Although he had met her only a brief few hours before, she certainly wasn't shy at all! Carl stared in open admiration as her black nylon panties engaged in a mouth-watering wrestling match with her firm, well rounded buttocks as she bent to remove her slip.
He was glad she was wearing a garter belt. It set off the smooth marble-like whiteness of her inner thighs to perfection.
"Come on," she urged. "Take off your clothes!"
He didn't need a second invitation, especially when she unsnapped her filmy black bra and he caught a glimpse of her firm, stiff nip-pled breasts.
"Now," she murmured, "let me tell you all about the delicious things I'm going to do to you!"
CHAPTER ONE
ESCAPE FORM THE OFFICE....
Carl Jordan turned his back on the three people in his office and looked out the window. Behind him, he heard the same cliches that turned up in every public relations or advertising bull session he had ever sat in on.
Turning off his mind, he turned on his eyes instead and watched through the window of the neighboring office building as the cute blonde made a lengthy adjustment to her garter belt.
It wasn't so much that Carl was a Peeping Tom, it was more a case of appreciating beautiful things. Carl's idea of beauty included a well shaped feminine leg, an excellent painting, or autumn leaves framing a placid lake.
At that particular moment though, there were no paintings or placid lakes to be seen so he was content to admire the taut nylon sheathing her thigh and the silky looking strip of flesh above.
Carl knew the adjustment of the garter was just a part of the game she played, but that didn't spoil a thing. He estimated she did it three or four times a day and was convinced that unless someone had sold her a very inferior garter belt, the lady liked to show her thighs.
He had never met her and didn't want to. As long as the game was impersonal, it was fun. She was a well shaped leg and thigh without a name.
The fact that she was a woman didn't scare Carl as he very much approved of women. Still, she appeared to be about twenty as opposed to his ancient thirty-two and from her expression, he had already formed the opinion that all her talent lay just a few inches higher than he was able to see when she hiked her skirt up.
There was no chance he knew, that he could find a woman there to meet his standing rule of never making love to a woman you wouldn't want to spend an hour chatting with. He found enough who qualified to keep his life interesting.
Turning back to the group, he began listening again and decided they had advanced through cliches six, seven and eight which meant there were about four to go. He didn't want to tell them to get the hell out, but he wasn't sure he could tolerate the game much longer either.
"You worry me, Pete," Carl returned to the conversation he had deserted a few minutes earlier.
"What do you mean worry you?" The man jerked his head around to look suspiciously at Carl.
"I mean if I keep hearing you spouting that poop about the contribution of Advertising and Public Releations to the well being of the nation, I'm going to have to think you believe it. That would really worry me."
"Sure," Pete snapped back almost angrily as the others sat back content to listen to their duel for a while, "good old smart ass Carl Jordan. He considers himself so much more honest than the rest of us, but he still picks up his pay every two weeks. Isn't that right?"
"Right. I'm right there with my hand out and I spend every nickel of it without blushing."
"Then how do you relate that to this being such a dirty, dishonest business. If you don't believe it, why do you stay?"
"You keep missing the point, Pete. I know we perform a certain more or less useful purpose and get well paid to do it. I don't think that becomes a sick thing until we fall into the trap of believing all that shit we tell our clients and that gullible world out there. That's the point you don't seem to get."
"Come on Carl, you really are being pretty damn smug about it. If that's the way you really feel," Bob Smelton broke in, "you should get out."
"So why tell me, Bob," Cad shot back. "You run the P.R. department. If you don't like my philosophy, all you have to do is fire me."
"Sure I can fire you and have you walk across the street with a half dozen of our top accounts. No thanks. I'd rather put up with your smug sermons."
"There's a reason I could do that, Bob. It's not that I'm smug, I'm just a hell of a good P.R. man. I know that in the order of things, P.R. stands somewhere between prostitution and the second mortgage business. That puts it one step above Wall Street and two below prostitution. If I ever lose that perspective, I'll stop being a good P. R. man."
Looking at his watch, Bob Smelton turned and walked out of Carl's office. It happened that way every time. He felt Carl was laughing at him. He wanted to get rid of the man, but doing that would mean losing some good accounts. When that happens in the agency game, Bob knew, the top man goes.
He had scratched and clawed too hard to hit the top at thirty-five only to throw it all away. If he got the axe at Marks and Mountain, he would be leaving one of the biggest and starting to slide down the scale. Bob had seen it happen too often to others, and had moved up over their bodies as they fell. He didn't want to take the down escalator.
When Bob walked out of the office, Pete was about five steps behind him. That left Carl alone with Elaine Drew.
He didn't mind that. Elaine was a good P.R. woman whose philosophy was close to his. They had been friends since she joined the agency more than a year ago and, in spite of the fact that she met all his requirements as a bed mate, he had never tried to put the make on her for fear of spoiling a beautiful friendship.
"You really shouldn't spank the boss like that, Carl." Elaine smiled as she spoke.
"It's my only vice, woman. I can't resist sticking needles into thick skin until I finally strike a nerve. Don't worry though, they'll console each other."
"You have to know that. Right now, they're probably reading the Bible. Cunliffe and Centre will show them the path of virtue and right"
"Tell me, Elaine," Carl looked serious, "do you ever think they really achieve a climax reading the P.R. man's bible?"
"They may when they grow up," Elaine answered as they joined in a laugh.
"You just won yourself a cup of coffee, woman. Let me take you away from all this."
Elaine uncrosesd a pair of much better than average legs and they walked toward the elevator. There was a coffee shop in the basement and they would flush away the dust of the bull session with a half hour of chatting over a couple of coffees. It had become their favorite form of escape from a world neither quite believed in.
"How much longer are you going to stick it out, Carl?" she asked as he handed her the sugar a-cross the small table.
"Why me?" he retorted. "You believe in it a-bout as much as I do. When do you make your break?"
"You're ducking the question, mister. I know you're a writer. You're wasting your mind in this rat race. When are you going to walk out and write the great American novel?"
"Great or not, I'll start writing it in a year or so, I guess. First, I'm going to play squirrel and stack away a comfortable supply of nuts. When my tree is full enough, I'll thumb my nose at them and go home and write."
"Who am I to tell you, you're playing the dangerous security game?"
"That I'll like gathering nuts so well I'll never want to stop? I really don't think so. I'll know when I've got enough. I just don't go for that bit about great writers working in cold rooms with one meal a day. I'm a sucker for the good things in life. Now what's your excuse today?"
"The same as it was yesterday," she paused to take a sip of her coffee. "This is a nice place to hide out from marriagable men for a while until I decide whether I want to be a career woman for a few more years or a wife and mother and all that."
"Thanks a lot, lady," Carl pretended a frown.
"Turn it off, Jordan. You know damn well I didn't mean you. With that exception though, I still insist the agency world is the perfect place for a woman not to find a man. There may be a lot of males in it, but so damn few men you wouldn't believe it. Come to think of it, I guess you would believe it."
"This would come as a shattering blow to all the Bob Smeltons, angel woman, but you're right. What I fear is that they may drive you to lesbianism and you won't talk to me anymore."
"Have no fear, Mister Jordan. I turned down that chance way back in college. I don't propose to have at it now as an old lady of twenty-six."
They chatted in the same tone for another few minutes until Elaine looked at her watch and realized that there would be a client waiting in her office. Mentally kicking herself for not having checked her appointment book before leaving, she pushed her chair back.
"Finish your coffee, Carl. I'm a big girl now, I can find my way back."
"Not a chance," he protested as he pushed his chair back and stood. "In this day of automation, the automatic elevator may rape you on the way up."
"And I'd give birth to a whole flock of little IBM computors. I'll have to think about that."
He walked to the door of her office with her, watched the client push to his feet to greet her and took off. He knew she would find a way to placate the man who had been waiting for all of five or ten minutes.
Back in his office, Carl checked his own schedule carefully, found the rest of the day clear and decided his working ended at three-ten that day and golf would commence at about four. Leaving word with his secretary that he would be out of touch for the rest of the day, he stuck one foot into the closing doors of an elevator, pried them open and left.
It was just five after four when he walked to the first tee. He had turned down two invitations to join groups because it was one of those days when he just wanted to knock a golf ball around the course and be by himself with his thoughts.
They weren't particularly pleasant or unpleasant, it was just that they were beginning to crowd his mind and wanted to get out for air. They would have to wait a bit though.
Carl watched a low, hard drive down the fairway and watched it soar well out but with a bit of drift to the right. He held his breath until the ball bounced to a stop about ten feet short of the edge of the fairway. He guessed it had travelled about two-twenty and would leave him a good seven iron shot to the green.
Pushing the driver back into the bag, he began walking down the course pulling the cart behind him. He didn't have to invite his thoughts out to play; they knew the rules of the game. Once the ball had been hit, they were free to jump out and accompany him as he walked.
As he walked on the slightly spongy turf, they told him some things, asked him probing questions, accepted some of his answers and sent others back for reconsideration.
At thirty-two, Carl was six months out of a marriage that had ranged from bad to medicore.
The law of the state had excused him from the marriage when he came home one afternoon to find his wife teaching her version of the facts of life to a sixteen year old boy who lived in an apartment down the hall.
It was one of the rare times he saw her naked since she was usually fussy about that. He recalled having broken into a laugh when he saw the expression on her face framed between her upraised legs.
He hadn't been able to see the boy's reaction right away since his face was buried between her thighs and he was evidently so occupied with the erotic free lunch that he hadn't heard Carl come in.
Amazed at not being angry, Carl had merely slapped the boy's upturned rump and told him to get dressed and go out and play something more appropriate like baseball.
Turning his attention from the pale faced boy who ran out of the bedroom with his clothes under his arm, Carl told her quite simply that he was going to divorce her and thanked her for giving him the evidence.
It wasn't so much the act of adultery that bothered him. It was just that it had been a lousy marriage to a woman who loved herself so much that she had none left over for a husband and didn't require any from him. Once in a while, when she wanted something material, she would consent to lifting her nightie after the light had been turned out, but that was about the extent of their six years of sex life.
He had married her, he recalled, because she was beautiful, seemed intelligent, and he thought he was in love with her. Not long after that, he accepted the philosophy that no man can think effectively with an erection, but it was too late.
Carl wondered how long the marriage would have continued if he hadn't caught her in bed with the kid. Anyway, he decided, it had been a welcome relief.
Her lawyer tried to hold out for a juicy settlement, but Carl laughed at him as he had laughed at his wife. As a token of appreciation, he picked up her costs as well as his own, but that was all it cost him.
Looking down over the ball, Carl made a few tentative swipes with the seven iron, then hit it cleanly and took just a bit of turf with it as the ball took off like a contented dove.
It hit the green just where he wanted it, but forgot about the backspin he had ordered and ran to the back of the green. He knew it was going to require a first class approach putt to get the par, but it didn't really bother him. The world, Carl knew, wouldn't end if he took a bogey on every hole.
As he walked toward the green, Carl thought of how the lure of money had taken him from newspaperman to P.R. man and how he had priced himself out of going back now.
A return to being a reporter would cost him a-bout five thousand a year and put off even farther the dream of leaving the working world to write good novels.
He took time to run a good putt to within eighteen inches of the pin before he recalled Elaine's warning about staying too long in the money race. He was still thinking about it as he tapped the easy putt a little too lightly and saw it hang up on the rim for a bogey five.
Carl knew he had broken the cardinal rule by thinking while making a shot. He listened as the little thought men danced around on his shoulders and laughed at him.
The next hole was a short par three. He dropped a five iron shot four feet from the pin, tapped his putt in for a birdie to square his round and the little people stopped needling him.
Looking back toward the club house, Carl saw no sign of the others who had threatened to play and guessed they would play out their round in the locker room as usual. It didn't make sense to him that with all the good bars there were in the city they would choose to do their drinking in a steamy locker room against a backdrop of steam, sweaty socks and nude middle aged men paddling back and forth in flapping shower slippers.
As he teed up on the third, a long, dog-leg par five, Carl realized that if his tastes were as simple as theirs, he would be a lot closer to throwing the job back into the lake and striking out with his typewriter under his arm to blaze a trail through the path of literature.
After his round of golf though, he would shower and go home to change. From there, there was the beautiful nurse he met at a party a week ago. If , things went according to plan, they would share an expensive dinner, dance for a while, talk a lot, then go back to his apartment.
There, unless he missed his guess, she could minister to him in a manner not approved by any reputable hospital and, if he could muster the energy, he would deliver her to the hospital by eight hi the morning.
The prospect seemed attractive enough on the surface. He had brushed against her enough during the party to know that she had a nice firm body, he had seen excellent legs, his instinct told him she knew how to handle it all, and yet, there was something missing.
Even as he wondered, Carl knew the answer. One night stands could be a lot of fun, but they fell somewhere short of constituting the full life.
To a young man in his twenties, that kind of life was perfect for finding out what it's all about, he reasoned. A nice way of developing and sharpening the technique. There must come a time though when life means more than knocking off another casual piece of tail.
Becoming less than enchanted with the direction his thoughts were taking, Carl worked at turning them off and concentrating on his game. The result of that was a sliced drive that buried itself into rough that suddenly took on the appearance of an impenetrable jungle.
The rough may not have been quite that bad, but it was bad enough to score him a double bogey on the hole in spite of a twelve foot putt that would have looked good in any tournament.
Get with it, he scolded himself. This poor, hard working nurse is probably dying to get out of all sorts of terribly confining things like bra and panties and here you are making like a hoary old philosopher.
Having won that argument, he stuffed the philosophical arguments into the golf bag and birdied the next two holes. After nine holes, he was one over par and quite content with his game.
Checking his watch, Carl considered playing the back nine but rejected the thought in favor of a relaxed cold beer in the clubhouse. That way, it also meant that he would be able to take his time about getting home and changing with perhaps another drink thrown in for good measure. That was more than enough to swing the decision.
Inside the clubhouse, Carl reasoned that he couldn't go on being antisocial indefinitely, so he carried his beer to a table where five of the well intentioned golfers had detoured into a poker game.
Ignoring the glass the steward put down for him, Carl sipped the chilled beer from the bottle and watched the course of the game.
At least, he told himself, I got more exercise today than they did. Remembering that there was even more enjoyable exercise ahead, he hurried through the rest of his beer and went for his shower.
CHAPTER TWO
A NEW ENCOUNTER....
As Ingrid folded the dress carefully over the back of a chair in Carl's comfortable, well furnished apartment, he stared in open admiration and more than little anticipation.
The black nylon panties engaged in a thrilling wrestling match with a firm, well rounded pair of buttocks as she bent.
The panties were almost sheer. Just enough so that he saw the shadow of the valley between the lush hills. He knew his hands would explore that curved landscape in a little while, but he was content to let his eyes do it for the time being.
Below the panties, silken white thighs contrasted just nicely. They were long and beautifully shaped. He picked up the next contrast where the expanded tops of dusky nylons caressed the thighs.
Carl was glad she wore a garter belt rather than a girdle. He had found that out earlier while they danced. It was then too that he found out she wanted to play the bed game as much as he did.
Once that had been established, there was a delightfully adult candor about the way they agreed it was time to go to his place. Always the gentleman, Oarl asked whether she would prefer to go to her apartment, but she told him there was a roommate. Neither of them needed an audience.
Just then, Ingrid turned around and confirmed the quick opinion he had formed from a quick glance as she pulled the dress over her head.
The black bra bulged just right. The goodies it contained would be warm and smooth in his mouth. He hoped they would be as firm as they looked.
"You're not a very good host, Carl," she teased him with a smile. "How so?"
"What are you doing with all those clothes on? Are you trying to make me feel self-conscious?"
"Not a bit. I was just so busy enjoy the unveiling that I couldn't bring myself to do anything else."
"Then get with it, lover man. This is as far as the unveiling goes for a while."
Laughing, Carl began to get out of his clothes. The business of getting dressed was always a nuisance as far as he was concerned. Taking clothes off under the watchful gaze of a beautiful woman was another matter.
"Hey, stop," she called when nothing remained but his jockey shorts.
"Why? Are you shy?" This time it was his turn to tease with a smile.
"I'll show you how shy I am in a little while. I'd just like us to stay this way while we have another drink. It gives me kicks."
"Lady, anything that gives you kicks is just fine by me."
Slipping an arm around the firm waist, he walked her to the bar. As they reached it, his hand moved down to stroke the taut nylon of her panties and feel the round, firm cheek.
"Anything that gives me kicks, Carl?" she asked with a smile that was all passion.
"Anything. If you can think of anything I haven't enjoyed doing, I'll learn it."
"Ooh, this is going to be good, Carl. Please humor me. I'd like to drink and talk about exciting things until I start to go out of my skull. Then I'll want you to undress me and ride me all the way to the stars."
It was obvious that she liked what she saw in the bulging front of his shorts. Her hand stroked it with a loving motion.
"Do you want me to keep my garter belt and nylons on when we do it?" she asked with a frankness that managed to surprise him a little even in view of all that had been said so far.
"I'd like it better that way. I like the look and feel of nylons when a woman's legs kick as she gets wound up."
"Are' you going to get me wound up? Tell me about it. I love to hear the words."
She stood facing him with the drink in her left hand, her legs spread wide, feet firmly braced.
"After I do a million other things to you, Ingrid," his voice was low but rich with passion, "I'm going to kiss you like you've never been kissed before."
Just to make sure she understood, his hand moved between her thighs to rub the warmth of the narrow strip of nylon. He felt her body tremble, felt her press and rub against his hand.
"Not just a little kiss, Carl. Some men act brave, but just when the mouth starts to feel good, they take it away. That's mean."
