ARABIA FELIX To say that Felix was unlucky in meeting his end would not have been strictly true. There was a sense in which luck had nothing to do with it, and in which Felix had been aimed all his life, and in his innermost being, at that tragic finale to his earthly existence. For Felix, in spite of his wealth (for he was quite wealthy), was mean. I had known Felix in school and after we left I continued to see Felix once or twice a year. I changed. I became hardened to the world, learnt the rules of its game, and prospered in a modest way as a book seller in one of those little out-of-the-way stores, hardly larger than a dining room, where they sell old and curious books Felix, however, stayed just as he had been in school, with perhaps the addition of a few lines around his eyes, indicating a certain petulance, and also a hidden sadness: though what the fellow had to be sad about I could not say. He was, after all, owner of the Hallmark millions, had been placed in the directorship of one of the larger subsidiary companies the minute he left school and, on the death of old Hallmark, a few years later, had become sole and ruling monarch of the whole empire. He also married a strikingly beautiful woman with a strong sex drive, who had had a number of affairs in her youth, but who had given all her lovers away for the sake of Felix and who, up to the point of this story, was totally loyal to him. I often wondered why such a desirable woman would have been attracted to one such as Felix, for he was a short man and not handsome. " Money !" you might sneer. "She just wanted to get her hands on Felix's check book !" But you would be wrong, my friend. Angelina was not that sort of woman. The mystery remains a mystery. In spite of this good fortune, Felix was dissatisfied. On the rare occasions we met, Felix was urbane and charming and we spent most of the time discussing old times and women. Felix was fascinated by my adventures ( I was still single) and insisted on the tiniest details of my conquests, but he inturn wanted to talk of Angelina and her ways in bed, and the perfection of her body, of what she said, how she cried out. I often left our meeting feeling quite randy and wondered if Felix did not intend that, for he was a little jealous of my own conquests. Fortunately I had an old friend, a matronly woman of middle years, who would take me in her large bosom and welcome me between her heavy thighs. She knew that I was thinking of Angelina when I spent in her, but she also knew I also sought relief and wanted nothing more of her. She felt towards me as she might have felt towards a little boy who wanted a lolly. She was in short generous in a way many women are not. The last time we met, Felix was in a sombre mood. I sensed straight away that something was up from the directness of his invitation. He merely walked into the shop, grunted the usual formulae and invited me out for a walk. It was a winter's afternoon, a Saturday, and the city streets were nearly empty. I had been stocktaking since early that morning and was glad to lock up my little shop, to stretch my legs and to get away from the smell of old books. "It's Angelina," said Felix, once we had entered a coffee shop and were seated in a varnished wooden cubicle. I waited for the usual string of arousing details about that strange goddess, and even then my tool began to twitch a little, and I though with satisfaction of later going round to my older female friend. "She says I'm not 'cultural' enough. Think too much about the business." He frowned and stared into his cup. I felt vaguely let down. He seemed to hesitate, then went on. "So I wondered if I could have you round to meet her for dinner sometime, she would see the sort of friends I have. Cultural ones." I first I was going to refuse. I did not want to be sneered at by this strange and exclusive woman but I was suddenly very curious to meet her. Next Saturday evening, therefore, I knocked on the door of a large, ranch style brick house in one of the more prestigious suburbs. I could hear Bach being played in the distance and then quick steps, a woman's steps, sounded and the door swung open. "Oh, hullo," said Angelina. She smiled warmly at me. I grunted an awkward reply and introduced myself. I was quite overcome by her beauty, her attraction. She was a tall woman with a mane of glossy black hair and dark brown eyes, a strong face, sensuous lips, long neck and was wearing an evening gown of some red satin. Her cleavage was deep for the gown was low cut and her tits were big ones, upthrust. Her hips were wide and, I felt, welcoming. She saw my frank appraisal of her charms and smiled more broadly, showing perfect white teeth. "I am glad someone with so much expertise with the fair sex finds that I am up to standard," I looked slightly puzzled. "It's all right," she went on. "Felix often entertains me with some of your exploits." She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sure we will get on very well," she added and she suddenly gave me a peck on the cheek, so that I could smell the musky and expensive perfume she wore, then stepped back and ran her fingers down my cheek with a thoughtful look on her face. "Come on," she said, turning. "Let's see Felix." I shook hands with him in the living room and he handed me a glass of whisky, sat down with me by the open fire and chatted in a fairly inconsequential way, then went to get himself a gin and tonic, but found they were out of tonic water. I could see him talking with Angelina in the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by only a long bench. She was putting the finishing touches on the meal there. Felix then came back and told me he was going down to the bottle shop. "Won't be long. If you get bored you can talk to Angelina." And he left to the sound of the front door shutting. I wondered how long he would be, then I got up, restless and walked into the kitchen. Angelina had her back to me and was chopping onions. She wore a large white chef's apron over her evening gown and her body was moving in a most interesting way as she chopped. She sensed my presence before I could speak and turned round with a large grin, open and boyish, almost