs as wide as they could go.  Through the bubbles and the turbulence, I caught glimpses of her pubic hair.  Slowly, I squatted until I too was sitting on my end with my knees pressing against hers and my toes under her butt cheeks.  Naturally, it didn’t take long for us to both to be caressing each other with toes.”

She was rapt, but I needed a break.  I lifted her feet off my lap and stood up.  My erection bobbed forward.  I grinned, “Just acting out a few parts of the story,” and I circled it with my hand and started stroking.

She watched carefully for a few beats.  “I’m glad to see you’re still not embarrassed.”  I laughed and went to work on the drinks.

She sat up straight on the couch and lit a roach that was lying on the table.  “And the whole time, he was right next door watching TV.”  Shaking her head.

“Yes, but it was something between them.”  I handed her the drink and sat beside her on the couch.  “She was toying with him.  Of course, at the moment she was actually toying with me.

“I believe we were playing a game where I let my swollen penis bob to the surface amongst the bubbles, and she reached out and gently submerged it.  Suddenly she shouted, ‘Hey, Donald.  Come in here and watch this game we’re playing’…and he did.  He stood there, and she cooed, and my penis bobbed.  Then he mumbled something and left.  She shrugged and goosed me with her big toe again.

“But the water was getting cold, and the time had come to move to the next scene.  So we got out — she, kittenish, toweled me down.  She put on the robe, and I put on the pajamas.  In the TV room, Donald was back in bed watching a sitcom.  We hung out for about 30 seconds then Marianne said she was going downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee, and did I want to come help?

“I felt nothing but lust at this point, no matter what the games between them.  I was 14 years old and accepting this bizarre situation came easy.  ‘Sure.’  And we were running down the stairs, and she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen.  She leaned back against the counter, untied her robe, and yanked me against her.  We kissed for a while then our hands got busy.  She reached inside my pajamas and held me in her flaming hand.  I couldn’t breathe.”

She handed me my drink.  “Finally we’re getting to the good part.”

I took a sip and swirled it around my mouth.  “Well actually it wasn’t all that great.  We’d been at this foreplay for hours, and I had no reserves left.  She whispered, ‘In here!’ and yanked me into the living room where she flung open her robe and sprawled on the couch, one leg up on the top of the cushions.  I fumbled with my pajama bottoms, got them to the ankles, then half fell on top of her.  Marianne reached down and found my flailing member, guided it into her.  I lunged blindly, came immediately.  She hugged me and soothed me a little, then we dressed, made coffee and went back upstairs.  That was it.”

I waved my hands in a gesture of finality and sat back against the cushions.

“That was it?”  She sat up straight.  “What was it?  Then what happened?”

“I thought you wanted to know how I lost my virginity.”  I blinked my eyes in mock innocence.  She glared at me and growled like a bear.  We held eyes for a minute then chuckled together.  I took another drink.

“The next day, Donald and I worked on the apartment.  Marianne cooked and ran errands, and I didn’t see her much.  She was warm but not sexual.  Nobody mentioned the shenanigans of the night before.  On Sunday, Donald drove me back home.

“A few weeks later, I was sitting in a boring Religion class, when I was called out into the hall and to the principal’s office for an emergency phone call.  It was Marianne.  ‘I’ll pick you up in 15 minutes.  Tell them your uncle’s having surgery, and he’s asking for you.  I’ll be the aunt.’  And she hung up.

“I managed to blurt out the story to the monk in charge, and, sure enough, she pulled up in the little Metropolitan a few minutes later, harried and upset like any aunt whose husband was sick.  I jumped in, and off we went.  We heard the monk say, ‘God bless you.  You’re in my prayers,’ and we exploded in laughter.  Tears ran down my face as we howled and howled at that poor man’s prayers.”

I must have trailed off remembering because she said sharply, “Hey.  You don’t have to finish this story if you don’t want to.  You looked so sad for a minute there.”  She touched my face, and I felt tears brim my eyes at her tenderness.