"Not just a little kiss, Ingrid." His hand pressed again. "I won't stop until you scream." As if to make very sure she understood he moved his tongue out between his lips.
"Oooh, Carl," she panted, "I'm getting there too fast. I won't be able to hold on much longer."
"If the first one is too fast, the second will be slow and easy. Don't fight it."
Carl saw the last of the drink splashing in her glass as her hand shook.
"Finish your drink," he told her.
While she did, Carl downed the rest of his and put the glass down on the bar. Doing the same with her glass as he took it from her hand, he led her into the bedroom. He had enjoyed playing her game, now they were going to move into high gear.
Ingrid allowed him to sit her on the bed. Standing between her parted thighs, he reached around to unfasten her bra. As he did, he felt impatient hands tugging his shorts down.
As he looked, he saw the pink tongue licking her lips as they opened wide. A tremor jarred his body as she filled her mouth with him.
The bra fell away and the pink tipped goodies bounced out firm and luscious as he had known they would be. His hands gripped them as he pushed her down onto the bed on her back.
Even lying in that position, the breasts didn't fall flat as most women's did, he noted. Carl liked that. He liked a lot of things about her and he was about to bare the rest of them.
When she felt his hands gripping the waistband of her panties, she raised her body. The nylon peeled away with a sigh. He stripped them down off her legs which were already kicking and tossed them aside not caring where they landed. It was no time for neatness.
Their arms wrapped around each other then and their mouths met in a moist, tongue lashing kiss that sent out wave after shattering wave of passion through them both.
When his mouth moved from hers, it traced a wet line downward until it closed over a firm nipple. She gave a little cry and her body heaved. He took more of the silken hill into his mouth and listened to the sucking sounds that resulted. She heard them too and obviously liked the music he was making.
His hands were busy too and when they found her thighs parted wide, his mouth began to move again and a new line of moisture was traced downward over the swell of her belly, through the tangled foliage of her femininity and into the hot, moist depths between her trembling thighs.
Ingrid cried out at the first contact of his mouth, cried more loudly as she felt his probing, greedy tongue, and moaned all the way through it as he made louder, more exciting sucking sounds.
Her next cry came from a million miles inside and it was clear to Carl that he had carried her right through a burst of stars. Withdrawing his tongue, he kept his mouth pressed to her and his hands rubbed her body lightly as breath returned to her lungs.
He was more than ready and he carried his erect urgency to her as their bodies came together. With a long, slow push, he buried himself into the warmth of her body. She was neither loose or tight, just a warm woman who wanted what he wanted to share with her.
They rocked and pounded through the wild choreography of lust as their bodies strained to slam harder and harder. Carl had been trying to hold himself back and was losing control when he felt her explode into her second climax.
He stroked quickly then and joined her. When it happened, it was one of those good ones. For a few seconds, there was that delicious feeling of death as his body jerked against hers.
Their cries and moans and gasps mingled with their sweat. As they moved against each other, their wet skin made little squeaking sounds and they laughed.
"Oh, Carl. That was great. That was the greatest. I'm raw and throbbing."
"That's the way it should be, baby, and I intend to keep it that way until we both collapse."
"After that, you really will be able to do it a-gain?"
"Never fear, Ingrid baby, we'll do it again. That body of yours and the way you use it inspires me. I may even find a couple more before the night is over."
"If they're in there, lover man, we'll find them. I don't intend to let you keep a thing."
There was no regret on the part of either as he pulled his spent body out of her and curled up beside her.
"Man, how you've changed," she laughed as she looked at the ruins of what had been so big and erect just a short while ago.
"Don't knock it, lady. The disaster happened in that beautiful oven of yours."
Carl left her then and returned in a minute with a pair of fresh drinks. She remained lying, her lush breasts rising and falling more smoothly now, while Carl sat beside her.
Between sips of their drinks, they talked easily of all the wonderful things man and woman can do together.
"You've got a real crazy mouth there, Carl. You're as good as the best of women."
"Thanks. Do you swing that way too?"
"I swing any way there is, Carl. I hope that doesn't shock you."
"Not a bit. I've often thought that if I were a woman, I'd swing that way too. Which do you prefer?"
"It's a matter of mood. I haven't had a man in more than a month. It may be a week or two months before I'm in the mood for one again."
"And until then, women will do?"
"Maybe once or twice when I'm in the mood. My roomie would go for it ten times a day every day, but we have an understanding that it only happens when I want it."
"Do you specialize in a particular role?" Carl was fascinated at the woman who talked so casually of her lesbian activities.
"I don't believe in that. When it happens, I like to go the sixty-nine route. Why wast anything?"
"I knew you were going to be great, Ingrid," there was frank admiration in his glance, "but you turn out to be a real gem."
"Coming from an expert like you, mister, that's real praise."
Their casual conversation went on through another pair of drinks. They asked questions and answered them frankly without either holding back or striving for effect or shock value.
Carl told her that while he approved of her lesbian games, he didn't go the homo route. As she probed deeper, he told her that he had tried it a few times as a younger man, but didn't find it interesting.
"Then how come you don't knock women for being lesbian?" she wanted to know.
"Don't ask for logic, lady. I think most men are fascinated by the thought of two good looking women making out. Besides, after what I've seen of you tonight, I wouldn't call you a lesbian no matter how you get your kicks."
"I'm not really; that would be too exclusive. I'm more in the category of bisexual. To me, a Miss is as good as a Mr."
Carl had never heard it put quite that way. His laugh was loud and honest. She laughed with him.
It was less than an hour since they had gone through the explosion on the bed, but Carl sensed that she was ready to have at it again. He guessed that he was going to be able to function. He began to toy with her willing body in a way that told her what was in his mind.
"Do you enjoy the mouth bit as much as you seem to?" she asked.
"I like it just fine."
"Do you like it the other way too?"
"With a mouth like yours involved, I'd love it."
"Then how about making it a doubleheader this time?"
"If you can make me function, Ingrid baby, you've got yourself a deal. I'm overdue in that department anyway."
"Well now, we can't have that, can we?" Ingrid smiled as she bent her head and reached for him with her mouth.
The moment she claimed him in her moist mouth, Carl felt a surge of vitality and he knew he was going to function just fine.
She was adjusting herself and he saw one curved leg raise over him. Seconds later, the rich curves of her full buttocks were just above his face.
Her thighs were parted wide as she moved down toward his waiting mouth. His hands reached for her body and guided her all the way down.
Carl stopped thinking then. He felt his body surge with power and knew it wasn't going to take nearly as long as he expected.
Ingrid climaxed first and he held her as she writhed, her plump buttocks dancing wildly above his face. She had just finished, when he felt himself explode into her.
She was greedy and, with the last of his strength, he managed to push her away.
"You're a well flavored man, Mr. Jordan," she said as her tongue licked her lips as if looking for any last traces that might have escaped her.
"And you're a real tasty dish yourself, Ingrid."
They tried to keep things alive, but sleep moved in on them and, after a brief battle, both surrendered.
When Carl woke, it was morning. Ingrid had told him she was due at the hospital at noon, so there was really nothing to worry about. His watch told him he was going to be late for work, but that seemed terribly unimportant at the time.
More important was the restless feeling of desire at the bottom of his belly. With a smile, he saw that he was more than ready for action. In a little while, he would take her home, but first, he was going to take her right where she was.
She was lying with her buttocks arched toward him. Moving down in the bed a little, he pressed his strength low between them so that he slipped between her thighs.
Ingrid woke up, smiled at what she felt and raised her right leg so that he could slip all the way in. He did.
He left her at her apartment at five to ten and went to his office. His only regret was that she refused to make a firm date for another session.
Still, he consoled himself, I hardly have the right to complain.
CHAPTER THREE
THE BUSINESS WIFE'S DUTY....
"Bob, dear, it could be just that you're getting too old to keep up the pace."
The words were coated with honey, the honey softness of Marg Smelton's carefully cultured voice, but behind them, he hard, shining green eyes taunted her husband.
"Thanks a lot, bitch," Bob snapped back with no effort to soften the impact of his words. "Are you saying you act like a tramp because you're not old enough to know better?"
The assortment of cutting remarks and crude insults was old hat to Bob and Marg Smelton after ten years of marriage.
When they married, Bob was twenty-five and ambitious. At twenty-eight, Marg was less than beautiful, somewhat spoiled, and the daughter of a wealthy industrialist who operated a string of companies which were potential P.R. clients to the ambitious young P.R. man.
It wouldn't be fair to say that in marrying her Bob acted without love and was motivated purely by ambition, but these were factors.
Love, by his definition, was something that took up a lot of time and effort without providing a reward in the market place.
He met Marg at the yacht club, discovered that with her background and social polish, she could be an asset to a young man on the way up and clinched the deal when he discovered how many companies her old man controlled to the point where he could influence a lot of major decisions.
From there, he fell in love with her, to the extent that he was capable of falling in love with anyone. Old man Powers asked him a lot of questions to assure himself that young Smelton wasn't just going after the family money, but Bob came up with a lot of right answers.
Not anxious to have a spinster daughter on his hands for life, the old man gave his blessings and the wedding bells tolled. If there was a faint overtone of blue chip stocks rustling, only Bob Smelton heard them.
Marg came to the marriage bed with a fairly impressive track record. She wasn't really promiscuous, it was just that since the age of seventeen, she had been aware that two can have more fun than one and that for maximum enjoyment, clothes should be removed.
Her first experience had been with an older girl at the exclusive private school. It turned out to be fun, so she played "drop-the-panty" with others.
She discovered males about a year later and they were even more fun. It always thrilled her to see how her charms could cause a male to become nervous when properly applied. Knowing she was less than beautiful, this power became important to her.
When a panting male begged for the thrill of feeling her thighs or stroking her breasts, she would hold out long enough to let his pressure build, then, with a sigh of resignation, she would allow the trembling hand to move into the front of her dress or well up under the hem of her skirt.
Eventually, of course, if the young man pleaded with enough conviction, her bra would fall away, he would ease her panties off and she would grant him the greatest of all gifts.
While most males she knew were anxious to go that far, none were sufficiently impressed to want to marry her. That shouldn't have been too surprising though. In her circle, there were other, more beautiful young women who would take their panties off and give their all, and, the young men with whom she travelled weren't at all impressed by her old man's money because they had enough of their own.
When Bob Smelton came on the scene, he threw her for a loop by talking about her beauty and charm without trying to get his hands on it
"I want you very much, darling," he would whisper as Marg became twitchy with impatience for him to overpower her, "but I respect you too much for that."
When he proposed marriage, she was so off guard about the whole thing that she said yes.
As they undressed for bed on their wedding night, she removed her clothes with all the erotic drama she could muster. Considering how often she had done it for men, she was really quite good at it. It was quite a shock after such a performance to see that her husband, while he said all the right words, was singularly unexcited where it counted most.
The challenge this presented was too much to be ignored. When they got into bed, Marg concentrated on making her husband rise to the occasion. She did achieve her goal eventually, but as he lay panting on her heaving belly, the groom looked a lot less dedicated to the task at hand than any of the young men who had lain there in the past.
He completed his duty that night with a great burst of enthusiasm, but Marg remained frustrated and completely unsatisfied. She tried to guide his hand between her warm thighs to provide what she wanted, but the hand was so reluctant that she gave it up as a bad job.
During the remainder of the Mexican honeymoon, Marg permitted her disappointment to show and Bob was bright enough to see it. He was also intelligent enough to see that this could be a mistake.
To her delight, he became quite ardent in his physical attentions to her. Determined to take him all the way after his slow start, she even managed to guide his face between her thighs and lead him through a nice session there that provided a beautiful climax.
Bob looked more than a little pale when she told him that it was her very favorite way of doing it. He began to wonder if he had paid too great a price for his business asset, but it was too late to return her so he forced himself to go along with it.
In time, Bob discovered that if he gave her what she wanted often enough in what he considered the normal manner, she wasn't so insistent on forcing his mouth between her thighs.
Although Bob became apprehensive every time his wife became flirtatious toward him, he was delighted when she acted that way toward influential client people or those who could be considered hot potentials.
This led to their first big fight. There had been a party at their home, one of the many Bob insisted on throwing. For the want of something to do, Marg began flirting with one of the men who bad come alone.
To her dismay, she saw that her husband seemed to encourage it. Determined to arouse his jealousy, she stepped up the pace.
By the time the last of the guests had left, Marg had done everything but put the make on the man. Alone then, she waited for some reaction from her husband.
"Hey, baby, you were really great with Dan-ton," he enthused. "You had him in the palm of your hand all the way."
Marg was stunned by that and it took her a while before she could respond.
"The palm of my hand? I damn near had him in the crotch of my panties. Don't you care?"
"Come on, baby," he patted her on the rump without seeming to realize what he was doing, "that's what the world of business is all about."
"Is that right? Why don't you invite him again and I can slip into the bedroom with him. If you think I handled him well tonight, you should see what I could do with my panties off. Would you like to set it up?"
"You don't have to make it sound dirty, Marg. A business wife should understand how these things are."
"Well excuse me all to hell," she flared. 'The mistake is all mine. I thought I was a wife, not what you call a business wife. I don't remember anything in the ceremony about peddling my ass so my husband can make it big in the world of business."
Seeing how badly he had slipped, Bob tried to back down, but it was too late. The argument ended, but for a long time, Marg's angry tirade went on. She called him a lot of names he didn't like and made a lot of threats.
It came to an end only when he drew her to him and began fondling her through the sheer nylon panties with his hands and his mouth.
When he saw it was working, he bravely slipped her panties down and off and parted her thighs as he pushed her back on the bed. Acting as though he really meant it, he pressed his mouth to the warmth of her and kept it there until he heard her crying out in ecstasy. When he was sure she was asleep, he went to the bathroom and used a lot of mouthwash.
Things were never quite the same after that. Marg forced herself to admit that her husband had married her not because he really loved her or thought her beautiful, but rather, because she was good for business.
When she flirted with their male guests, Bob was pleased because he thought she understood. She didn't bother telling him that she was doing it for her rather than for him.
She didn't tell him either that from time to time when her vanity needed it, she found some anxious male and did more than just flirt with him.
Marg was very discreet about her affairs though, so Bob didn't find out what was happening. A few of their friends were suspicious about her activities, but one doesn't mention that sort of thing to the husband so all went well.
This morning though, the cold war had heated up. At the party last night, Marg had thrown herself at Carl Jordan so hard that people were staring.
Carl wasn't a client, he was an employee. To make it even harder to bear, Carl had looked pit-tingly at his boss as he rebuffed the clumsy attempts at seduction.
Anyone but that bastard Jordan, Bob thought as he searched for new words to throw at his wife, words that would get through her skin and sting her.
In the end, he found nothing but a bunch of well used old words that didn't hurt her at all. She just added a few familiar ones of her own and slammed them right back at him.
Slamming the door behind him, Bob started for the office. As he drove with his usual lack of care or consideration, he wondered whether Jordan would rub it in.
Bob Smelton could be forgiven for thinking something like that since it's just what he would have done had the positions been reversed.
CHAPTER FOUR
A LADY OF BUSINESS....
"Don't be such a prude, Elaine," Bob Smelton blew out a cloud of smoke and tried to look like a swinger. "It'll be just a good party, a bunch of drinks, you do what you like, go home alone if you like."
"When are you going to learn, Bob?" Elaine Drew gave him a look that put him right into the category of the little boy caught playing doctor and nurse in the barn behind the house.
"Skip the lecture, Elaine. Ifs just a party and I'm inviting you, that's all."
"Thanks, but no thanks. When you give me a legitimate assignment, I handle it to the best of my ability. When it comes to my social life, Marks and Mountain has no say in it."
Elaine saw that she had gotten through to him in a way he didn't like. She was amused. He tried to put the make on her two days after she joined the agency. From time to time, he still tried either that or to line her up with some client who wanted fresh tail without paying for it.
"What's with the girdle campaign?" Bob suddenly changed course and became all business. "Kitely isn't happy about the publicity they've been getting in the trades."
Elaine smiled. She had been waiting for it. Each time she rebuffed his personal advances, she knew he would respond with a criticism of her work. Since it was almost always unjustified, she could always come up with an answer without working up a sweat.
"That's funny," she smiled sweetly, "I talked to him yesterday and he seemed delighted. As a matter-of-fact, he made a point of telling me so."
What Elaine didn't add was that he had dropped all the right hints about her working too hard and how a nice weekend in Florida or the Bahamas would put color back into her cheeks. She had rebuffed him too.
"That isn't the way he came through when I talked to him," Bob pouted. "He didn't feel he was getting enough ink."
"I'll show you the scrapbook, Bob. You can decide for yourself whether or not he's getting ink. Is that all?"
"Mmm? Yeah ... yeah ... I got a million things to do."
Elaine smiled as she walked out of the office. The biggest of the million things he had to do, she guessed, was find a girl for the party.
It was a joke between her and Carl that Bob's biggest contribution to the department was looking after clients with a hard-on. Although they kidded about whether he ever offered them personal service on that score, there were times when she wondered seriously whether perhaps he did go that way.
Elaine was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't see Carl Jordan standing in the doorway of his office until he spoke. She jumped.
"Did he want it for himself or a client this time?" he asked with the grin that caused a lot of the gals around the office to rub their knees together to keep them from falling too far open.
"Damn you, Carl, that insight of yours is too much. A girl wouldn't dare wear frayed lingerie around this place for fear you'd see right through and spot it."
In spite of the scolding, she walked into his office and perched on the corner of his desk.
"There's nothing mystical about it at all," he explained. "It's just the expression your wear when he's tried to put the make on you. It's as if you just smelled something bad."