conspiratorial. "Hi," she said. "Want to help me open this?" She handed me a bottle of soy sauce whose lid was stuck. "Use some of those big manly muscles on it eh?" She said it in a husky voice that made my pulse quicken. I opened the bottle and handed it back to her. She looked at the wall clock. "Felix won't be too long, but I've wanted to do this since I saw you at the door." She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward and without warning pulled me to her and kissed me passionately, her tongue probing my mouth. I hesitated, shocked, then tongued her back as her hand pressed my head into hers. She pulled free with a gasp. I was panting too. "There," she said. "You wanted to do that too, didn't you?" She glanced down at my trousers where I was starting to become engorged. She placed a hand over the bulge and squeezed. "Oh," she sighed, "I want you, my friend." We kissed again, and then wheels crunched on the drive and with one last squeeze of my bulge she pulled free. "Better stop now," she said, smoothing her dishevelled hair. "We might get a chance to do something later." I said I thought not, but she smiled mysteriously, and put a finger on her lips. When Felix came in I was sitting next to the fire, my whisky in my hand, and hoped he would not notice my excited state. We had a most agreeable meal and I calmed down and joined in the conversation in my usual debonair way. Angelina went to make coffee. Felix had his back to her, but I was facing her could see her clearly in the kitchen, and at one stage, as the coffee was percolating, she caught my eye, then pulled down one side of her evening gown, freeing a large, firm breast. She slowly played with the nipple and looked at me, ran her tongue over her lips. I began to lengthen and became flushed again. Angelina put her breast back and continued with the coffee and I went and stood by the fire, hoping that would excuse my flushing. "Cold are you old chap?" said Felix, and getting up he put the last piece of wood on the blaze, but muttered something about not having chopped enough that afternoon. I sat back down at the table and we all had our coffees and a liqueur, and then Felix jumped up. "Excuse me for ten minutes or so. I'll just split some more wood. " He trotted out and Angelina got up immediately he was gone, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet. "Quick," she said. "Come with me." We went down a corridor and in the first door which was that of a small guest bedroom. There the woman pulled back the curtains so we could see Felix, under an outdoor light, at the end of the back yard, splitting wood. She closed the door behind us but did not put on our own light. Then she knelt and pulled down my trousers and began fondling and sucking my cock till it was very hard. "Come on," she grunted, standing and turning round so her elbows rested on the window sill. I lifted her gown from behind and discovered that she had nothing on underneath. In the dim light I ran my fingers up and down her slit, which was very ready and lubricated by her own excitement. "Quick!" she hissed. "He's almost finished!” I slammed into her hard, faster and faster till I tightened my buttocks, thrust into her one last time and shot my load. I could see Felix coming down the path with a large number of logs in his arms. We disengaged and Angelina pulled down her gown, pulled me out the door, still struggling with my pants, and pushed me further down the corridor. "Second door down, toilet," she whispered, and trotted back to the living room just in time to drape herself over the couch with a glass in her hand and a languid expression on her face. Felix suspected nothing and when I flushed the toilet, after adjusting my clothing suitably, he was all bonhomie. I myself was in a strange and agitated state and wanted to get home and deal with my boner, so I excused myself as soon as I decently could. We all shook hands, laughing and joking as one does, and I went to my little sports car. There was a note under the wiper. "I sometimes go for a walk at night to clear my head. Can you wait at the park at the end of the street? Be there in 20. Amuse yourself by thinking of me." The note was unsigned. I had been waiting only ten minutes and was slowly pumping my swollen member and thinking of Angelina, when there came a tap on the side window. I jumped guiltily, then saw a shapely figure in a track suit. Once in the car she directed me to a nearby motel and I wondered how often she had done this, and once there she left the car, insisting on paying for the room herself, and when she got back in, she directed me to one of the back units. She had been playing with me and sucking on my rod during the trip and now we were both in no mood to slow down, so we almost ran into the apartment, tore off our clothing and fell onto the big double bed, grunting and moaning, our hands and tongues exploring every part of the other's body, till Angelina's nipples stood up like little thumbs and her piss flaps were fat and slippery with her mucus. The bedside lamp was on, for Angelina, as she explained, liked to watch. We could take no more foreplay and when I lay on her, she took my dick in her hot, strong hand, spread her legs wide and almost rammed me into her. We fucked for much longer this time, stopping to get onto the floor where she got on all fours and I rooted her doggy style. That was when I finally felt my balls tighten, and moaning a warning I spent in her. We collapsed, still joined, then I pulled out and she licked me clean but when I started to grow long again she got up. She rummaged through her clothing on the floor and found her watch. She frowned. "Have to go now. It's been almost an hour and I never go walking longer than that. Can you drop me off at the end of the street?" When we parted I told her where my shop was and she said she would love to visit me sometime. "To see all those interesting books," she said, giggling. Over the next year she used to visit me about once every two weeks and we did very little research into my stock but a lot into eachothers' bodies. We began to fall in love with each other, a thing I usually tried to avoid with my women. But there