“No, No.  It’s all right.  I don’t mind.”  I sat forward and found the joint in the ashtray.  Lit it, and took a big, big hit, held it as long as I could, and sat back on the couch.  When I started speaking again, my voice was an octave deeper.

“That afternoon she took me to the woods and showed me how to conduct love affairs in a small vehicle.  At one point, she bent down and took me in her mouth.  After a spell she looked up and said, ‘You must think I’m crazy,’ and went back to it.  I looked down at the back of her head and said, ‘No, just affectionate.’  She nearly choked laughing.

“We had lots of adventures.  She would come and get me at school.  Or sometimes she’d be hanging out at the house with my mother.  Once my Mom, who was busy, asked her to pick me up at school on a Friday and bring me home.  Once again I jumped in the little Metropolitan, and we zipped down the back roads, rushing to get home before my Mom would get there.

“We pulled into the driveway — my mother’s car was not there — and Marianne was out of the car and at the door before I could gather my books.  She waited for me, swishing her skirt impatiently, and as we went into the kitchen, she turned and, very significantly, reached into the pocket of her coat.  I couldn’t help staring as she pulled out the corner of something silk.  A little more came out, and, yes, it was her panties.  When she saw my recognition, she laughed, turned quickly, and skipped down the stairs to the family room my Dad had built in the basement.  I hurried down after her.”

I leaned back against the cushions and stretched my arms high over my head.  My joints made a lot of satisfying crunches.  She winced when she heard the noises, but otherwise sat quietly waiting.  I rolled my head in a few circles and took a deep breath.

“When I got to the family room, her coat was on the floor, and she was sitting in the middle of the couch.  She held up both palms to stop me.  I stopped.  She looked right at my face as she pulled her knees up towards her shoulders.  She reached down and began to pull up the edge of the skirt very slowly.  I let my eyes fall very deliberately until I stared directly at her lips.  Her hands ran down her inner thighs, and she began rubbing herself.  ‘Bobby.’ she said.  ‘Come over here.’

“When my mother pulled in the driveway few minutes later, I was kneeling on the floor.  Marianne was holding herself wide open and showing me the most sensitive places to lick on the clitoris.  She pushed my head away, bounced up, and grabbed her coat all in the same motion.  Bounded up the stairs and greeted my Mom at the door.  We helped her carry in the groceries.”

“My God,” she said.  How long did this go on?”

I closed my eyes and tried to count.  “I guess about six months;  we got together about twenty times.”

“Jesus,” she murmured.

“Okay,” I said.  “This story has two climaxes.  I guess I should more correctly say, two more climaxes.  Anyway, I was invited to work another weekend at the Tahany household.  Donald picked me up this time, and he was very surly in the car.  Barely spoke to me.  After dinner, Donald went to watch TV, and Marianne pulled me aside.  Said she had some bad news.  Donald was suddenly objecting to our affair.  Maybe he was getting jealous.  He told Marianne that the only way that she and I could continue to have sex was if I would get into bed with both of them.  If I didn’t agree, then our affair was over, and if he caught us together again, he’d kill us both.

“Well, as usual I was following her lead.  She said, ‘I told him you wouldn’t agree to such a thing.’  I nodded.  ‘OK.’ she continued.  ‘We’ll have to be careful.  Tonight, I’ll wait for him to fall asleep, then I’ll come get you.  We’ll sneak downstairs,’ and she placed her hand on my crotch for emphasis.  ‘OK,’ I said dumbly.”

She leaned over and put her head on my shoulder.  “You poor guy.  I guess I have to hear the rest, huh?”  She stroked my arm.  I nodded.

“That night, I slept down the hall.  About 3 AM she woke me, and we tiptoed down the stairs in the dark.  We installed ourselves on the same couch and began, whispering and giggling, and finally breathing heavy.  My pajama bottoms came off and her robe was wide open.  We got horizontal.