"That's because under the circumstances, I always do. It's the odor of corrupt human flesh. It stinks."
They chated for a while then. She didn't offer him any details of the session with Bob Smelton and he didn't ask for them. It was an unwritten a-greement between them that they could use each other for blowing off steam without questions being asked.
Punching his phone into his secretary's line, Carl took her arm and led her toward the elevator. It was about a half-hour before the usual exodus to the restaurant and their favorite time for a chat over coffee.
"You look like a dropout from the intensive care unit at Bellvue this morning," Elaine commented as the elevator door closed behind them.
"Yeah, I guess I stayed out on the golf course too long yesterday."
As they laughed, Elaine resisted the urge to make a crack about that being a dangerous place to do it.
The restaurant was nicely uncrowded and they found a table in the far corner where they could hide away from any of the agency types who might drop in early and want to talk advertising jargon instead of English.
Carl announced he was going to have a double bourbon instead of the usual coffee. It struck Elaine as a good idea. She compromised by asking for a Bloody Mary.
While Carl was giving the order to the waitress who bent over him as if she'd like to empty her bra onto him, Elaine found herself wondering why Carl never tried to take her to bed.
It wasn't really jealousy in the accepted sense, she assured herself, but they got along so well that it would seem like the most natural thing in the world.
She had had the same thought before and guessed that he would be as proficient in bed as he was in a chat across a restaurant table or functioning as a really good Public Relations man.
As always happened, she consoled herself by thinking that he valued their friendship too much to risk breaking it with a pass, whether it worked or not.
The drinks came quickly, and for a while they sipped in relative silence. There was nothing strained or strange about that; they often did it. When one of them had something to be said, it would be said. Both enjoyed shared silence from time to time.
Elaine wasn't lusting after his body, but her sexual appetites were normal enough and if he indicated wanting her, she knew that she'd break her basic rule. That was the rule that told her to accept sexual diversion from time to time, but never with a man she was likely to meet in business.
Her reasoning for that was simple enough. Men tend to talk about their conquests and not always without exaggeration. In time, a woman who accepted a casual roll in the hay from time to time could be branded as a tramp.
"I'm sorry the Bloody Mary isn't taking the frown away, Elaine. You're not letting him get under your skin, are you?"
That snapped her out of her reveries. "No, it isn't that at all. Sorry if I'm bad company this morning.
"Don't be silly. You couldn't be bad company if you read a book on the subject."
From there, they returned to casual conversation which included a spot of character assassination of some of the people with whom they worked. There was nothing vicious about it, it was just a game they played by way of mental doodling.
During lulls, Carl wondered why he didn't try to make love to the beautiful woman across the table. He sensed she would accept it and be very good, yet there was always that last minute rejection of the idea.
Somehow, the session this morning hadn't been as good as usual for either of them. When the agency people began to drift noisily into the place, they left by mutual consent.
CHAPTER FIVE
NEW PROBLEMS, AN AGE-OLD SOLUTION....
"Spare me the crap, Bob," Darcy Sinclair was obviously enjoying the role of vice president and played it to the hilt, "the P.R. dapartment is dragging if s ass. Who do I blame if not you?"
"For chrissake, Darcy, your account people keep using us as a throwaway service to keep their clients happy. How in hell are we supposed to run our department efficiently?"
"It still comes out crap, Bob. Even if we cross-billed to cover agency services you still wouldn't do much better than break even. Where's the new business?"
Bob turned on his best display of verbal footwork and gave a quick rundown of all the irons he had in the fire under the heading of new business.
To Darcy, it was last year's hit parade and he said so.
"But these things take time?" Bob was sweating now, literally, and that only made it worse.
Darcy saw it and liked it. It meant that his needle was getting all the way in. He reached into his arsenal for more. Brushing a hand over his thick, wavy hair, he smiled the confident smile of the man with the whip hand as he made Bob Smelton squirm in his chair as he tried to justify the fact that the balance sheet for his department didn't read the way it should.
Darcy was still smiling and jabbing blunt needles into the squirming P.R. boss when the buzzer came to life on his desk.
He listened without talking for a few seconds, then jabbed the final needle by looking up and dismissing Bob with a nod.
Outside, as he passed the secretary's desk he took the bright smile she offered him, but it didn't make him feel any better. He was sure she was really laughing at him. Pretending to be preoccupied, he hurried past her.
Bob jabbed the elevator button as if he wanted to fracture it. Something was going wrong and he tried to ward off the threatening panic.
His rise had been little short of meteoric. Using his father in law as a lever, he had pried a lot of good P.R. accounts into the agency. More than that, his work had brought some fat accounts into the advertising side of the business.
He had been the fair haired boy and when Ken Galloway got the axe as head of P.R. two years ago, he sensed that he was going to take over.
There had been a bad time when Dick Haggerty was given the top spot on a temporary basis, but before long Dick was given a special assignment and Bob got the job.
A lot of people who hadn't taken him seriously before began to do so. He liked remembering those days. Hope Bell was first to get into line.
A cool, always poised English secretary in her mid-thirties, she had worked her way up to being Dick's right hand. She pushed a lot of people, including him, around with the sure knowledge that Dick would protect her all the way.
He saw the change in her the day he was appointed. In a quick about face, she pledged her loyalty to him and assured him she would do everything to assist him in his new role.
"Pompous bitch", he snarled under his breath. For the first few days, he let her stew as to whether he would keep her on or send her back to the secretarial pool. It was the perfect approach and he knew it.
Since her graduation from secretarial status, she had been an absolute dragon toward the other secretaries who hated her with a passion that knew no bounds. The thought of being sent back to their status was more than she could bear. They'd tear her to pieces the first day and both she and he knew it.
He could see her sweating and he loved every wet drop of it. When he figured she was about ready to crack up, he called her into his office.
After a brief discussion about the difficulties of a loyal secretary switching her loyalty from one man to another, he placed one hand on the front of her blouse and squeezed a little.
Bob knew that with a more subtle approach, he could get her panties off, but that wasn't what he wanted. He had to pay her back for all the sarcasm of the past. It called for destroying her and making her grovel in the dirt.
"Okay, Hope," he went on then, "I've been doing a lot of thinking and if you're sure you have all the qualifications, I'll announce your appointment later today."
He saw that she wanted to scream and he smiled a quiet smile of victory as he slid his hand up the back of her dress. He didn't stop when he reached the top of the full nylon. Instead, he moved it all the way until he found the fully packed girdle.
"Bend over the desk," he commanded.
She hesitated and for a moment, he thought he had pushed too far too fast, but then she was bending with her hands gripping the desk.
Moving behind her, he quickly flipped her dress and slip high over her back. He was pleased to see she was wearing the girdle. Panties would have been too easy, this way, she would suffer even more as he tugged the girdle down to bare her plump backside.
It was the biggest behind he had ever seen and he liked the feel of it as he let his hands roam over the wide, smooth surfaces for a long time before dropping his pants and shorts to stand close behind her.
With his wife, there was always difficulty getting in shape to have at it, but with Hope there was no trouble at all. He was big and strong and ready right away.
He probed between her parted thighs for a while and watched her squirm. When he did drive it home, he heard her little gasp of pain. He pushed harder and she gasped again.
At last, he had pushed all the way and felt the warm, fat buttocks rubbing against his belly. Taking a firm grip, he was about to start pumping when he came up with another idea.
His hands worked fast and both her dress and bra were unfastened. He felt the big breasts dangling freely and played with them for a while. It thrilled him that in spite of her obvious revulsion of what was happening to her, the nipples came to life under his fingers.
Only then did he start slamming his body back and forth against the arched behind. He knew he was slapping his body against her hard enough so that it could be heard by anyone close to the door, but that only added to the thrill for him and, he knew, her degradation. That was the way he wanted it.
When the end came, he pressed as hard as he could against the soft cheeks and gave her everything he had. Without pulling his clothes up, he sat back and smirked at the tears flowing down her face as she picked up her clothes and began dressing.
Watching her, he thought of other ways he could debase her, but decided to save them for later. It would be more fun that way.
He was deprived of that opportunity though. On her way home from work that night, Hope fell in front of a bus and was killed instantly. When he got the news, Bob felt his whole body tremble and all the excitement seemed to center in the front of his pants.
Marg was surprised when he took her to bed then and gave her the best one she'd ever gotten from him. It was just as well he didn't tell her what had brought on the sudden arousal.
But Hope wasn't the only one to feel his wrath when he hit the top of the department. Three of the old hands had been dropped from the staff and replaced by relatively inexperienced men.
They would be loyal and, more important, they would respect him. He thought of getting rid of Cad Jordan then, but stopped just short of it. Carl was too highly regarded to be dumped that way.
Still, he told himself, I won't take any crap off him. That was one promise he wasn't quite able to live up to.
And now, as he sat in the bar across the street nursing the Martini, Bob Smelton saw his whole, wonderful world coming apart at the seams.
It was as if his wife were behind it all. She was the first to get through to him and begin making him feel less than secure. Now, they were ganging up on him.
This morning it had been Marg rubbing it in that she'd mess around with Carl Jordan any time she wanted to and he couldn't do anything about it.
After that, had been that uppity bitch Elaine Drew. Who did she think she was anyway? He wasn't going to believe that she didn't like to take her panties down and let the boys play. Why the phony act?
That had gotten through to him, but the session with Sinclair was roughest of all. If Darcy really went after his scalp, he could get it. What then? There was only one direction and it wasn't up.
As he looked up from his drink, he saw the man at the next table looking at him and realized that their eyes had met a number of times in the last few minutes.
The man was well dressed and looked like a businessman sneaking out for a drink as he was doing. He was sure he didn't know him, hadn't met him before, and yet, the expression the man wore was one of friendliness.
Annoyed at himself for being so nervous about it, Bob picked up his drink and downed a big belt of it. Just then, he realized that he had been stalling a trip to the washroom too long and was going to have to make it.
Pushing his glass back, he got up and started weaving his way between the tables. He wasn't drunk, he knew, it was his first drink of the day, and yet he had trouble walking.
A thought was lodged in the back of his mind fighting for expression, but he kept forcing it back. When enough of it emerged to be recognized, he almost screamed as his conscious mind tried to reject it.
No, he told himself, it's been years since I've done that. That's all in the past now. I don't need it. I won't ever do it again.
He Was standing at the urinal trying to force tense muscles to relax and let it go when the man walked in as he knew he would.
Smiling, the man moved to the urinal next to his and slid the zipper down with a flourish. Bob knew what he was going to see next and tried to turn away. He failed.
No, Bob wanted to scream, I mustn't. I haven't done that in years. I can't start that again. It was a losing battle and he knew it.
By the time he reached his office, Bob Smelton had returned to form. He was ready now to take control of his department again.
Darcy Sinclair's words were still ringing in his ears, his sarcasm scathed, but now he was going to show Sinclair that he was in charge of the P.R. Department and could really make it run.
Picking up a handful of messages from his secretary, he walked quickly into his office and slammed the door behind him.
He barked into the intercom for the complete file of new business memos and leafed through the notes. None of them were important, surely not the one that told him to call his wife, so he dropped them on the end of the desk to be looked after later.
Unless he could improve the new business picture, he knew, he was going to be out. Bob Smelton wasn't going to let that happen.
CHAPTER SIX
A WARM NEIGHBOR....
Carl Jordan read the memo a second time just to be sure he had read it correctly the first time around. He had. It wasn't just tough, it was offensive. Carl did the only thing that seemed appropriate under the circumstances; he crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the waste basket.
It was obvious that someone was tearing a strip off Bob Smelton because his department wasn't bringing in enough money. That someone, he knew instinctively, had to be Darcy Sinclair.
Now there, Carl thought, is a pair that deserves each other. Of the two, he credited Sinclair with an edge of intelligence and social grace. Beyond that, he wouldn't trust either with his wife, his wallet or his cat.
"What did you think of the memo from on high?"
He looked up to see Elaine standing in the doorway.
"I've already filed it." He nodded toward the metal basket at the end of his desk.
"I'm thinking of framing it." Elaine came in and took up her favorite perch on the corner of his desk.
She showed enough luscious thigh to be exciting, but Carl knew it wasn't a case of teasing. It was just that she was comfortable with him.
"After all," she went on without a trace of a smile, "Public Relations is supposed to be the art of influencing people. This could be considered a classic."
"Sure," Carl agreed, "like the Edsel and the New York Mets."
"Do you think he's cracking up?"
"He's on the way, I suppose," Carl answered seriously, "but I don't think it's imminent."
"I'm not sure I agree with you this time."
"Wait and see. I say he's been given the word, get hot or get out. He's climbed over enough falling bodies to know how it happens."
"But this is no way to do it," Elaine protested. "Even he should know that."
"He may or may not, but he happens to be a no talent fink. He knows he has to do something, but he doesn't know what or how. This idiot memo is the result."
"Perhaps," came the snarl from the doorway, "if you two would spend less time chatting and holding hands and a little more time working, I wouldn't have to send memos like that."
Carl didn't know how much of their conversation Bob had heard before he spoke, but he didn't give a damn either.
"Any time you're not satisfied with my work, Bob," Carl's voice was strong without being angry, "you know what to do."
"Come to think of it, Bob," Elaine cut in, "that goes for me as well."
"What do you intend doing about the memo?" Bob pressed on as if he hadn't heard their comments.
"What I intend doing I've done already," Carl replied as he looked up at the boss. "I've thrown it in the garbage where it belongs."
Conscious that her skirt had ridden up and that Bob was looking at her nylon tops, Elaine tugged it down and watched as the unwelcome visitor fought for control. It seemed to be a losing battle.
"You two seem to think it's smart as hell to make with the jokes about this business, but that isn't enough and isn't really very funny. How many new accounts have you brought in lately?"
"As I recall, Bob," Carl's tone was casual, "the last one for me was the Alloy account."
"Kidding again, are you? Or don't you remember that it got away from us. Sure, you thought you had it in the bag, but it didn't work out. Maybe they didn't like your brand of humor any more than I do."
"That account was in the bag, Bob, until you came on like a towel boy in a cat house and blew it. If you really want new business, stay in your office and play with yourself or whatever you do. Leave it to the people who know how to do it."
Carl knew he had gone too far, but there was too much anger in him to be contained. Bob Smelton really had blown the account and the embarassment was still strong inside. Carl didn't like embarrassment, especially when he didn't deserve it.
He and Elaine looked at each other as the man turned and walked away angrily.
"Come on," Carl said as he swung his chair around, "let's get out of here and find a drink."
He caught another glimpse of shapely thigh as Elaine hopped off the desk and hurried across the hall to her office. By the time he reached the door, she had picked up her purse and was waiting for him.
As they passed Mike Kalman's office, they heard Mike and Bob talking earnestly. They went on. Mike was one of the new men Bob had brought in. Like the rest of the new wave, he was young, inexperienced, loyal to the boss and a talker rather than a doer.
It wasn't that Mike was lazy, Carl and Elaine had agreed some time ago, he just didn't know what it was all about. Like Bob Smelton, he read all the books on P.R., but couldn't translate them into day to day reality of work.
"Do you think we're getting a going over?" Elaine asked with a smile as they reached the elevator.
"That seems like a pretty reasonable guess. In fact, you just won yourself a drink."
He didn't intend paying off on the drink right away though. Instead, they walked five blocks and passed two or three places that were hangouts of advertising and public relations types. It was important to escape from the whole atmosphere of it.
"It looks like you may start writing that novel sooner than you planned, Carl," she said over their first drink.
"Do you really think he'd do it?"
"It would be the act of a fool or a desperate man under pressure. Does that answer your question?"
The subject was enough to sustain them through two drinks. Carl changed the subject then.
"This is short notice, Elaine, but if you don't have any plans, let's keep going." He held up his glass to indicate his intentions.
"I haven't any plans I can't change with one phone call."
From the change on the table at his elbow he flicked a dime toward her. As she got up to make the call, Carl stood and drew her chair back. It was one of the little things about him she liked.
Elaine returned in five minutes. Carl left the change on the table and they walked out. She slipped her arm into his and it felt good.
"Where now, oh-soon-to-be-unemployed?" she asked.
"To where the food is, smart ass. The cardinal rule of happy drinking is to keep lots of food under the belt at all times."
As if it were a celebration, they began with another drink, progressed to Alaska King Crab with a carafe of chilled white wine, then on to thick, rare steaks with a bottle of vintage '63 Bouchard rouge.
When the dessert menu arrived, they agreed that they had already taken on enough food to serve as a base for all the drinking they could possibly do in one evening.
Their next stop took them to a smaller, quieter place where the liquor was good and the music subdued. They sat close and Carl felt the warm nearness of her.
Not knowing whether it was the drinks or his own need of her, Carl felt desire grow to the point where he feared it was showing.
He was usually sure of himself, but he knew this time he was fumbling as he manufactured an excuse to take her home. He heard himself apologizing and mumbling words about being more upset than he thought.
If Elaine was hurt, she didn't let it show. Instead, she smiled, squeezed his hand and they left. Inside the lobby of her apartment building, Carl apologized again and walked away.
Elaine knew he was upset all right, but she knew too that it had nothing to do with the office or with Bob Smelton. She did a lot of guessing at reasons involving her and hoped she was right.
Carl had been a good friend, the best she had ever known, but she knew now that she wanted more than that. Her hands squeezed into tight fists as she thought of how much she wanted him to take her to bed and make love to her.
Beyond that, she didn't think. Marriage could or could not be a factor. What she was experiencing was pure physical desire of woman for man.