it was. It was perhaps fortunate that events now freed Angelina of Felix, for we would eventually have been caught at our play. So one Saturday afternoon that next winter, I received another call from Felix in my shop. He told me that Angelina had been more and more distant from him and that he was sure it was because of his lack of culture. Perhaps if he bought her something "cultural"? I thought briefly on the subject, then I had an idea. We took only a few minutes to walk a little way down the street, to a small second-hand shop which, in spite of its run down appearance, was the happy hunting ground for the rich and the artefact-hungry for a hundred miles around. It was still open. "Hassan," I said to the dark-skinned, hawk-nosed inhabitant of the ship. "Meet Mr Hallmark. He is interested in having a look at your very fine wares." Hassan, who was an Alexandrian, made a little bow, never taking his dark eyes off my friend. "Perhaps Monsieur would like to see some rings?" said Hassan, who came forward now and, placing a guiding hand under my friend's elbow, escorted him off into the sound-deadened recesses of the shop. I was relieved, for Hassan's approach to his customers had too much intimacy about it to make it easy to witness. In any case I had spotted Jasmine, Hassan's young cousin or niece or something, and his weekend assistant in the shop. We had first met when he had sent her round to my shop to see if I would like to buy an old Coptic prayer book. I paid her for it, to encourage more visits, and also tupped her in my back room in a most athletic way. She used to drop in from time to time with other books, and would leave with the money and my seed in her hot little womb. So it was that when she saw me approach she pulled me behind a pile of boxes and hissed in my ear, "We must be quick." I could see Hassan and Felix talking behind a pile of carpets at the back of the shop, under its one feeble light bulb. When I turned back to Jasmine she had already done something to her dark robes and was naked all down her front, from her jutting little tits to her broad bare feet. I freed my member and she gave a little cry of anticipation and held it, squeezing, as I kneaded her breasts. Like a lot of eastern women, who may sometimes have small tits, her nipples were enormous. I bent to suck on them, but she pushed me away. "No. Just service your little Jasmine, or we have no time!" So saying she placed her hands and arms on a low shelf, thrust out her bum and I lifted the robes and admired her broad buttocks and glistening slit, then guided myself in and began moving back and forth, back and forth till I was ready. Then I slammed into her, pushing her head and shoulders through the shelf to the other side and spurting my semen copiously into her eager little womb. At this stage angry voices roused us from our agreeable coupling, and pulling out of my willing little friend, and adjusting my clothing, I hurried to the back of the shop. Hassan was excited. I mean, more than usually so, and though he normally waved his arms about and shouted when he made a deal, I could see that there was an extra energy in his gestures that told of a nerve touched. Felix was facing him under the single naked bulb that lit this bizarre arena, a small space piled high on all sides with old rugs and carpets. My friend's head was lowered, his jaw, such as it was, thrust forward, his eyes protruding. "And I say you're a damned robber!" Felix ground out between clenched teeth. Then, sensing my presence, he turned. "Look at this, Martin!" he said. "This crook wants me to pay four grand for something that he admitted was made on a power loom!" Hassan calmed immediately he saw me and I liked his calm even less than I had liked his rage. "I told Monsieur that it was a 'rug of power'," he said, smoothly. "And this is so." "Oh," said Felix, sobering. "Some sort of technical term, eh?" He peered closely at the Alexandrian. "Are you sure that doesn't mean it's made on a machine?" Hassan said nothing. In the end they settled on a thousand dollars, and even this Felix paid with very bad grace. "You have made a good purchase," said Hassan, displaying the rug in the light. I looked and saw the rich burgundy, the jet black, the golden yellow, and realised that if this was not the genuine thing, then it was the best imitation I had seen in a long time. The design, I remember, was that of a many-spoked wheel which flowed into stylised flowers at each corner and had a large orange disk at the hub. Once outside the shop Felix thanked me, abruptly enough, and bad me goodbye. That was the last time I set eyes on his living form. When he disappeared I was of course closely quizzed by the detective in charge of the case, but I could offer nothing in the way of information concerning his death. In any case, It was established that he had returned home after leaving me. Angelina testified to that. He had come in that evening with a bundle of some sort under his arm (she said), looking feverish with excitement, and had pecked her on the cheek and told her to wait in the hall because he had a surprise for her. He asked where the scissors were, then, after getting them from the kitchen, had gone into the lounge room. "You can come in now!" he had called, but when his wife entered the room, it was empty. The rug, unrolled, lay on the floor and a bundle of twine, weighed down with the household scissors, had been placed on the coffee table. It was only after all the fuss and trauma of the investigation was over that I noticed that the pattern on the rug was not as I remembered it. On that occasion Angelina, quite naked, was bent over the back of the living room couch, her head turned sideways to look in a big mirror she had had installed. She was watching me, also naked, and watching the thick, glistening shaft disappear slowly through her prominent vaginal lips. I closed my eyes a second, enjoying the wonderful sensation, and when I opened them I was looking at the rug as it lay on the floor in front of the couch. The wheel is still there, to be sure, but woven across it now is the figure of a man, podgy, rotund fellow, as far as one can make out, for the image is highly stylised.