Archive-name: Control/heat1to4.txt Archive-author: Archive-title: The Heat - (Parts 1-4 of 8) 1 On July 11th, the temperature in downtown Willyville topped 94 degrees, a considerable jump from the high of 78 the previous day. The high pressure area that Bob Katt, the weather forcaster for TV station KNUT, had been predicting all week had finally arrived. The sun sat hot and brassy in a sky devoid of clouds. Bob Katt had predicted that the temperature would only increase for the rest of the week, at least. The heat wave had begun. Three days later the temperature broke 100 and everybody knew the heat was here to stay. The air was hot and heavy. Those unfortunate enough to be working outside or without benefit of air conditioning groaned and cursed the sun, giver of all life and bringer of all misery. Skin became a much more common sight as uncomfortable humans stripped down to the bare neccessities, if not farther, in search of some relief. As clothes fell away, so did inhibitions as the human, the horniest animal on earth (who was actually capable of becoming sexually aroused at the mere sight of the uncovered body of a fellow human of the preferred sex! Imagine that!) began to follow the urges that nature had imbued them and that they themselves had honed to a fine and wonderous art. In other words, once the night cooled off, they started fucking like rabbits. But human nature can be a two edged sword, and while one edge was sweet, the other was very bitter indeed. Hot weather and its attendant ills caused tempers to flare where they otherwise would have been held with discretion. Many great home truths, which had been considerately unmentioned by friends, lovers, relatives, etc., suddenly came out in full force with the expected arguments and fights following. Frustration at the endless discomfort caused human to strike out at fellow human in a futile substitute for lashing back at the true source of their aggravation, a safe 93 million miles out of reach. The local constabulary spent a great portion of their time quelling these arguments. Of course, being human and just as uncomfortable as everybody else, their tempers were somewhat shorter than they would normally have been, and guess who they took it out on? Quite a number of offenders made their way to the local lockup by way of the local emergency room. But all of this was simply human nature, and none of it was very serious, at least not on a grand scale. Civilization had survived much worse. But on a personal level some of the catastropies were very serious. Some lives were changed completely. One such person who'd had his life changed by the heat was Harold Sykes. And here's what happened... --- The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the bedroom with an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant 75 degrees. Perfect temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh of pleasure not yet faded to memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed between her knees, his erection pounding almost painfully against his belly. The moonlight spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly eyed her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of her orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the wiry mass of her pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent so much time carefully and artistically bringing her to a powerful climax. Whatever else you could say about his performance in the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of the skills he was especially proud of. But enough wool-gathering (bad pun intended). Harold leaned forward, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her. He kissed her fully and deeply as he gently lowered his weight onto her. For a moment they simply lay there, as he savored the full body contact, the feel of her naked skin against his own. Then he raised his hips and she gently guided him into her. For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever compare to the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust deep, and her hips moved in response. His excitement towered to new heights, and his balls ached for release. Take it slow, take it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand along her side, from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving. He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythem, her hips moving with his. Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her hands moved along his back. Her breathing became short and rapid, and Harold knew she was building to another orgasm. With each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a new height until finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too soon... Too late. He cried out as his seed shot into the warm depths of her body. Face straining, he pumped again, one last time, trying to squeeze what last litle bit of feeling might be left after that almost painful explosion of pleasure. Then he collapsed on top of her, exhausted. For an endless time he lay, gathering strength. Finally it soaked into his sated conciousness that something was wrong. Cindi lay beneath him wooden, unmoving. He looked down into eyes that stared back with cold fury. "What- what's the matter?" The anger in her eyes flared as she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him off. Her strength was surprising, and Harold fairly flew against the wall by the bed. Blinking back stars, he looked at her in confusion. "God dammit!" she yelled. Frightened now, Harold could only gasp, "What... what..." "You didn't even try to make it last!" Hands on hips, her bare breasts jiggled fetchingly as she shouted. But Harold wasn't exactly fetched at the moment. "I sure did try! It's not my fault-" "The fuck it isn't! You don't even TRY!" she yelled, "Two pumps, a tickle, and a squirt and that's all you're ever good for! I'm sick of it!" What the fuck was this? It was hard to believe she had been so intimate and caring a minute before. Miss Jekyl had just turned into a raving Miss Hyde and Harold was far too stunned to properly defend himself. "You mean to say you haven't gotten any enjoyment out of tonight?" "Ha!" She was gathering her clothes and putting them on now. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might get a little tired of being frigged and licked every single night? I want a MAN, dammit! Not some little boy who shoots his wad five seconds after he gets his pants off!" He watched, unbelieving, as she stomped around the room. This was the woman he had been so in lust with the last few weeks? Was he really such a terrible lover? "Why are you doing this to me?" "You did it to yourself." she snapped. She was fully dressed by now. Shouldering her handbag, she turned to him. "I'm leaving now. Until you learn how to fuck, don't bother calling me." Her pretty features twisted into an ugly ironic smile, "Have a nice life." And then she left. Harold stared at the door a long time, his stomach churning along with his mind. Cindi had deliberately set about to hurt him in the worst way she possibly could. The only thought that kept running through his head was WHY? The sound of a car starting and pulling out floated in through the bedroom window. Somehow this sound seemed to bring reality back into focus and his mind started working again. With a snarl he jumped off the bed and ran to the window, throwing the curtains aside. He screamed something out the window, causing lights to come on all over the neighborhood: "YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He ducked back inside before anybody could see him, collapsing back on the bed. Nothing was resolved, and some painful issues would have to be dealt with in the near future. But he had to admit that, for the moment, he felt a little better. 2 The days seemed to grow longer, and if possible, hotter. Bob Katt recieved the usual number of crank letters and calls demanding he do something about the heat. He even went so far as to run a videotape of an indian rain dance on his show. No such luck, and the local indian community inundated KNUT with calls demanding Bob's resignation for broadcasting racist material. A couple dozen even went so far as to picket the station's parking lot. It was noted by many that some of the placards bearing the station's call sign, the N and the U were transposed, though whether this was accidental or intentional was unclear. Bob was beginning to wonder if it was time for that long overdue vacation. The station manager wondered the same thing. The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor's office to temporarily modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to pursue their own version of 'personal freedom'. A story about it appeared in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor's office recieved over a thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80% of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no comment from the mayor's office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation... --- For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds. The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker for singing "Zipity-Doo-Da" one morning after announcing his engagement. After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid) vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon. Instead he sat at home, watching "Love Boat" reruns and drinking some horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was the word of the day here. He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang. The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why bother? Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with. "Go fuck yourself." There was moment's hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of the other end. "Harold! How ya doin'?" "Hi, Tom." Harold sighed. Tom was Harold's best friend and a devout hedonist, to boot. "I'm doing fine. Just don't feel like getting out much in this heat, is all." "Yeah, right." Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he didn't believe a word of it. "Well, shit, man, you need to get out sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just the thing..." Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom's 'just the thing' ideas was the last thing he needed right now. "Uh, look, maybe later-" "Later my ass!" The voice on the other end roared. "I know what happened. Kelly told me." Harold's eyes widened but he really wasn't surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that sledgehammer. Tom continued, "Shit, man, something like that would've killed me. Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has a right to do that to somebody else." "Yeah, I ain't too happy about it either. But I can't do anything, so how about I call you later-" "I ain't done yet." Tom interrupted firmly. "You've got to get out of there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer, you're going to do something stupid." Harold felt a sudden shock. What had he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn. "Look, Harold, I'm your buddy. It hurts me to see what she's done to you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There's a party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang's gonna be there, along with a bunch of other people I don't know. Lots of available girls, I hear. Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble." Harold's voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. "I... I don't know..." "Aw, c'mon. I want you there. You don't have to do anything or talk to anybody if you don't want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I ain't heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad." "Well..." "It's settled, then." Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. "I'll be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don't drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?" Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit better. Tom's nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. "Sure, why not? Should I bring anything?" "Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe." They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still a ways off. In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the bathroom, hand over his mouth. He almost made it. 3 The week wore on and Willyville got even hotter, if such a thing was possible. It also got weirder, and many had considered that impossible, too. During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat. Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city, beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after all, you don't even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the wall where the family's most cherished appliance once rested and subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were "interesting". In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It seems the building's air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was not fired on the spot. Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation... --- Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn't slept at all the previous night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had never been a party animal, and recent... events... had convinced him that he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race (read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn't keep Cindi happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go? Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had a point: right or wrong, he had to do something. Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a moody silence, soaking up Tom's words and saying almost something in return. If Tom noticed, he didn't show it as he kept up a steady monologue all the way to the house. The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house's budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house's inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom's car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely. The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere, talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue. Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom, then his rational mind took over. What's your problem? it said. You're an adult, you don't need a keeper. So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see. In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by one particular member of one team. She wasn't tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold's attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the crowd. His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful orgasm... Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn't, why should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began to make his way back towards the house. Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all the world to see. He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was staring directly at him. He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he didn't know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there, challenging him with her gaze. Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this instant. But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn't know, but he somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them. Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but... He felt as if she wanted him, too. 4 Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those who hadn't had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back yards. They brought TV trays, TV's, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness. All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices, televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house, when night fell, the real party began... --- Harold Sykes hadn't left the party like he planned, although he came awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him. Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing. "Better." sighed Harold, "I really feel better." Tom gave him a wink. "You may be feeling better than that before the night's over, old buddy." and sauntered off before Harold could say anything. Now what was that supposed to mean? As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold didn't feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other day. Drugs didn't hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him. Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door. The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway, hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins. Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner he recieved the shock of his life. The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren't imaginable. Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the co-ed sitting on the floor between the man's feet. The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent. He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the setup. His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too much. He didn't want any part of this. All he wanted was out. Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn't want to see. There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips, moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn't know who the guy was but he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible. Her parting words rang in his mind: "I want a man, dammit!" Well, fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going. Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his thoughts together. If he didn't do it quick, he feared he might lost his mind. He had to get away, somehow! There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within. Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for who knew how long before he finally calmed down. His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total darkness, that that the room wasn't empty after all. After a long moment, he finally summoned up a weak voice. "Who's there?" There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone after all, when a soft voice answered "Are you all right?" Fuck NO! I ain't all right, you stupid... But Harold controlled himself before replying, "I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or so." He hesitated before the next question, "Are you, um, alone?" "Yeah." she replied, "I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something." Harold got up, a little unsteadily "I'm sorry. Sorry I barged in on you. I'll leave now." "Please, don't." she said, "Unless you really need to. I think we could both use someone to talk to." Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. "Sure, why not?" After a silent moment, he continued, "Would you mind turning on a light? I'd like to see who I'm talking to." "Well," she began doubtfully, "you may feel more comfortable without the light, but if you insist..." There was a click and a flare of light exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day. Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light, opening them a moment later. "Oh! It's you!" --