Less than two miles away, desire was burning a big hole between Carl's loins. He couldn't recall having handled himself so badly on a date since he was a fumbling kid of nineteen who knew what he wanted but didn't know how to go about getting it.
He knew he had come close to pushing the friendship with Elaine all the way and, for the first time in years, he couldn't tell how the woman would respond.
He was remarkably successful in his relationships with women. Normally, on the first date he could tell whether or not she would be interested in going to bed. More than that, he guessed correctly more often than not how good she would be.
This time, his instincts deserted him completely. It was more than just desire though and Elaine was obviously more than just a friend.
He hesitated to use the word love, but he couldn't come up with anything better at the moment. Scolding himself that it was nothing more than a great desire for a piece of tail in spite of what he had been through the night before, Carl cursed himself for not having gone to her apartment with her and taken her to bed.
As he rode up on the elevator, he thought again of the long, shapely thighs. His palms began to sweat at the thought of how good it could be.
It was one of those coincidences when he saw Carole Denton getting out of the elevator across the hall. She lived on the same floor and made it known that she was a widow.
Once, on a whim, Carl had accepted an invitation to drop in for a drink. Over two drinks, she had made it very clear, stopping just short of saying it out loud, that she would love to make out with him.
He guessed her age at early forties and though there was a bit too much of her in every department, she was reasonably attractive woman.
The moment he spotted her wide smile of greeting, Carl knew what he was going to do about his condition.
"I owe you a couple of drinks, lady," he returned the smile as he spoke. "Care to visit my humble abode and collect?"
"I'd love to, but I do have to pop into my apartment first. Would it be all right if I dropped over in about ten or fifteen minutes?"
"Fine. Don't keep me waiting too long though or I may drain the supply before you arrive."
She disappeared into her apartment and Carl knew she wouldn't be long. He guessed she was cheering at the prospect of getting well laid and that she wanted the time to slip into fresh panties and perhaps get rid of an unattractive foundation garment. That suited him just fine.
Considering how much he'd had to drink already, Carl considered resisting the urge to have another. He thought again of who his partner was to be and decided another one was definitely called for.
Carole was going to be an instrument of therapy and nothing more. Even though he tried to make allowances for her, he couldn't. She was too anxious, too blatant about offering her body to a relative stranger.
Relative stranger hell, he thought, as he walked to the window with his drink. She'd offered it to a relative or to any other male with the male equipment in any stage of development.
Even when he told himself that he was being uncharitable, that she was a woman who saw the years passing without the comfort of regular sex, he couldn't make enough allowance for her.
Killing time, he sipped at the drink and looked out at the city, fourteen stories down. Normally, the view, especially at night, soothed him. Tonight, it was total failure.
Elaine was out there and she was beautiful and warm and probably more than willing and he had turned her clown and run away like a kid or a fool. She had smiled warmly as they said good night, but he wondered if she had been angry.
There was an intense look on her face, but he took it for one of concern. He wondered now whether it was that or whether perhaps, it was disgust or anger. One would be as bad as the other.
He heard the light tap on his door then and hurried to let her in. He didn't really care what the neighbors would think, but there was no point in entertaining them.
She had done a quick cosmetic job and had done it to such an extent that he couldn't be sure whether the smile she flashed was real or painted on.
As she walked into the room ahead of him, he noted that she had gotten out of the foundation garment she had worn when he saw her in the hall.
If confirmation of her motives were needed, that was more than enough. His experience told him that when a woman makes the sacrifice to vanity of taking off her foundation, she does it for the sake of simplicity of getting undressed to hop into bed.
Remembering that he had invited her for just that purpose, he decided not to knock it. She welcomed the idea of a scotch and soda, so he poured hers and refilled his own.
Two minutes later, they were sitting on the couch and his arm slipped around her. She responded by sighing like a nervous teenager and moving her too big body closer to him.
Putting his glass down on the table beside the couch, he cupped one full breast and gave it a few little squeezes.
"You work fast, Carl." It was the first time she had used his first name, but under the circumstances, that didn't seem unreasonable.
Projecting the thought in his mind, he formed a picture of their naked bodies threshing on the bed and her calling him Mister Jordan. He decided it wouldn't do at all.
He slid his other hand down her waist and gripped her thigh.
"Why not, Carole? After all, we're not kids. We know what we want and what to do about it, don't we?"By way of answer, she brought her moist lips up to his to be kissed. He kissed her. Within seconds, Carl saw that the tide had turned and she was really kissing him instead.
Her heavy breasts squashed against him and he knew that lying flat on her back, she was going to look like hell unless he could arrange to leave her bra on. That won't do, he decided, as the kiss continued. She could be sensitive about that.
While they continued the breathless kiss, he opened the buttons down the back of her dress and, after drawing it open, ran his hands over skin that wasn't too bad after all.
When she pulled her face away from his at last, Carole smiled as seductively as she could and pulled the top of her dress off her arms. The black satin bra jutted toward him and he realized he was about to see the biggest if not the best set of breasts ever.
The least he could do, he thought, was cup the heavy load in the bra. He did and found there was lots of room for his hands to rub.
Breathing heavily, she got to her feet and stood by the couch. Recognizing the signal to take her dress all the way off, he did so.
Under it, she wore matching black nylon panties that stretched to the breaking point to contain her belly and buttocks. Man, Carl thought as he explored the sweeping areas with his hands, this gal is going to have a lot of bounce anyway.
She parted her legs and Carl guessed what she wanted. Pretending to be wild with passion and finding enough of it to carry the day, he slid his hand between her thighs and rubbed along the narrow strip of nylon that hugged the bottom of her belly.
Carole was very warm and the way her body wriggled told him she was anxious to get on with it. Taking her hand, he walked her to the bedroom. He remembered that the sheets hadn't been changed since last night's bout, but that didn't bother him. It'll add flavor to things, he told himself.
While he wrestled with his shirt and tie, Carole busied herself by unzipping the front of his pants and reaching in to claim him. She obviously liked what she found.
Taking it out, she cooed with delight and, bending, took it into her mouth to bathe it. He hoped she wasn't expecting equal time.
They worked together at removing his pants and shorts, he kicked off his shoes and said to hell with his socks. A woman in her state, he knew, wasn't about to quibble over a little matter like a pair of socks. The part she was interested in was nicely uncovered except for the cover her hand was providing.
"You're nice and big and strong, Carl," she whispered excitedly.
"Then it's time to see what you have under there," he countered as he began to unfasten her bra.
The big hills tumbled out and although there was a bit more sag than he liked, they weren't bad at all. What they lacked in firmness, they more than made up in size.
Seeing the big nipples standing out like cigar butts, he rubbed them with finger and thumb and watched them grow even bigger.
As he bent his face over one of them, Carl discovered that the nipple alone consituted almost a mouthfull. Thinking of some of the women he knew who were so lacking in that area, he wondered a-bout the injustice of it all. It just didn't seem fair.
"Take my panties off, Carl darling," she whispered into his ear.
Carl made quite a production of slipping the taut nylon down very slowly and commenting favorably on what he saw as he unveiled her massive behind.
"Can't you just see yourself bouncing against that, darling?" she asked in the same excited tone.
"Sure thing, Carole." He patted the big cheeks as he helped her step out of the panties. "Do you like it from behind?"
"Oh yes," the massive breasts rose and fell wildly. "It gets in deeper that way. That's the way I like it best," she paused, "if you don't mind."
"What do you mean mind? I dig it that way myself."
Not only did Carl really dig it that way as a change of pace, but it also overcame the problem of looking at the big breasts lying flat and soft as she lay on her back.
Leaving her garter belt and nylons in place, Carl tumbled her to the bed and she became a tigress as she swarmed all over him and kept her body moving and rubbing without letup.
All that mattered was that it was working. Carl felt arousal building just as if she were one of his younger beauties, as if her body were slimmer and lush. He held her close and rubbed back.
"Oh ... oh ... Carl ... I'm going crazy ... I can't wait. Give it to me, baby, give it to me now."
She had parted her knees wide so that the area of her need gaped open and warm and moist. There was no need to prepare anything, Carl saw.
Kneeling behind her, he guided himself toward the yawning gap and pressed into her. He slid in easily and she cried out in passionate joy as she felt herself being filled by him.
"Oh darling," she panted as her buttocks continued to sway wildly. "I knew you were going to be good. I knew you were. Oooh ... oh . ... oh ... oooohhhh ... aaaah...."
He was all the way now and Carl felt the full, fleshy buttocks against his belly as he rubbed. Continuing to press against her, he reached under her belly and found the warm opening he was looking for.
Slipping one finger in, he probed until he found her clitoris. It was hard and expectant. At the risk of being clinical about it all, he thought of the millions of men who don't know that a woman too gets a hard on when properly aroused.
Still rubbing against the warm softness of her from behind, he continued to manipulate her with his finger until he felt her tense and knew what was going to happen. She cried out in joy as he brought her to climax, then stopped and waited for her to catch her breath again.
When she did, he took a firm grip with both hands and began to slam against her body, giving her what she wanted.
He felt himself getting in deep and understood why she liked it that way. Each time he slammed ahead, her fat buttocks provided a delightful fleshy cushion for his body.
Having brought her all the way once, he wasn't too concerned about holding back for her, but it didn't matter. After the session with Ingrid the night before, he didn't finish very fast anyway and she turned out to be one of those rare fast ones.
Just as he felt the first tensing announcing that he was ready to explode, she began to roar a-gain and he knew she was going over the edge for the second time.
Judging by her moans and the writhing of her behind against his belly, it was even better than the first one for her. She was still going through the last phases of it when he exploded.
Hugging her tightly and rubbing against her bottom, he felt himself bathing her deep insides. He knew she was feeling it all the way too as she continued to cry out in ecstasy.
As he withdrew from her, she collapsed onto the bed. Carl tottered to his feet and went in search of a couple of well earned drinks.
As he was pouring the drinks, he realized that it had been a failure. He had tried to bluff himself with just any woman who happened along and it wasn't working worth a damn.
Now it was worse. In addition to the haunting memory of Elaine, lovely, beautiful, warm Elaine, he had to face the presence of the fat woman who lay on the bed waiting for another round.
It was almost an hour before she believed that he was just too tired to continue from there and wanted to go to sleep.
He parried her suggestion that they do it regularly by suggesting that they were ships in the night. It was corny, he knew, but she bought it and that was all that mattered.
Carl fell into a drugged sleep as soon as she left. It wasn't the kind of sleep calculated to bring pleasant dreams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SERVICING WAS THE NAME OF THE GAME....
There was a dirty taste in his mouth when he woke in the morning, but Carl knew it had nothing to do with booze. The next thing he realized was that he wasn't going to work.
It wasn't that he was hung over, he just couldn't face the thought of Marks and Mountain Advertising Agency again until he had done a lot of thinking.
He knew that his schedule was clear for at least two days and that was all he needed. Because the two days involved were Thursday and Friday, that really meant four days before he would have to face the agency and the people involved in it.
Checking the clock, he saw that it was five after eight. Elaine would still be at home. Staggering out of bed, he made it all the way to the phone and forced his thick feeling fingers to dial her number. She answered on the first ring.
"You sound awful, Carl. Is anything wrong?"
"Nothing physical, probably nothing at all. I just wanted to let you know I won't be in the office until Monday."
"Are you sure nothing's wrong, Carl? You don't sound right. Can I do anything?"
"Thanks Elaine. The reason I called was to let you know that I'm all right and there's nothing to worry about. I'll call Bob and give him the word as soon as he gets to the office."
"What are you going to do, Carl? You can't just sit around your apartment and mope for four days. That isn't like you."
"Don't worry, Elaine. I know a little lodge a couple hundred miles to the north. The place is quiet and there's a golf course that's never busy. I have a lot of thinking to do and the rest will do me good."
"You're sure you don't need anything, Carl?"
"Thanks dear," the word was out before he could stop it, "I'm not in trouble now and I'll be completely under control when I get back."
"All right, Carl. I think you're doing the right thing. I won't say have fun, but I will wish you all the success in the world. Will that do?"
"That will do just fine, Elaine. Thanks a lot. By the way, are you mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at all. I have no reason to be unless you keep on asking stupid questions like that. As a matter-of-fact, if ifs your sudden departure last night you're so concerned about, it just could be that I'm bright enough to figure out the reason. If my guess was right, I'm not only not mad, but I also like you even more than I did before."
"Thanks, Elaine, thanks for everything. I'll figure out that last statement on the golf course. I'll call you as soon as I get back."
"I'm not pushing, Carl, but do you have any idea when that will be?"
"Sometime on Sunday, I guess. I'm just not sure what time."
"I won't be doing anything Sunday except writing a few letters and catching up on laundry. If you feel in the mood, give me a call and I'll pour you a drink when you get back."
"Thanks. I think I'll be in the mood."
Their conversation ended then. Carl made a pot of coffee. While he waited for it to perc, he reverted to his sometime eye opener of a cold beer. The first four mouthfulls were good but after that it tasted like hell. He dumped the rest of it in the sink and decided to kill time with a shave and shower.
When he returned to the kitchen, naked and feeling a lot better, the coffee was ready. Soon, he thought as he poured it into the big mug, I'm going to feel even better.
The coffee was good, as usual. He carried it to the window and looked out. Far below, the city was going to work.
There was a fleeting thought that he should envy all the people who knew where they were going and why, but it didn't last long. For one thing, he refused to accept the premise that they knew where they were going even to the extent that he knew.
There were two or three or four days of thinking in the offing and he hoped that would be time enough. He guessed it would, but wasn't prepared to make book on it.
If nothing else, he thought, I'll sharpen the hell out of my golf game. The course at the lodge claimed a par seventy-one.
Like most lodge courses he had played, it was set up to flatter paunchy old men and women. He had shot it in as low as sixty-five. It didn't offer a challenge, but there was the exercise and fresh air. Above all, Carl had learned to do his best thinking while walking a golf course and right at the moment, that was appeal enough.
Bob Smelton screamed with such vehemence when Carl informed him of the two day vacation that he seemed to be in danger of a heart attack. Carl laughed.
"Screw it, Bob," he snapped back. "My desk is clean, my clients are happy and my conscience is clear. I need time to think a lot of things over. No matter what happens, I'll be in Monday morning. We can take it from there."
"You're not thinking of resigning, are you Carl?"
"That's only one of about twenty things, Bob. Just sit tight and I'll get it all worked out. Whatever the decision is as far as the job is concerned, you'll be the first to know."
"Look, Carl, we've known each other a long time. If the memo upset you, I'm sorry. You know how it is. That bastard Sinclair chewed the ass off me.
"Forget the memo, Bob." Carl wished the man would stop crawling. "The job is the least of my problems. I have a lot of things to go over in my mind. I'll see you Monday."
Bob wanted to keep the conversation going, wanted to get an assurance from Carl that he wouldn't quit. What really concerned him, Carl knew, was the fear that he would move to another shop and take a couple of fat accounts with him.
When he couldn't take the snivelling anymore, Carl said good-bye and hung up. The phone rang less than a minute later, but he ignored it.
There was a chance, he knew, that it could be Elaine calling. It was almost enough to tempt him into picking it up. Almost, but not quite.
Just before nine-thirty, he wheeled the Buick out of the basement garage and pointed it toward the street leading to the highway. Allowing for a leisurely breakfast during which he would read his morning paper, he estimated that he would reach the lodge in plenty of time for a drink and an afternoon swim while the sun was still hot. After that, he would destroy the golf course.
He had promised to save the heavy thinking until he reached the lodge, but the little men kept swarming over his shoulders and demanding to be heard.
Holding his speed at a steady seventy, he began listening to them and realized just how much thinking he had to do before the weekend was over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AN AWAKENED WANTON....
Okay, Miss smart ass, Elaine told herself, Carl has done the wise thing and taken a few days off to work out the knots in his mind. What are you going to do about yours?
It was a legitimate question, but hardly the cosmopolitan concept of what an attractive young career woman does on Friday evening when other people are out on the town living it up.
Wednesday evening, she and Carl chatted, dined and drank, she told herself he would take her home, come in with her and they would make love. At the time, it had been a beautiful thought and she could feel the thrill of it deep inside herself.
It was a thought she had entertained before, but never as strongly as that time. What bothered her was that men didn't usually attract her that much. From time to time, she would accept a date with one of five or six men she knew, enjoy an evening on the town, then go back to her apartment and make love.
All were married, none were interested in breaking up the family arrangement, but all needed the once in a while thing of a fun evening. Because she wanted nothing more than that for the time being, it had always been enough.
That was changing now. She hadn't taken one of those date offers in more than a month.
More and more, Carl's friendship was filling the void that her friends had filled with some degree of satisfaction. Was it the right thing though?
For a while last Wednesday night, it seemed to be. In spite of all the brave things she had said a-bout not wanting to make big personal decisions for a few years yet, she was forced that if she wasn't already in love with him, she was ready to be.
But was he? He had just gotten out of a bad marriage that had left a lot of bruises on him. Perhaps he wouldn't want to try again.
She had heard enough about his reputation to know that he had all the women he wanted and that wasn't hard to understand. Not only was he a good looking man, but he had everything else that went with it.
He was strong, yet sensitive, dressed well, was more intelligent than any other man she knew, laughed easily and was, in general, every intelligent woman's idea of perfect. She wasn't surprised that so many women were ready to lay it out for him. Not only would she, if given the chance, she found herself wanting the opportunity to say yes, with or without words.
It was another hurdle in her life, not the biggest perhaps, but a hurdle anyway.
She remembered the first one easily. She had been seventeen then and a virgin who thought books and music offered more than any fumbling boy could. There were all the dates and necking sessions, but it never went beyond that because she wouldn't permit it.