“Bam, we heard the door fly open and a screech, and he was on us.  Grabbed me by the ankle and shoulder and flung me across the room.  I skidded into some table legs.  Marianne was screaming, ‘Help me, Bobby.  Help me.’  I could just make them out in the dark.  He had her against the wall, and he was pounding punches into her belly.  I ran at him, but when I grabbed his arm, he punched me hard in the face with the other hand.  I went down, and he began kicking me very hard.  I curled in a ball and tried to protect my face.  Marianne jumped on his back and screamed that he was going to kill me.  He said ‘Good!’ and continued kicking.  Finally, she ran to the door and turned on the light.  Donald froze in mid-kick when the lights came on.  Stood there puffing for a minute, staring down at me then stormed into the kitchen.  Marianne motioned me to wait and followed him.

“I put on my pajama bottoms and sat guiltily on the couch.  Negotiations in the kitchen were going badly.  Voices began as murmurs, but escalated until he was screaming.  Twice he slapped her, and once she told him she’d slam the frying pan on his head.  I pictured her holding the pan high and backed in the corner like a tall, feral creature.

“Finally they called me in.  Donald was volatile, reasonable one minute then rushing across the room at me like a mad bull.  He was sick of our disrespect.  I was to get out of his house right now.  He was calling my parents to come and get me.  Marianne looked at me hard.  Told me to go upstairs, get dressed, and pack my things.  She would take care of things.  I waited for what seemed like hours, but finally she came upstairs and told me that she had called Neil and that he would arrive soon.  I sat slumped and sore with my bag at the top of the stairs.

“In a little while, Neil rang the bell; Marianne answered.  He stepped in the door, looked up at me and snarled, “Get in the car and wait for me.”  I was out the door and in the familiar Chrysler in a shot.  Finally, the front door opened, and Neil came out.  Got in the car and drove off without a word.  We headed toward home and after about 15 minutes of silence, Neil pulled over.

He turned on the overhead light and looked at my swollen lip.  ‘You OK?” his voice was very tender.  I nodded.  Then I asked him if Donald still intended to call my parents.  He said, “No.”  He told me that Donald had been furious when he first arrived and threatened to call my parents right then.  But Neil played hardball.  Told Donald that he would call the police and turn him in.  Seems that for many years Donald had been making porno movies starring — you guessed it — the Dragon Lady.  Back then, such things were extremely illegal.  If either one came near me again, he would expose them both.  We sat in the dark on the side of the road for a minute.  Then he flicked on the headlights and drove me home.”

I stretched my arms way over my head again.  “Climax Number One,” I intoned.  When I brought my arms down, she scooted over up against me and stroked my arm.  “You poor guy,” she moaned against my skin and kissed me.

“Wait till you hear Climax Number Two,” I said shaking my head.  She pushed herself back and stared at me, waiting.

“I didn’t see either one of the Tahanys for a long time.  Then about six months later, I came upon the little red Metropolitan in front of the liquor store.  I waited across the street, and when she came out, I crossed and caught her before she got into the car.  ‘Hello, Marianne.’

“She smiled at me, and we chatted about the weather and other banalities, but a current of emotion bubbled under the words.  Then she said, ‘Bobby, I have a confession to make; I broke a promise that I made to you.  Remember when I told you that I’d never make love with anyone else but you — and Donald, but only because he’s my husband and I had to?’

“‘Yes, Marianne, I remember.  Who’s the lucky guy?’ said with all the flippancy a fifteen-year-old could muster.

“‘Your Father.’  And she waved goodbye with her fingers and got into the Metropolitan.

“I caught her eye before she started the car. I said, ‘Tell him I was asking for him.’  The engine turned over, and she drove off.”

I blew a weary “Whew.  Climax Number Two.”

We sat in silence for a long time.  Then I said, “I went to an all-boys high school and an all-boys college.  In my entire adolescence, from 12 to 20, my best sexual experiences were with my mother and her friends.”

More silence.  Then she stirred, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom.





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