The Storm Giants by Pearce Hansen Page A

the corner and Everett followed her to a room further down the hall from the broom closet.
    It was an examination room with table, overhead light and cabinets of medical equipment. She already had her top off and was down to her brassiere. Everett opened his mouth to speak and she put her finger to his lips in a ‘S-s-s-h’ gesture.
    S he unhooked her bra. When her breasts spilled out Everett thought he would faint. She placed his hands on them, placed her hands atop his. He felt her nipples erect as she steered his caresses. Her Chanel No. 5 was overwhelming in its implications.
    She disengaged , gave his arm a sensuous stroke, and turned to step out of her skirt. Hurriedly, Everett shucked his tee shirt over his head. When he could see again she was pulling off her panties. He doffed his trousers so quick, he almost fell over.
    He was naked with a woman for the first time an d he took a long, deep shuddering breath. When he remembered to exhale, it came out as a sigh.
    She gesture d to the examination table. He scrambled to sit on its end. She gently pressed him onto his back. The paper rustled and crinkled beneath him as he squirmed his ass to lay down flat.
    She straddled him. H e felt her smooth mound and almost finished right then. She guided him, taking him in and riding, riding. His head fell back and he thought ‘Now I am a man,’ and then thought nothing for a while.
    He figured he’ d be done as quickly as the first time. However, whenever he got close she’d stop riding and clamp her hand around his base until the throbbing eased. It was a long time before she finally let him finish. Her moans were rhythmic, repetitive.
    Afterward she lay atop him, breasts smooshed against his chest. Their faces were almost touching, and her lips were parted. Shyly, he lifted his head to kiss her. She turned her head away so he had only her perfect ivory profile to consider. She uncoiled from him, their separation a ‘plop’ that dismayed him with a sense of loss.
    Her back was to him as she dressed . He knew she was alone in the room again, and ceased pretending to exist for her. She left that arctically frigid room first by unspoken demand. When he heard her cries behind the door on his way out, this time he did not approach to listen.
    His dreams that night were confused montages of her nakedness , alternating with the pain and blood he combated on every visit. Things were all mixed up. Torture led to reward. Pleasure led to pain.
    At one point he dreamt of making love to the receptionist , and Doctor Dauffenbach’s smiling face arose to supplant hers. Everett awoke with a choking gasp, to the thunder of the storm giants’ laughter.
    Their laughter faded as sleep fled, not to return that night. It was the first time he’d heard their voices since he encountered them as a child in Hayward.
    The day came for Everett’s next appointment. Walking up the steps to Dr. D’s office, he was met at the door by the receptionist, who was just locking up. Everett was both excited and frightened to see her without Doctor D around. There would be no more appointments, this cold blonde goddess said. Her husband Doctor Dauffenbach had died the night before.
    Even at the time Everett wondered about the age difference between old Dr. D and this much younger trophy wife of a receptionist, but other facts bubbled up to prevent dwelling upon it. Soon enough came the whispers of suicide, of how Doctor D was found in his den with a gun in his mouth and his brains painted on the wallpaper behind his shattered head. Then came the news that he’d taken the coward’s way out one step ahead of the Israelis, who were closing in on him to discuss certain of his activities during WW2.
    D ead Doctor D’s photo was on the front pages of all the Bay Area papers, and a top news story for every local TV station. There were reports of how Doctor D had been a Nazi. Of how bad a boy he’d been in the Camps, and of the sham life he built for himself in