Other girls told her of the joys of going all the way with a man, but she wasn't having any. There was an air of desperation while they boasted and Elaine got the distinct impression that they felt they were being used.
The thought of finding sexual satisfaction with another woman hadn't occurred to her. When it did, it all happened so fast that there wasn't time to think.
Elizabeth was an English girl two years older and a million years wiser in sexual matters. She was more mature than the other girls she knew though, so they just happened on each other as a mutual defence against the stupidity of their peers.
They talked music and books and philosophy and politics and felt very worldly wise. Elizabeth's parents went away for a few days and Elaine was delighted to stay with her.
It happened the first night of their stay. At Elizabeth's suggestion, they bathed, put on frilly little nighties and went back to the rec room to play records and chat.
Almost at once, the conversation turned from music to sex. Elaine was normal enough to find it exciting. Besides, Elizabeth seemed so knowing and the things she said were so exciting.
She talked about George Sand and life in Paris and a lot of other things that painted a whole new concept of what life was all about.
Elaine was stunned when she realized that they had both taken off their nighties and were discussing the beauty of the female form and the stupidity of people in considering nudity a sinful or dirty thing.
The hand felt good on her breast as it rubbed, patted and pinched the nipple just enough to make it grow without hurting.
It seemed only logical that she should do the same thing for her friend. She did. The touch of a silken breast under her fingers felt good, so good that she raised both hands and cupped the two breasts. Elizabeth's were just a shade larger than her own and felt frighteningly good.
The conversation moved around to kisses and how the young men they knew were so inept in that department. A few minutes later, they were experimenting to prove that two women could kiss with more sensitivity than a woman and a man ever could.
After that, things happened so fast that Elaine lost track of details.
There was a vague recollection of each playing between the parted thighs of the other and it felt so good.
Before very long, they were lying on the thick rug in an inverted embrace. Her mouth was buried deep between Elizabeth's thighs drinking the warm femininity of her. At the same time, she felt the greedy mouth at her, felt the darting tongue probing deeply into her where no male had ever been.
The climax she experienced that night was a thing without compare. After that, they talked for a while before going to bed still naked. It seemed only natural that they should do it again, so they did and it was great this time too.
For the rest of their stay together, they played all the wild games that Elizabeth could teach her and she proved to be a willing student.
Back home after her friend's parents returned, Elaine had time to think about things. There was a name for women who did that sort of thing, she knew, and the name was lesbian. It was a dirty word.
She had laid a long time that night thinking about it before deciding that as nice as it was, she didn't want to make it a permanent thing.
Breaking off with Elizabeth was tough, as she knew it would be, but she managed it. After that, the most logical thing seemed to be to find the right young man to teach her what normal sexual relations were all about.
Some instinct told her she wasn't ready for that yet though, so she threw herself into her hobbies and tried to forget about it.
Her determination lasted until she was nineteen and her body told her it was tired of waiting. The magnificent feeling Elizabeth had triggered in her was still strong in her mind and growing stronger.
The young man sho chose was a political science major at the university and seemed a little more sensitive than most of the other males who considered football and sex the only important things in the world.
Elaine took him walking that evening and they didn't stop walking and talking until dark. Because Elaine had planned it that way, they were in a section of park that offered all the privacy they needed.
She kissed him and encouraged him to become bolder in his approach. When it seemed he wasn't going to get bold enough, Elaine told him why she had taken him to the park that night and asked him to relieve her of her virginity.
The boy sweated and trembled and Elaine knew it was going to be a failure.
Nervously, he stammered an explaination that he had never done it before and didn't think it would be a good idea in view of their inexperience. To Elaine, it seemed like a simple enough thing, but she sensed the futility of urging on a reluctant boy.
He went on to admit that he had never even seen a female body and begged her to let him see hers. There didn't seem to be any reason for denying him so simple a request, so she stood and held her skirt up. His eyes shone with delight and she was glad she had agreed to his plea.
When she told him so, he took her panties down and helped her step out of them. Lying on the cool grass, she parted her thighs wide and invited him to examine her.
Elaine, determined now to get something out of the evening, told him about the joys of cunnilungus. There was no reluctance about him as she guided his face into the warmth between her thighs.
In the beginning, he was nervous, but soon she felt his mouth devouring her and his tongue licking deep into her.
She scared him a little when her climax came and she heaved and cried out, but he got over it. Wondering whether he may have changed his mind by then, she reached for the front of his pants and found nothing there to do the job.
Apologizing, he stammered an explanation of how it had happened while he was kissing between her thighs. She didn't know whether it had been a spontaneous thing or whether he had done it with his hand. At any rate, it didn't matter. She put her panties back on and he took her home.
More determined than ever, Elaine took the bold step of discussing her problem with the reasonably good looking political science professor.
As if he had been through it all before, he spent five minutes explaining to her how his career would be destroyed if he were caught having intercourse with a student, then told her where and when he would meet her that night.
He took her to a motel and became a patient, ardent lover. As he undressed her, he fondled and kissed her body. He told her how beautiful and exciting she was. She saw his mouth close over a bared breast and a sweet shudder rippled through her whole body.
His kiss was ever more exciting when he applied it to the warmth of her body between her trembling thighs. Before removing her panties, he had stripped naked and now she saw his strong body, proud and obviously ready for her.
He uncapped a jar of Valeline and she watched him rub it thoroughly over the head that would force its way into her body. Scooping out more of it, he brought it between her thighs. She felt gentle hands parting the lips and rubbing there.
Instinct told her how to hold her thighs apart so that he could settle his body between them. He did it and she cried out a little as she felt the strength of him pressing her still virginal warmth.
He pushed ahead with slow jabs and she felt him coming into her body. The pain she had heard about was there, but it was a vague thing, less important than the wonderful feeling of having a strong man rubbing deep in her body.
Through most of it, his mouth clung to hers and his kisses were things of splendor. He kept moving slowly and his efforts were rewarded when Elaine tensed for a climax which rocked her lovely young body. His mouth held hers all the way through it.
He climaxed then and she felt the liquid fire fill her while being. Later, they talked, sitting naked on the bed-Before leaving, he made love to her a-gain and it was even better the second time.
They said good night at her residence door and she never saw him again except in class. A friendly warmth remained between them through the rest of her time in college though.
Elaine never became promiscuous, but from time to time, she would allow some man to make love to her if she liked him. She learned that older men were a much better bet than young ones who tended to lack understanding of a woman's needs.
After graduation, she got her first newspaper job and became more interested in her work than in men. When she was twenty-two, there was a big love affair that promised to be the real thing.
Tony had culture and class and was very good in bed. It wasn't until Elaine wanted to talk about future plans that he mentioned the fact of a wife and a couple of kids in the suburbs. That ended that and she was more careful in the future.
An old career woman shocked her once by pointing out the advantage of dalliance with married rather than single men. Elaine was shocked at first, but soon came to understad that the woman was right.
A married man out for a night on the town would go out of his way to make it good for the woman, and wouldn't be in any position to boast of his exploits later.
She learned that there are a lot of married men available on that basis, many more than she was interested in.
And now, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, her neat and orderly life was undergoing a change. No matter how she tried to bluff herself, Elaine knew she wanted Carl Jordan as more than just a friend. The point that bothered her though, was whether Carl wanted her in the same way.
Sitting alone in her apartment, she knew that Carl was sitting somewhere a couple of hundred miles away at that moment. She wondered whether his thoughts were in the same direction as hers and hoped he would come back with decisions that would involve the two of them.
When the thought process slid all the way down from her brain to the warm hunger between her thighs, Elaine hurried across the room to pour a drink.
The urge to let her hand move to the area of need and strive to fill it that way just didn't appeal to her.
Either Carl Jordan gets on the ball and comes after me, she thought, or some erring husband is going to grab a bonus that will leave this knees weak.
It took more time than she liked, but Elaine slipped into sleep eventually and her mind rested.
CHAPTER NINE
A FRUSTRATED HOUSEWIFE'S SOLUTION....
Marg Smelton was angry. She also had a gnawing hunger in and around the cavity between her thighs. The two emotions were very closely related.
Night after night it was the same. Bob would drag himself home, usually late, and complain about being so tired. As he moaned about the miseries of the agency, he complained that everyone there except him was lazy, incompetent and a fool.
From time to time, she would be dressed seductively in black lingerie under a sheer negligee, but she may as well have worn dungarees for all he saw.
If she let her desire become more obvious, to the point where he couldn't ignore it, Bob complained that he was just too tired to do anything a-bout it. He was very sorry, he would explain, and she was very beautiful, but he just couldn't possibly manage it.
Lately, she had been more flagrantly teasing at the parties they held or attended. Depending on his mood, Bob would be either delighted at the way she entertained influential people or angry at the way she threw herself at them.
Regardless though, it didn't provide her with the satisfaction she craved. The men would eat it up while she teased them, steal a few quick feels as the evening wore on, then leave to go home with or to their wives.
Marg would drag herself to bed feeling even more frustrated than she had at the beginning of the evening. It just kept getting worse.
She discovered how bad it had become a couple of months ago. It was one of those lonely evenings of sitting around the house waiting for her husband to arrive. When he did, she knew, there would be all the old stories about agency politics and being surrounded by fools.
To kill time, she began to undress. She didn't stop until she stood naked in front of her mirror. For a long time, she looked at the reflection of her body. What she saw made her want to cry.
Damn it all, she thought, I have a good body. I'm only thirty-eight. When she cupped her breasts in both hands, they looked good. Her fingers found the nipples which responded to her touch immediately.
It was so easy to imagine that there was a man with her. He was naked and standing close behind her so that she could feel the aroused strength of his masculinity pressing anxiously between her thighs and against her smooth buttocks as he pleaded that she share her nude loveliness with him.
His hand were strong and knowing on her breasts. The nipples leaped out hungrily and, in response to his pleas, she would permit him to take them into his mouth and suck them one at a time.
While he sucked, his tongue licked at the a-roused nipples causing it to grow firmer and bigger. His hands were moving down along her body then, demanding more.
As the hands of her phantom lover moved, the hands in the mirror moved along her body too. Marg saw one well manicured hand stop to caress the triangle of tangled foliage.
She watched it force its way between her thighs, then she gasped as the hand touched. It rubbed for a moment across the waiting labia, then one finger began to insinuate between the lips.
It slid slowly into her as if it were a man slowly feeding her his erection. Her legs moved wider a-part, her knees bent and she began to sob with desire.
"Yes, darling," she whispered, "I can't resist you. Take me to bed and make love to me."
As she walked to the bed with her lover, she felt his hand cupping one buttock and feeling the rhythm of each step.
And then she was lying on the bed with her knees drawn up, thighs parted wide, waiting for her lover to fall atop her heaving body.
He didn't walk then as he lowered himself to her. He was big and hard and excited and she felt him slip into the moist warmth of her.
At first, he moved slowly in and out, his hardness rubbing the sensitivity of her clitoris. It felt so good, soooo very good. She told him so and he rubbed a little harder with each slow stroke.
She felt release approaching from a great distance and he must have noticed it immediately because his strokes came faster then. The rubbing inside her brought ecstatic delight and her body heaved on the bed. She wondered how he was able to stay on top of her.
The thrill of climax flooded over her then. Her body raised right off the bed and swayed in midair. Her lover stroked her three more times quickly' and she cried out in sheer, passionate joy. The lover held against the warmth without moving.
Marg heard herself mumbling almost incoherent words to tell her lover how good it had been. When she opened her eyes, she saw the reflection in the mirror opposite the bed.
Her thighs were parted wide and she looked directly into the region where her lover had just withdrawn. She saw her hand there, one finger still separated from the others.
The fantasy was shattered then as she saw that she was alone in the room, alone on the bed. For a little while, it had been good, better than anything she had known in a long time. Now, she was faced with the sad reality of masturbation and it quickly robbed her of the lingering ecstasy.
Later, as she slipped her nightie on, Marg told herself that there was no reason to be ashamed, that it wasn't her fault at all. If my husband were a real man, I wouldn't have to do things like this.
The argument was a moderate success so that every week or two, when the need became too great, Marg would strip naked and enjoy another erotic session with her phantom lover.
Usually it was on the bed, but she found that it could be good when sitting on the toilet with her legs wide apart and her finger working under her, moving inside until it triggered the explosion.
It wasn't enough though. A finger could never be as good as a real man and that was what she wanted. A man wasn't going to be that easy to find though. It wasn't going to be as easy as teasing men at their parties.
Three tables away in the cocktail lounge, a man had been sneaking glances at her as she sat alone toying with her drink and her thoughts. This time, he smiled and she instinctively smiled back.
She felt her heart pounding as he checked over his shoulder, then got up and walked to her table.
"How much, baby?" he asked almost gruffly.
"Get away from me," she almost shrieked. He almost ran from the place and she was alone again.
He thought I was a whore. The thought hit her in the pit of the stomach. What's happened to me that strange men take me for a common prostitute?
Marg was sure that the dozen or so people in the place were staring at her and were sure, as the man had been, that she was a whore. She wanted to get away, wanted to run out as the man had done, but she couldn't.
If I do, she thought, they'll think I'm running after him. She forced herself to stay at the table for another five minutes. Then, her knees trembling, she managed to walk out of the darkened room and into the bright light of the afternoon.
When she finished shopping, Marg found herself just a block from the offices of Marks and Mountain. On the off chance that Bob would be in and alone in his office, she went up. He was in and alone and the secretary ushered her in.
Bob was surprised but reasonably pleasant. As usual, he had problems. Carl Jordan had just decided to take a couple of days off without warning and he had to carry the load.
Marg remembered Carl Jordan. She pictured the tall, athletic body, the easy smile, the look of strength with gentleness. She pressed her knees together at the thought of how great he could be in the sack. The old hunger was burning again.
"How about a whole evening together, Bob?" she asked suddenly.
"I'd love that, baby, really I would, but today I can't make it. I got to take some client people out to dinner and I won't get away until after ten."
"Okay, Bob, I understand. I'll go home and clean out the garage. You'll never get a chance to do that either." Her tone contained more defeat than anger.
"Come off it, Marg," he said impatiently. "Why don't you go to a show or something. The garage can wait."
"You probably haven't noticed, Bob, but I can't get my car into it. I've been parking outside for a week now."
"Austin," Bob called to the young messenger who was passing in front of his office.
He retraced his steps and walked into the office. Marg saw a clean cut looking boy whose age she guessed at sixteen or seventeen. His shyness made him a little more attractive.
"Austin, this is my wife." The boy smiled and made a little bow. "I'd like you to go home with her and give her a hand with some work there. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," the boy answered quickly. "I'd be glad to, Mr. Smelton."
Marg made a token protest at involving the boy in their domestic labors, but he assured her he'd be pleased to help.
Ten minutes later, they were getting into her car in the parking lot. As she slid behind the wheel, she saw her dress hike up over her thighs. Marg was about to tug it down when she caught him stealing a quick glimpse. She left it where it was.
The drive took about twenty-five minutes and they chatted easily all through it. Her dress kept creeping higher so that she knew he could see the complete top of on nylon and part of the other. She was keenly aware that he kept looking when he thought she was concentrating on the road ahead.
It excited her more than anything had in a long, long time. He's only a boy, she admitted to herself during a lull in the conversation, but he's also a young man with all the male equipment. She wondered if he was experienced at all.
Before they reached the house, Marg knew she was going to seduce him.
As she braked to a stop in the driveway, Marg made a point of noticing how much she had been showing.
"Good Heavens," she smiled, "I didn't realize I was showing so much thigh"
Austin couldn't come up with an answer, but he did blush.
"I hope I didn't embarrass you. After ah, I'm sure the girls you go out with have much nicer legs."
"That isn't true," he said hotly. "Besides, I don't go out with girls much anyway. I don't know if it's the right thing for me to say, but I think they're awfully nice." As she said the words, he looked frankly at her still exposed thighs for a few seconds.
"It's a wonderful thing for you to say, Austin." She smiled warmly. "A woman likes to hear a man tell her she has beautiful legs."
As if to escape his embarrassed excitement, Austin hurried out of the car. She knew he would hurry around to open her door, so she waited for him. As she swung out, she made a point of showing him a little more of her thighs above the nylons.
Marg was sure she saw him tremble and wondered if he had even seen a bit of her black panties. She hoped so.
After they had carried her parcels into the house, Marg invited him to help himself to a beer or a soft drink out of the fridge. She was pleased when he chose a beer. It meant he wanted to seem manly and that was just right for what she had in mind.
Leaving him with the beer, she hurried to the bedroom. Her first idea was to change into clinging shorts and a halter top, but she changed her mind. As a compromise, she jerked off the shadow-proof half slip' and replaced it with a sheer nylon one. Through the chiffon dress, it would show the outline of her thighs without being too blatant. She noted too, that when she bent, the front of her dress fell away nicely so that he would be able to see her bra and the upper slopes of her breasts as well as a nice amount of cleavage. Convinced that everything was just right, she went back to the boy.
Telling him to relax with his beer, Marg puttered around the room. In doing so, she made sure that much of the time she was between the boy and the window through which the late afternoon sun slanted.
Using the mirror over the mantel, she saw that he was looking intently. She congratulated herself on how easy the seduction was going to be.
In the garage, Austin assured her that the whole job would be just a matter of minutes. He seemed a bit reluctant when she suggested he take his shirt off to protect it from the dust of the lawn furniture and other things to be moved.
"You don't think I'm going to be shocked at the sight of a manly young chest, do you?" she teased.
Marg knew she had used the right approach when he removed not just his shirt and tie, but his T-shirt as well. He had a very good chest indeed and Marg had to restrain herself from rubbing her hands over it. Later, she promised herself. Not just his chest, but everything while he does the same to me.
Austin worked hard as if trying to work off the arousal she knew he felt. Marg picked up a few of the lighter items, but each movement was carefully planned.
She stood facing the sunlight through the open door with her back to him, her feet wide apart. Allowing him time enough for a good look through her dress, she bent slowly to pick up a basket of flower bulbs.
Knowing that the back of her dress had ridden high enough to show him the tops of her nylons and probably a bit more, she pretended to sort through the bulbs for a minute before slowly straightening up again.
All the rest of her moves were carefully calculated to show her thighs or breasts. Austin was sweating now and she knew it wasn't from working.
They finished as quickly as he said they would and she made a point of assuring him that it was the result of his manly ability to organize things. He glowed under the. flattery.
Before they started back to the house, Austin would have put his shirt back on, but she stopped him. "It's much too warm for that, Austin. Just relax and let me admire your chest."
He blushed again but she knew he was delighted. She knew something more than that though. She had noticed the bulge in the front of his trousers and knew what was happening. It was exactly what she wanted. In a little while, she would show him what to do with it and that was going to be great.
She got him another beer after he declined to join her in a scotch and soda and they began to chat again. He was obviously enjoying his discomfort as she sat opposite, crossing and uncrossing her legs much more frequently than necessary. Each time, he was treated to a display of taut nylons and silken skin.
Marg discovered that he had just turned seventeen and was working at the agency for the summer. In the fall, he would go back to high school and hoped someday to get into public relations. She didn't try to discourage him because she knew it would be a waste of time and she didn't really care about his career anyway. What she cared about most was, she knew, standing erect between his strong young thighs. The aim of the game was to have it standing between hers in a little while.
He declined the invitation to dinner, but when she pointed out that her husband wouldn't be home until eleven or so and that she hated eating alone, he had no choice but to accept.
She heard him phoning home to inform his mother that he was eating at Mister Smelton's house. With an excited smile, Marg assured herself that dinner would be served after she'd enjoyed a session with the good looking boy between her thighs.
Amazed at how practical she could be, Marg reasoned that in view of his state of arousal, the first one would be a quickie and probably wouldn't bring her a climax. After dinner, they would do it again and it would take him longer. Then, she would climax, not with a finger inside her, but with the strong, throbbing sex muscle of a male filling her belly and spurting the juice of love into her in a hot stream.
She found herself rubbing her thighs together again and thinking of what a tigress the boy was going to find in his arms.
Five minutes later, unable to wait any longer, Marg made her play in the kitchen. Austin was reaching into the fridge for another beer when she decided she needed another ice cube.
Reaching around him for it, her breasts pressed against his bare back. She knew that the chiffon and nylon did nothing to lessen their effect against his tingling skin.
"Aren't I the naughty girl?" she whispered as she rubbed a little harder.
Austin turned around wondering what to say or do. As he did, she pressed them against his chest and kissed him on the mouth. His arms wrapped around her and she was sure he would crush every rib in her body. She didn't fear the thought at all.
She had kept her kiss fairly light at first for fear of scaring him. Now, she opened her mouth wider and glued her mouth to his. As she did, she reached to drag one of his hands down her back so that it was cupping the fullness of one buttock. She felt him squeeze and responded by rubbing her belly against him. As she did, she felt his arousal hard and urgent against her.
"Oh Austin, darling," she whispered into his ear as one hand rubbed up and down his bare back, "you're so strong and good looking. I knew I wasn't going to be able to resist you. You seem to know just how to handle a woman."
By the way of response, he pressed his mouth to hers and the hand behind her rubbed both firm buttocks.
"Please, Austin, you've got me so excited that I can't wait. Take me to the bedroom and undress me. I have to have you make love to me. Please don't torture me."
The nervous boy was taking big strides toward manhood as they walked toward the guest bedroom. As they reached it, she guided him in removing her dress and slip.
Before he could reach for her bra, she began unfastening his belt. Her hands moved surely, confidently. He was young, but he was male and in a moment, she would see the erect badge of that maleness. She would hold it in her hand and think of how it would feel slipping into her as his strong body lay atop hers.
"I want to see you, Austin. I want to see all of you."
His pants fell to the floor and she saw the bulge in his briefs. She pulled them down quickly and there it was standing stiff and straight in front of her eyes. Her hand wrapped lovingly around it and squeezed.
Austin's hands moved over to her bra and panties as if he had ten of them rather than two. She urged him on with exciting words about what a wonderful lover he was.
When she felt the time was right, she reached behind her and slipped the fastener of the bra. As she pulled the cups away, Austin stared in fascination at the first female breasts he had ever seen.
She sighed as he explored them with his hands, then her hands tangled in his long air as he took one erect nipple into his mouth and sucked. She was amazed and delighted at the instinct which guides young males in the arts of love.
"Would you like to take my panties off or do you want me to do it?"
"Please let me."
"Of course, darling. I love to have a man do it for me. Take your time."
She guided him so that he sat on the edge of the bed with his legs open wide. Standing between them in profile, she indicated with a nod that she was ready. Before beginning to lower them, he rubbed them with both hands again and one hand found its way between her thighs to rub the warm nylon there.
His hands slipped tentatively around her waist as if he was afraid it was all a dream that would be shattered in a moment. As he began to slide the black nylon down, his hands rubbed her hips.
Marg bent a little from the waist as the panties slid down her buttocks. She saw his eyes straining and felt his hands trembling against her. She wanted to scream with passion but knew she had to be careful to avoid scaring him.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw the valley of her buttocks and the plump hills swelling out. It wasn't hard to guess how the sight was affecting the boy who, she was sure, had never seen a woman's body before.
Pushing the panties down her legs so that they fell into a puddle at her feet, his hands went crazy as they fondled her buttocks and reached between her thighs to see what he had never seen.
As he twisted his head to peer up between her thighs, Marg reached and parted the lips with her fingers. Taking one of his hands in hers, she showed him how to rub so that he could get his feel of it and make it feel even better at the same time. He obviously enjoyed his work.
And then she couldn't wait any longer. Her body was screaming for it and refused to be denied.
"Take me to bed and do it to me now, darling. You've got such a big, strong one. Give it to me Austin darling and fill me with it."
The boy looked scared at her intensity, but there was no turning back now. This was the big moment, bigger than he had even dared to dream. The mature, naked woman was falling back onto the bed with her legs wide open. That magic place was there waiting for him. It looked red and wet and warm and he had to get into it before she changed her mind.
Her hands guided him, her body felt hot and sticky and exciting under him. There was a moment of fumbling and then he felt himself slipping into her. He pushed harder and then he was in all the way. It was really great. Now he could understand what the other guys had boasted about.
He saw that the big breasts didn't stand out now the way they had done when she was standing, but they still looked exciting. Her face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Her mouth was open wide, her eyes shining, she was telling him how good he was and he believed it. Everything about her told him she was telling the truth. She was a grown woman, he was just a boy and yet he was doing all this to her and making her cry out with happiness.
Austin didn't want it to end, but he realized that it was going to and there was nothing he could do about it.
With one last lunge, he pushed all the way into the softness of her belly and just rubbed there as he spurted his energy into the silken furnace between her thighs-He felt her legs wrapping around him and draw-.ing him still closer to her, but he was completely powerless. Only his muscles functioned and they were going to give up the ghost any moment now. They gave up and he collapsed onto her.
The words she whispered into his ear told him that he had been great and that they would do it again in a little while and he would be even greater. He believed her and wanted time to fly so that he could get on with the next one.
When they got up in a little while, womanly instinct told Marg to put her bra and panties back on. Seeing what she was doing, Austin slipped into his shorts. He stayed close to her in the kitchen as she grilled a pair of big steaks.
She explained that a man who had worked so hard needed steaks to revive his energy. He liked the sound of the words and ate the steak with a good appetite.
When the meal was finished, Marg had another drink and Austin assured her he could take another beer without doing any harm.
In a little while, they went back to the bedroom. This time, she let him take off both her bra and her panties. He was ready to function so she opened her thighs and brought him into her.
It took him a lot longer and well before he was finished, she heaved her body from the bed and moaned her way through a delicious climax.
When Austin left, a little after eight, she made him promise that he would come back to see her again.
CHAPTER TEN
BACK TO BED....
Elaine was jolted out of a sound sleep by the ringing of the phone. As she scrambled out of bed saying a lot of words that wouldn't win approval from the Ladies' Home Journal, her fuzzy mind told her it was Saturday morning and any fool who would phone at nine o'clock should at least be shot, preferably low in the stomach.
"Hello," she snarled into the phone as she picked it up.
"I'm sorry if I phoned too early, Elaine. I guess I'm just some kind of an ass."
"Carl," her anger changed and developed the sparkle of elation, "where are you?"
"Not far away. I have to talk to you, but I'll wait a while. I'm sorry I woke you, get back to bed and leave your phone off the hook."
"Carl Jordan, you're the only person in the world who is entitled to wake me any time he wants to. Stop talking and get here as fast as you can."
There was laughter at the other end of the phone as he assured her he would hurry and definitely be there within the hour.
It seemed like much too long to wait, so after she hung up, Elaine went to the kitchen and took her time about making coffee. She was naked be-cuase she liked sleeping that way.
She ran the water and measured the coffee strictly by instinct because her mind was too filled with excitement to be concerned with such mundane tasks.
Carl wasn't due back until sometime Sunday, yet he was back in the city and phoning early on Saturday morning. It had to be a good sign.
She almost dropped the coffee pot when the knock sounded. It was louder than any knock she had ever heard. It could have been her imagination telling her that, Elaine knew, but at the moment, that didn't matter.
Some fool was knocking on her door and she was going to have to get rid of him in a hurry. She set an indoor track record as she headed for her bedroom and a robe to throw around her.
When the knock wasn't repeated in spite of the delay, she begun to think she had imagined it in the first place. She jerked the door open angrily and stared into the laughing face of Carl Jordan.
"Carl ... you couldn't ... I mean...."
"You look sleepy first thing in the morning, beautiful."
He had intended saying more, but the sight of her sleep-softened face was just too much after all the thinking he had done at the lodge. Instead, he swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth down on hers.
There was nothing in her attitude as she melted in his arms to indicat that she wasn't happy about what was happening.
"Wow." Elaine managed to get words out as they pulled a little apart. "I don't know what that was all about, but I think I like it. Would you care to step inside and discuss it at greater length."
Laughing, he followed her into the apartment and closed the door behind them.
"I'm sure I owe you at least a half dozen apologies, Elaine."
"Maybe you think so, but I don't. Offhand, I can't recall a more interesting Saturday morning in a hell of long time."
"Well, it was sneaky of me to call so early and then play games about being an hour."
"We can talk about that later, Mister Jordan. For now, please excuse me, this is the kind of robe I wear to impress my aunt Matilda. I'm going to slip into something better before I scare you away. If you know anything about making coffee, the perc is somewhere in the kitchen. Make yourself at home"
Back in her bedroom, changing into a much more seductive looking robe involved about one minute. Brushing her hair took much longer. Elaine even considered cosmetics, but that didn't seem honest so she skipped it. When she opened her door, she could hear the perc bubbling in the kitchen.
"It's a wonderful surprise, Carl," she greeted him as she walked into the kitchen, "but will you please tell me what it's all about?"
"Who are you? I just saw your sleepy, older sister, but you're a real beauty."
"Damn you, Carl. If I had shoes on I'd kick you in the shins or something. Stop playing games with me."
"Oh well," he pretended to leave, "if that's the way it is, I may as well go back to the lodge and make passes at the fish."
"Oh no you don't." She slipped an arm around his waist and held him. "When a desperate career woman traps a handsome man in her apartment on a Saturday morning, she doesn't give up that easily."
"I hope you mean that, lady." He held her arms and looked into her face intently.
"I mean it, Carl. Do you want to talk now, or later when the coffee's ready?"
"We seem to do most of our best talking over coffee. I'd like to wait, if you don't mind."
"I'd like it better that way too. I need a few minutes to recover from the shock of it all."
While they waited, Elaine filled him in on the latest developments at the agency. There was nothing really important, but it was enough to bridge the gap.
The automatic perc clicked to indicate the end of the cycle. Elaine hoped he didn't notice that her hand was shaking a little as she poured the two cups.
"What on earth time did you leave the lodge?" She asked as she suddenly realized how long a drive it had been.
"Around five?"
"Have you eaten?"
"Like a pig. Give me my coffee and stop stalling."
Walking ahead of her into the living room, Carl sat on the couch and indicated the place beside him. As she sat, Elaine noticed he had handled it as if he were the host even though it was her apartment. She liked it.
Continuing to control the situation, Carl began the discussion by telling her how important her friendship had been to him for so long.
"Welcome to the club, Carl. You've become very important in my life"
"I'm pleased to hear that, Elaine. My problem is that I've discovered a friendship like ours carries a built in trap."
"Keep going, Carl."
"Will you help me if I get in trouble?"
"Of course." There was enough warmth in the two words to assure him that he wasn't going to need help after all.
"Okay, Elaine. We seem ideally suited to each other in every way. We talk and laugh and drink and enjoy everything until we reach the stage when it would be logical to advance that one step beyond friendship."
"If it's any help, Carl, I've done a lot of thinking about that myself." Elaine saw the look of relief on his face.
"Then I guess you know why I ran away the other night"
"Because you were afraid of what might happen?"
"Because I was afraid that if I'd stayed one minute longer, I'd have torn your clothes off and made love to you right there in the lobby."
"Maybe you wouldn't have had to tear them off, Carl."
"That's where the friendship trap comes in. I didn't dare risk spoiling our wonderful friendship-"
"Thanks for saying all this, Carl. Now it's my turn. Deep down inside me, I didn't want you to leave. I wanted you to come upstairs with me, undress me and make love to me. Does that make me a shameless hussy?"
"Does it hell. It makes you a very wonderful woman. If I had any brains at all, I'd have seen it a long time ago."
"A woman is supposed to be able to control these situations and make them develop the way she wants. For a long time, I think I've been jealous. You have quite a reputation with females, yet, with me, you always stopped short of that point. By the time I realized what was going on, I had fallen into what you call the friendship trap."
"Then there's only one thing more for me to say, Elaine. I think I love you. I think I've loved you right from the beginning, but I honest to God can't be sure. I guess that's a hell of a statement to make."
"It's a hell of a good statement, dear. Will you accept the same from me for the time being?"
"Gladly."
"And will you take me to bed now and make love to me?"
"Hey, it's supposed to be the man who makes the play."
"Is that a refusal?" Her eyes were dancing as she asked.
"Not bloody likely, it isn't."
Before she knew what was happening, Carl was standing and she was cradled in his arms like a baby. He was carrying her to the bedroom.
Carl felt waves of passion breaking over him as he walked with his precious cargo. Through the filmy negligee, he felt the warm firmness of her body. There was just the right woman scent. The expression on her face told him she too was anxious.
In the room, he paused, looked into her face again and deposited her gently on the bed. The negligee clung to all the curves of her lovely body and promised him the world and all the stars.
Still looking at her, his eyes moist with desire and anticipation, Carl began undressing. He did it without haste, without affectation.
Lying on the bed, Elaine watched and changed her evaluation of him. She had always considered him rather good looking, now she decided he was magnificent.
It wasn't the figure of a body building nut, just the firm, well muscled body of a man who took care of himself and carried his body with pride and dignity.
The last thing he took off was his briefs. As he pulled them down and stepped out of them, Elaine saw how beautifully ready he was. He was no bigger or smaller than a man should be, she decided, and he was magnificently strong. It would be good.
Before standing, Elaine tugged the cord of her negligee and it fell open. She felt his eyes warm and comforting on her naked breasts. His hands were strong and gentle as they pushed the filmy garment off her arms so that it fell with a sighing whisper to the floor beside her.
For a few seconds, she saw his eyes caressing her from her face, down over her proud, jutting breasts, over the swell of her tummy, then down her thighs and legs.
His arms wrapped around her nudity then and they fell into a naked embrace. As their bodies clung, both knew that they had wasted so much time and now, at last, they were together with all the years of the future to make up for the past.
Without realizing how it had happened, Elaine saw that they were no longer standing. It seemed there had been no break in the embrace, and yet they were lying on the bed now, their arms still wrapped tightly around each other.
Carl's hands had been good as they fondled her warm, sensitive body, but then his mouth began doing so and she cried in sweet ecstasy as every nerve in her body tingled with joy and anticipation.
Elaine had known it would be good, now she knew this was more than good, it was the ultimate distillation of every joyous sensation she had ever known.
With another glad cry, she allowed her thighs to open wide and raised her body from the bed as she felt his mouth brushing her thighs and seeking the very center of her desire.
His strong hands slid under, cupping and holding her, his moist lips moved from inner thigh, paused for a moment, then pressed against the warmth that waited to become searing, beautifully burning heat.
And then his tongue was moving deep inside her with a delicious lashing effect.
While her body exploded, he withdrew his tongue and allowed his mouth to hold her. When the sweet storm passed, her arms reached for him and drew his body onto hers.
Catching his face in her hands, she pressed her mouth hard against his and sighed through a long kiss during which she tasted the mingled flavor-of both their bodies. It was an erotic banquet of flavor that caused desire to rekindle within her.
Sensing her readiness, Carl reached between them and she felt the strong male desire coming to her. And then the throbbing muscle was moving into her symphonic cry of love.
Carl pushed firmly, easily until she felt his body rubbing hers and knew he had filled her all the way, had given her everything he had to offer.
They took a moment to adjust to each other for their ride to the stars, then he began stroking. They were long, slow strokes and each time he touched a million nerve edges so that she trembled in delicious ecstasy that promised to go on forever.
But the end of forever was approaching fast for Elaine as she felt her body tense for another sweet explosion. As it began, Carl stroked faster into her receptive body, then gasped and rubbed against her belly so that she knew he too was experiencing the beautiful, shattering death of climax.
It was a long time before either could find breath enough to speak. When they did, they spoke disjointed words which told each other how good it had been and how good it would be.
In a little while, they walked naked into the kitchen for more coffee. Smiling, their eyes singing erotic love songs to each other, they sipped their coffee and talked of beauty and happiness.
Carl wanted to say the words of love, but they refused to be uttered. He was filled to overflowing with love, and yet, his mind intruded and warned that the act of love can produce a lovely delusion. Before he said the words to her, he wanted to be sure that they came from his mind as well as his heart and his loins. She seemed to understand.
Later, they bathed together and played in the tub like a couple of excited kids. Dressing, they held hands as they walked in the warm sun of late morning.
They ate lunch in a little Hungarian restaurant and walked a little more. At a store near Elaine's apartment, they collected a store of liquor and wines of the world before returning to their private playground.
Alone again, clothes were no longer a necessity. He made her undress slowly so that he could fully savor the thrilling beauty of his woman in lingerie which caressed her in a shimmering nylon whisper.
They had intended having a drink to toast the birth of their new happiness, but instead they fell to the bed and tasted the joys of each other again.
It became the pattern for the weekend which consisted of eating, drinking, talking and making love. By Monday morning, they had done everything, but both knew they had merely whetted appetites which would crave more and more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOWN TO THE NITTY GRITTY....
Bob Smelton swore again as he looked over the file of new business prospects. He sensed what they were worth because he had written his share of them in the days before he became manager of the department.
Each spoke glowingly of meetings and lunches with someone who could influence the decision within the client firm. The attached expense accounts were more impressive, and probably more realistic, than the glowing reports of progress.
Of them all, the tire account looked like the best bet. Pete had turned in a good presentation and the prospective client appeared to be serious about wanting a new public relations approach.
Landing that account would mean more than just a fat fee, it could also influence the advertising account into the agency. That would really get Sinclair off his neck and establish him as the fair haired boy again.
He called Pete into his office and they talked about it. Pete was quietly confident that they were running neck and neck with one other outfit that was after the account. He also agreed that it could be a good idea for Bob to have lunch with the vice president who would make the decision.
Bob made the call five minutes later. In a brief conversation, it was arranged that he would visit Kent Dowson at his office just before lunch and that after a chat, they would have lunch together.
Checking the time, Bob felt his confidence grow. Pete had done a good job of getting things in motion. All he had to do was turn on the high level approach, impress Dowson with his grasp of the situation, and the account was theirs.
He caught himself reaching for the phone to call Darcy Sinclair and break the word that he was about to pick up the tire account. He stopped just short of making the call.
There was enough of the old Bob Smelton left to show him that in doing so, he would be acting like a messenger by rather than an administrator. Time enough to break the news when he had the contract in his pocket.
Then, he thought, I can just throw it down on the bastard's desk and smile. Let him get sarcastic then.
But there was no time for day dreaming. Kent Dowson was waiting and was about to discover how a real PR. man could operate.
His car was parked seven blocks away, Dow-son's office was three blocks. Walking didn't involve much in the way of decision, but he made it anyway. Bob never did anything without reaching a decision first.
An attractive young receptionist took his card and flashed him a warm smile in return. Looking her over, Bob was sure she went for him in a big way. He was a firm believer in the glamor and excitement of agency life and felt that no normal woman could resist it.
A moment later, she moved out from behind her desk with an attractive flash of nylon clad legs and held a door open to him. Taking a deep breath, Bob Smelton walked into the office with more cnfidence than the had felt in a long time.
"Good morning, Mr...." Bob's knees buckled and he almost fell. He felt perspiration break out on his forehead even though he was cold all over.
It was the same man he had met in the washroom of the bar that day. The man who had lured him back to the thing he thought he had finally given up.
"Mister Smelton?" the smile was calm and easy as Kent Dowson extended his hand. "A pleasure to meet you."
Could it be he didn't recognize him? Bob wondered as he stumbled through the introduction and accepted the chair the man offered him.
"You look warm, Mister Smelton?"
"My office is just a few blocks away so I walked. I guess I walked a little too fast."
"That's the trouble with people in your game, you go too fast. You never learn to relax."
Bob knew he was still stumbling, but he managed some line about it being a tough, competitive game and how they had to keep running to give their clients the best service possible.
Five minutes later, they were on a first name basis and Kent was telling him how impressed they were with the program Pete had offered them.
After another five minutes, Kent excused himself and went outside to dictate a letter. He returnee a couple of minutes later and explained that as soon as his sceretary typed the letter, they would be able to break away for lunch.
Content that things were going much better than he had feared after the initial shock, Bob was able to carry on a conversation with the man who still seemed to have no recollection of their previous meeting.
It was difficult though, since Bob kept expecting the man to stand, lower his zipper and offer him the same thing he offered in the washroom before. Bob wished passionately that he had left the account to Pete to bring in, but it was too late to think of that now. He had jumped in and all he could do was keep swimming until he reached the dock.
The secretary smiled at both men as she handed the letter to Kent. He stuffed the envelope into his inside pocket and they left the office.
They were discussing where to eat, when Kent paused, looked at his watch and announced that he was supposed to take an important personal call at his apartment in fifteen minutes.
With an apology, he suggested that Bob come along with him and they could have a drink there while he waited for the call.
Instinctively, Bob smelled something wrong, and yet, the man seemed so genuine about it. Either way, he had to go through with it.
Ten minutes later, Bob walked into a well furnished apartment as Kent held the door open for him.
"You're lucky to have an apartment like this so close to your office," Bob observed as he looked around at the tasteful furnishings and the expensive looking paintings on the walls.
"I don't actually live here. I just find it convenient to have an apartment downtown. You know how it is."
Adopting his best man-of-the-world attitude, Bob assured him he understood such things.
Kent Dowson was a gracious host as he poured drinks for the two of them. There were ice cubes in the small fridge behind the bar. The apartment offered all the comforts of home, Bob noted and decided that he too would have something like this one of these days.
They were half way through the first drink when Kent excused himself. Before leaving the room, he reached into his pocket and dropped the envelope on the bar.
"You may want to take a look at this while you're waiting," he said with a smile.
Apprehension flooding his body and mind, Bob waited until he was alone in the room before opening the unsealed envelope. Could it be some kind of blackmail note? Was this the man's way of humiliating him. What if he had somehow taken a picture of the incident with a secret camera?
As one ugly thought piled on the other, Bob had difficulty getting the single sheet out of the envelope. Unfolding the letter, he blinked, then forced himself to read it.
It was a signed letter of undertaking to accept the public relations account as proposed. The official contract would be signed as soon as it was prepared.
The shock was almost too much for Bob. His hand trembled as he picked up his glass. Some of the liquor trickled down his chin, but the rest poured down his throat and burned a little.
It was the sweet thrill of success. He had landed the account. All of a sudden, he felt a strength he hadn't known in a long time. He was Bob Smelton and he had just landed the big account he needed. There would be no stopping him now.
As a follow up, he would steer the advertising account into the agency. With that kind of billing under his belt, there would be no way they could avoid making him a vice president.
After that, there would be other accounts. There was nothing above him now but the sky and even that was his for the taking.
Hearing the door open, he turned, his mouth opening to speak. Instead, he uttered a groan and the glass fell from his hand to bounce on the thick carpet.
Kent Dowson stood naked in the doorway. One look was more than enough to show Bob that he was going to be called upon to service his new account in a way that had nothing to do with public relations in the accepted sense!
CHAPTER TWELVE
A NEW ROOMMATE....
It had been a lot of work, but it was over now and the last of Elaine's belongings had been unpacked and stored away in the apartment that had been Carl's, but was now his and hers.
Carl was sitting in his favorite chair and Elaine sat on the rug, her head resting against his legs. It was after ten o'clock and bed time was approaching. A postponement had been called though, so that they could take a breather with a couple of drinks.
"The place looks different, darling," Carl said as his hand stroked her cheek and the back of her neck. "Very beautifully different."
"I hope my things haven't made it look too feminine. I liked it the way it was."
"I wasn't talking about your things, the difference is you. That's what makes the old dump look so much better all of a sudden."
"I'm glad I decided to move in with you, Mister Jordan. You say such nice things."
"Only to nice people."
"Are you sure this is what you want to do, Darling" As she looked up into his face, Carl saw the beginning of tears. He kissed both eyes lightly and spilled a bit of his drink in the process.
"You mean live together like this? I'm very sure, darling. You're the one with tears in your eyes though. Are you sure? I know women like the security of the wedding ring and all that."
"Don't be a dope. Those are very happy tears, I'll have you know."
"Well," he licked his tongue over his lips, "they do taste happy."
Elaine squeezed his thigh hard enough to make him yelp a little. She smiled.
It had been a big decision and they had taken it only after a lot of discussion. It began when Carl told her that he had set a six month limit on his employment at the agency. After that, he was going to throw the job and start doing some serious writing.
At first, she cried, then she threw her arms around him and kissed him smoothly on the mouth. Getting him out of the agency was the second most important thing in the world to her and now, he was telling her that he had set a target and would keep it.
After that, they discussed how they could work as a team to stretch the income without actually scrimping. Sharing an apartment seemed so obvious to her that she said it as simply as if she were saying they should have lunch together.
Carl wanted that, wanted it badly, but he offered her marriage as a condition of it.
When she rejected it, he blinked in amazement.
"I very much want to be married to you, Carl, but not yet. We'll marry when we're both ready, when you're sure it's what you want"
"But I am sure, darling."
"You're a lovely liar and I love you darling, but the lady is not for marriage right now. We're going to live together and love together and cut our expenses in half. When your six months at the agency are up, if you still want to marry me, if you're not tired of me, we'll get married and go away somewhere and my wonderful husband will write wonderful books and tell the whole world how good he is and how lucky I am."
"I don't seem to have much say in all of this," he pretended to protest.
"You have everything to say, darling. I'm just helping with some of the things you're too shy to say."
He laughed and kissed her and they went on discussing it from there. The result of their conversation was that on the one week anniversary of their making love for the first time, Elaine moved into his apartment.
It wasn't purely a financial arrangement either and both knew it. Having discovered complete satisfaction in each other, they would continue to make love and neither could be dishonest enough to keep up the pretense of living apart.
Now, with the work of moving and unpacking out of the way, they talked excitedly about the future.
During his remaining months at the agency, Carl would begin work on his novel. There would be no hard and fast working schedule. They would see good shows, drink good liquor, eat good food and have a lot of fun. On the quiet evenings at home, there would be times when he would write while she would sit near him and read.
As they discussed it now, it became the most exciting way of life they could imagine. What they didn't have to say out loud was that in the wonderful times between, they would make love in their special, wonderful way.
"What happens if they find out about us at the agency?" Carl asked as the thought struck him.
"Are you afraid they'll fire us on moral grounds? You have to be kidding."
"You know what I mean, smart ass. I don't want people calling you dirty names"
"Carl darling, do you think I care about those people? I'm not even sure they're people. They're really things."
"Don't evade the issue, Elaine. Say you'll marry me now."
"So I can be nice and respectable? I'll know when I want to marry you, Carl. As far as that goes, I married you the first time we made love. We'll go through the ceremony later."
Carl saw that he was trying to use logic in an arugment against a woman's feelings. Sensing that all her argument was wrapped up in love, he stopped arguing and kissed her instead.
In a little while, they went to the bathroom and ran a tub to wash off the product of all their work. As was so often the case now, they bathed together and that allowed no room for argument.
After that, they poured another couple of drinks and walked naked into the bedroom. He knew there was no possiblity of arguing there, so he didn't try. Instead, they made passionate love and fell asleep with their drinks untouched.
During the night, Carl woke and remembered that his drink was on the floor near the bed. In the dim light that spilled into the room from the hall, he tried to reach the glass, but failed.
Elaine's head was still lying on his shoulder and chest. Her hair fell across her face, her lips were slightly parted in sleep. She looked so beautiful that he felt tears forming in his eyes.
Stretching his neck, he looked toward the floor and saw that the glass was about a foot beyond his reach. Making a careful study of the situation, he realized that in order to reach it, he would have to move his body and knew that would probably waken her.
Seeing the placid beauty of the beautiful face lying on him, Carl knew that no drink would ever be important enough to justify that price.
Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to return. Before he did, he felt a more wonderful sense of intoxication than any liquor could ever produce. He felt his woman breathing close to him before he drifted into a world of softness and love and sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE MAN EATER....
Carl took one look at Marg Smelton and knew he had made a mistake in answering her distress call. She had reached him in his office just after two o'clock. With tears in her voice, she begged him to come to the house as soon as he could.
Despite all his efforts, she wouldn't tell him why it was so important to her nor would she say why it was not possible to discuss it with her husband.
Finally, against his better judgment, he tried to sooth her and assured her he would be there as soon as he could.
Elaine was away at a client meeting and there was no way of reaching her. The best he could do was leave a message with her secretary that he had been called out on an emergency and would be in touch with her at home. He didn't dare say where he was going, even a note in a sealed envelope didn't seem safe under the circumstances.
Now, as Marg ushered him into the house, Carl knew with certainty that he shouldn't have come. On the phone, she had seemed close to hysteria and what triggered him into agreeing to see her was a fear that she would do something desperate, something perhaps as desperate as suicide.
Now, although there was a haunted expression on her face, he didn't see suicide as a danger. There was trouble there somewhere, he sensed, but he couldn't yet know what it was. "What's the trouble, Marg?"
"Let me pour us a drink first, Carl, then we'll talk. Thanks for coming."
Carl didn't want a drink, not under the circumstances, but he decided it would be best to go along with her until he could get some hint as to what was on her mind. There was little danger that Bob would arrive, but he couldn't help feeling uncomfortable at how it would look if the husband did crash the party.
Explaining their having a cozy drink together when Bob was expected to be away at the office would be a bit on the tricky side, he told himself.
"Okay, Marg," Carl raised his glass in a toast, "let's drink to friends and discuss problems."
Marg raised her glass and took a sip, but he saw that she wasn't anxious to begin talking.
"What is it, Marg?"
"It isn't that easy, Carl. Can't we just have a drink and a chat for a while."
"Damn it, Marg, I hate to sound difficult, but you are Bob's wife. You asked me to come and talk to you. Now you have to help."
"Is it so hard to just sit with me and chat as if we were friends?"
"No, it isn't and you know it. It's just that the circumstances are a little unusual, that's all."
"Are you afraid Bob will catch you here and beat you up, Carl? Don't you think you could handle him?"
Carl felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. It struck him that she could be sick enough to have set things up so that Bob would come home and find them together.
"No, Marg, I'm not afraid of Bob beating me up. I wouldn't beat him up either. Tell me what you want to talk about."
"Damn it all, Carl, talk to me like a friend, not a psychiatrist."
"I am a friend, Marg. That's why I'm here, remember?"
"Then please let the barriers down. Do you think I'm attractive?"
"Yes, Marg, you are and I think you know it"
"Sound as if you mean it, Carl" Marg crossed her legs very slowly and gave him a generous show of nylon tops and naked thigh above. "Haven't you ever wondered how I'd look with my clothes off? Tell me, Carl."
"You're Bob's wife, Marg. Let's just let it go at that."
"Stop evading the issue. I hear you're great with women, Carl. I'm a tiger when I'm naked. I've got a good body and I really know how to use it. Don't these look good?" As she asked, Marg pulled the skirt of her dress high. She wore no slip so that he saw a generous expanse of firm, smooth thigh and just a wink of black panties.
"You look very good, Marg, but that's Bob property, not mine."
"Havent you ever screwed a married women? I'd love to open my legs for you. Don't you want to?"
"Come on, Marg, what kind of game is this anyway? Sure I think you'd be a hell of a good lay, but you've got your husband and I've got my woman. Let's change the subject."
"Don't be like that, Carl. Remember when we danced at our parties and I rubbed my belly against you? I felt how you were. You were big and hard and strong and I got you that way by rubbing you with my belly."
"Look, Marg, I came here because you said you were in trouble. If this is all you have to talk about, I'm leaving."
"But I am in trouble, can't you understand that?" She was standing and holding her dress above her waist. "This is my trouble."
Carl saw how her well formed body strained at the little black panties. Her legs were wide open, her torso writhing and wriggling in passion. Holding the dress up with her left hand, she rubbed the fingers of her right along the csotch of her panties.
"This is where I'm in trouble, Carl. I'm hot, come and feel it for yourself. Make me feel good, Carl. Take my panties off and give it to me."
Carl felt perspiration all over his body. Desire had nothing to do with it, he just wanted out of a crazy situation that he should have avoided in the first place as his subconscious had warned him to.
She was standing in front of him then so that he couldn't get up without pushing her aside and probably knocking her over. He watched in horror as she jerked her panties down her thighs. The right hand went back to the bottom of her bellv.
"I'm going, Marg. I'm sorry I can't help you."
"Don't go, Carl," she screamed and fired off a string of curses and obsceneties. "Don't leave me like this or I'll tell Bob you raped me. He'll believe me, Carl. Don't leave me. Give it to me right here where I need it."
As if he couldn't believe what he'd seen, Carl turned to look once more as he reached the door. Her eyes were closed and her thighs still parted wide.
Her body was writhing as one finger had found its way into the place where she wanted him. The finger was moving violently.
"Oh Carl, baby," she panted, "give it to me. Fill me right up with it. Harder ... harder ... that's it Carl ... give me more....
Jerking the door open, he stepped out into the hot sun and clean air. He paused for a moment to fight for control.
Through the closed door he was sure he could hear her voice still demanding more, still providing a commentary on her erotic fantasy. By then, he didn't know whether it was really her voice or the remembered words ringing in his memory.
Carl had to fight to keep from running as he hurried toward his car. He didn't drive well as he headed away from the house, but he did drive fast. In his mood, that seemed more important.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that Elaine was home already.
"Thank God you're home, darling," he gasped as he threw himself at her. She fell into his arms and they held.
"What's wrong, Carl darling. Tell me."
"Just hold me for a little while darling. I'll tell you in a minute."
Carl heard her heart pounding against him and knew she was suffering. He had to tell her. He broke the embrace and tried to turn on a smile. It didn't work worth a damn.
He began to tell her the story and as he talked, Elaine poured the drink he obviously needed. Taking it from her while still talking, he thanked her with his eyes.
"You don't think she'd really tell Bob you tried to rape her, do you?" Elaine asked as he finished.
"I don't think so. Still." Carl paused, "In her state, there's really no telling what she'll say or do. Anyway, I'm not going to let it worry me."
"I'm glad to hear that, dear. How about another drink? You seem to have lost that one."
"I guess I did at that." Carl looked at his empty glass and pretended to be surprised. "Must have fallen down my throat."
When Elaine handed him his refilled glass, she had a drink of her own in her other hand.
"At the risk of letting know how irresistable you are, Mister," Elaine said softly as she sat on the arm of his chair, "you're about to get another offer from a woman who wants to take you to bed."
"Oh no I'm not."
"You're not?"
"There won't be time. Before she can make the offer, I'll already have her in bed."
He got up quickly, slid an arm around her and they hurried to the bedroom.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A PARTY FOR THREE....
Bob Smelton's elation over landing the tire account was short lived. Darcy Sinclair didn't exactly throw himself at the PR. manager's feet and grovel his thanks.
There were a few polite mumbles about the new account brightening the P.R. picture and that was about all.
What the vice president was telling him, he sensed, was that the new account saved his job for the time being. There would have to be other new ones and he would have to make very sure of holding all the existing ones.
That had been almost a week ago and Bob was still brooding. The account had been formally signed the day before in Kent Dowson's office. Immediately after, he had been summoned to the man's apartment.
There had been the same routine and Bob was powerless to resist. What was worse was the realization that even if he could have resisted, he wouldn't have.
He had stripped and, kneeling before the swaggering man, paid oral tribute.
There would be many times when he would be called on to service the account and each time, he would obey the call without question and with a lessening of manhood.
He thought of the term servicing and wondered if that was why it had been chosen as the agency term for looking after a client. On the farm, it meant that a hired animal performed a sexual act on another.
But the stud bull or stallion performed the act on an animal of the opposite sex. Bob couldn't even find that compensation for himself.
The concern about manhood had become a lot stronger with him lately. Too often, of late, he found himself wondering whether Marg had found a man to fill her needs.
A few weeks ago, the thought struck him for the first time. It was the day he had sent Austin home to help her clean the garage.
When Bob arrived home late that night, he expected to find an angry wife. Instead, she was positively glowing. It was like the old days when he had taken her to bed and given her what she wanted. It had been a long time since he'd seen that look on her face, but it was there that night.
He tried to dismiss it as a foolish thing. No woman could be satisfied with a fuzzy faced kid of seventeen or so, he tried to tell himself. Despite the fact that it sounded right, he still couldn't completely accept it though.
Talking to Austin, Bob was sure the boy looked nervous and guilty. Instinctively, he took this as confirmation that his fears were correct. Thinking about it later, he told himself that he had seen nervousness and evasiveness because he was looking for those qualities. It just made it all more confusing, more frustrating.
In desperation, he talked to the boy's superior and asked whether he had noticed any change in Austin lately. Even there the answer was vague. The man said a lot of meaningless things about kids being moody and changing from day to day.
The first thing he said that made any sense was that the boy had been asking for quite a bit of time off lately and that his reasons sounded phony.
"Next time he wants time off," Bob told him, "give it to him but let me know right away."
"Why are you so interested in a junior filling in for the summer?"
"I see a lot of potential in that kid. If he's getting off the rails, I'd like to spot it in time and turn him around."
Impressed that Bob could have such an eye for talent even in a messenger boy, Clancy assured Bob that he would keep an eye open and keep him posted.
Now, it was just two days later and Clancy called to tell Bob that Austin wanted to get off at three-thirty to keep a dental appointment. When he hung up the phone, Bob discovered that his palm was wet. Now, on the verge of confirming his worst fears, he was scared. He didn't want to be right and yet he couldn't stand not knowing for sure.
Bob sat in his car across the street at twenty-five to four when the boy hurried out and crossed the street to the bus stop. It was the right bus for the part of the city where Bob lived. That was all he needed to know for the time being.
Instead of the tedious job of following the bus and waiting for Austin to get off, he drove across the city and parked on the street behind his house. He knew his car was screened from view so that Marg wouldn't be able to see it, yet he could see the front entrance.
After a ten minute wait, he felt his heart sink as Austin hurried up the walk toward the front door. Bob knew then that what he feared was true.
It wasn't so much that Marg was being unfaithful to him. There were times when he wished he could get her to go to bed with some prospective client. What really stung was the thought that they were probably laughing at him.
A snotty nosed kid of seventeen making out with my wife and the two of them laughing at me. It was a painful thought. He wondered if the kid was boasting of his exploits around the office so that everyone was in on the joke. Everyone but him.
Resisting the urge to hurry into the house, Bob made himself check the time. He sat in the car and waited for the minute of his hand to move. From time to time, he peered closely at his watch to make sure it was still going. He had never known time to drag so.
While Bob waited for the reluctant minutes to tick off, there was nothing to do but try to guess what they were doing in the house.
Would they be in the bedroom? Was Marg already naked when the boy arrived? Would they play around for a while? He guessed they would. He remembered that she liked to be played with for a long time.
Bob recalled too that Marg had phoned him just after lunch and wanted to know what time he would be home. It tied in. He remembered telling her it would be around seven or eight. That gave them plenty of time so that they didn't have to rush it.
After fifteen minutes, he couldn't prolong the waiting. He had set a target of twenty minutes in the first place, but he just wasn't going to be able to stick to that. In five more minutes, he told himself, I'll go right out of my skull.
It was just sixteen minutes when he slipped out of the car and started hurrying through the back garden toward the house.
Approaching from that direction, he knew, there was no chance of being spotted.
The door from the garden into the rec room would open easily. If they were in there, he would catch them before they had a chance to get ready for him. If not, he would strike out from there.
Turning the knob slowly, quietly, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was empty-Bob listened carefully, but heard nothing. At one point, he thought he heard the creaking of a bed, but he couldn't be sure.
Stopping just inside the door, he slipped his shoes off. As he was about to begin his quiet exploration of his own house, Bob stopped. With something of a shock, he realized that the thought of someone making love to his wife had excited him.
It wasn't a part of the script at all, but he began undressing. He didn't stop until he was stark naked. Looking down, he saw the rigid badge of arousal. All of a sudden, he wasn't angry. Instead of anger, there was a burning fire of compelling lust. He wanted to watch them. Wanted to see the kid making love to his naked wife.
A small voice tried to tell him it was an insane feeling, but he shut it up. His right hand wrapped around himself and he felt the throb of desire inside his clenched fist.
Stepping quickly and quietly into the living room, he found it too deserted. That was what he expected and wanted. It meant they would be in the bedroom. He wondered whether the door would be closed.
After a couple of dozen silent steps, he found the door wide open. He could hear them now. They were laughing and whispering excitedly. He tried to picture their naked bodies writhing on the bed. For a moment, he drooled over the mental picture, then began walking toward the door to look at the real thing.
Just before reaching it, he stopped. Through the crack between the door and the frame, he saw them. It fired him to even greater heights of arousal.
Austin was curled into a ball as he knelt over the naked woman. His mouth was working manfully on one big breast while his hands rubbed what his mouth couldn't contain.
Her legs were wide open, her knees drawn up, the darkish slash gaping from its fleshy frame waiting to be filled with the hardness of male. Bob saw that Marg's hand was playing between the boy's thighs and that she had already aroused the kid all the way. He looked rampant and eager.
He wanted to keep on watching in silence, but his feet moved despite what his mind told them. Watching from outside wasn't enough. He had to join them, had to be a part of it.
For a minute after he walked into the room, they didn't notice him. Austin saw him first and gasped. Marg, knowing something was wrong, opened her eyes wide. A moment later, her mouth fell open too.
"Bob!" The one word contained everything she had to say under the circumstances.
"Don't stop," he snapped. "Keep going. Get your mouth back there Austin and go to work on her."
Bob stood between the boy and the door. Austin had the strength to overpower the man and make a break for it, but he wasn't aware of it. He was a seventeen year old kid caught playing games with his boss' wife. There was nothing to do but take his medicine.
With Bob directing the scenes, the nude woman and boy on the bed did as they were told. Marg presented her body and Austin applied his hands and his mouth to it as directed.
Bob amused himself with the spectator role as long as he could. When he couldn't wait any longer, he began to take a more active role.
Obeying without question, Marg stretched out on her back with her head toward the foot of the bed. Showing the same abject obedience, Austin knelt astride her with his rump above her face.
Bob parted his wife's thighs and pushed the boy's face between them and told him to keep it there. Like an ostrich, Austin seemed content to keep his face out of sight. Normally, in that position, his mouth would have worked greedily between her thighs, but this wasn't a normal situation.
Ordering them to stay where they were, Bob climbed off the bed and left the room. While he was gone, they tried to comfort each other and each apologized to the other for what had happened. They cried then and waited for him to come back. Marg assured the boy that the worst was over, but she wished as she said it that she could believe her own words.
When he returned, Bob carried a drink and wore a wide smile. He was master of the situation and was obviously enjoying the role.
Announcing that he had things to say to them both, he forced them to kneel on the bed with their head down and arched bottoms facing him.
In a tone of obvious enjoyment, he broke the news that he would not divorce Marg or take action against Austin, but that he would call on them from time to time to perform for him.
As she listened to the words, Marg told herself she would find a way to overcome her insane husband. For the time being, though, all she could do was listen and wait.
My time will come, you queer bastard, she said under her breath. You'll pay for this.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SEDUCTION UNLIMITED....
Being invited to Darcy Sinclair's home was a joke to begin with, Carl thought as he pushed the bell and waited for the door to open.
He guessed he was supposed to feel trepidation, that was surely the reason Darcy had set it up this way instead of a meeting in his office. Instead, Carl felt only curiosity. He wondered as he waited, how Bob Smelton would react to such a command performance.
The woman who opened the door was tanned and firm and more attractive than he would have expected for the wife of Darcy Sinclair. He knew instinctively though, that she was Mrs. Sinclair even though he had never met her.
"Mister Jordan?" she greeted him with an open smile that was warm and honest. "Do come in."
She offered her hand and he took it and held it for a moment. This gal, he thought, is so far above the agency level that her being married to Sinclair has to be a joke. He wondered whether he would gain any insight into it during the evening ahead.
Carl sensed that Darcy was somewhere in the wings nursing a drink and waiting to make the grand entrance when he felt the time was right.
"I'm sorry my husband is detained, Mr. Jordan," she explained as they walked toward the bar in the spacious living room.
"I'm not bothered if you're not, Mrs. Sinclair," he replied with a confident smile. "I have a beautiful and gracious hostess and what looks like a well stocked bar. I've learned to count my blessings."
They exchanged smiles as she poured a pair of drinks and Carl guessed that somehow she had found a way to raise herself above the level of agency intrigue and was content to stay there and laugh.
"You don't look like an agency type, Mr. Jordan," she said with the same smile as she handed him his drink.
"Thanks for that, Mrs. Sinclair," he returned her smile. "Neither do you."
It could have gone on and been fun, but at that moment, Darcy Sinclair walked into the room. He wore black slacks, an open topped white silk shirt and a neatly folded black ascot. Carl guessed he had seen a picture in Playboy and was playing the role.
"Hello, Carl," he extended his hand, "nice of you to come. I hear you have more interesting ways of spending your evenings."
"I'm sure you have too," Carl responded, looking at the woman rather than the man. He caught her quick smile just before she turned her back toward her husband and walked to the bar.
While she was there, she poured her husband a drink, but Carl knew she had made the trip so that her husband wouldn't notice the smile. He guessed, too, that Darcy didn't spend enough evenings with his wife. His next guess told him that Mrs. Sinclair was doing just fine and didn't much care where her husband spent his time.
He knew then that if it weren't for Elaine, he would move in and have himself a slice of this. She looked cool and confident, but he guessed that with the right inspiration, she would be very warm indeed. He doubted that Darcy was capable of providing that.
For a little while, the banter continued and Carl knew he could play the game as long as Darcy and then some. Sooner or later, he sensed, Darcy would get around to the point of the meeting. When that happened, he knew, he would play it by ear without working up a sweat.
"Aren't you curious about why I asked you to come here?" Darcy asked finally, with what Carl spotted as a trace of peevishness over the fact that he had been forced to introduce business instead of Carl asking.
"Not really. I thought it was my charming company you were interested in" As he said it, Carl noticed that the woman turned to look at one of the pictures on the far wall.
"You're pretty cool, Carl."
"Only in matters of business. I have moments when I'm very warm."
"I think you'd be cool enough to do a pretty good job of running a P.R. department. How does that thought grab you?"
"Somewhere in the same area as leprosy or maybe venereal disease. I don't much care for any of them, thanks."
When Darcy turned to the bar to refresh his drink, Carl knew it was a stall for time while he tried to regroup his forces.
The kingmaker had called him to the palace to receive a knighthood perhaps. He had spurned it and the king felt a distinct pain in the seat of his royal shorts.
It all seemed so foolish. Darcy Sinclair, as vice president of the agency, had an office where he could hold business meetings. Instead, he had to call the candidate to his home so that his wife could be a witness while he carried out the assassination of one man and elevated another into the job.
How insecure the poor little man must be, he mused as he sipped at his drink. At the agency, he's mister big who makes people like Bob Smelton crawl. Here, in his own home, he needs a crutch to show his wife how strong ad important he is. A man would prove that in bed, not with homework from the office.
"I take it you're not interested in moving up in the agency, Carl?" As he turned from the bar, Darcy wore a small smile on his mouth but none of it reached his eyes.
"I guess you could say that. Every man has his own goals and values. I have mine and they don't include running a P.R. department or getting to the top of an agency."
"Isn't that a dangerous pholosophy?"
"I don't know. I feel pretty healthy."
"I think you're playing games with me, Carl. What's the angle, shooting for more money?"
"There isn't any angle, Darcy." Draining his glass, Carl moved to the bar and poured another drink without waiting to have one offered. He knew it was a dramatic gesture, but he couldn't resist making it.
"Care to explain that?"
"There's nothing to explain. I don't want to run the PR. department and I don't want to move up in the agency at all. I like the simple, uncomplicated life."
"It sounds like you're being loyal to Bob Smelton. I didn't figure you as a Smelton man."
"I'm not. I'm my man."
There was a pause then and Carl knew it was an uncomfortable one for his host.
"Dear," Darcy turned to his wife. "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while?"
"I'm sorry, darling," she smiled and dished out eight tons of sarcasm, "I got the impression that you wanted me here for the discussion."
She left the room, carrying her body with a pride that her husband obviously could never get at or even understand. Carl understood a lot of things and he didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or be sick on the carpet.
Darcy wanted his wife as an audience to applaud as he functioned. Now that the ball had been taken away from him, he didn't want her around to see what was happening.
"Okay, Jordan," he almost hissed when they were alone in the room, "what's your angle."
"I told you before, Sinclair," Carl shot back with an equal lack of respect, "I don't have any angles. This meeting was your idea, not mine."
"Are you pushing to get fired?"
"I couldn't care less. Bob Smelton has wanted to fire me for a long time, but he doesn't dare because he knows my accounts belong to me, not the agency. Do you have guts enough to do it?"
There was sheer hatred in the look Darcy Sinclair flashed him then. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to call him Sinclair, a longer time since anyone had dared him to fire them. "You're pretty confident, aren't you?"
"That's right. I am."
Putting his glass down on the bar, Carl turned and looked at the man who fought for inspiration as he sought a remark that would cut his employee down to size. Carl didn't give him a chance.
"I don't blame you for wanting to dump Bob," Carl spoke easily. "If you want someone to run the place for you, I'd suggest you give the job to Al James and leave him alone to do it. It could work"
Carl saw the man fighting for control and wondered how he had reached vice presidential status. His mind told him what agency life was really like and he stopped wondering.
Before Darcy had a chance to speak, Carl had said good night and walked past him toward the entrance hall of the big house.
Outside, the air felt clean and cool. He paused on the step to light a cigarette. Flicking the match away, he walked toward his car that was parked in the circular drive.
Just before he opened the door, he heard the voice of Mrs. Sinclair. It was sweet on the still evening air.
"Good night, Mister Jordan."
It held the tinkling quality of a silver bell and he heard the laugh in it. It wasn't a mocking laugh. Rather, it was a laugh that told him she had shared and enjoyed the joke.
He kept his voice equally quiet as he returned the parting salute.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE LAST CHANCE....
"One thing sure as hell," Carl said intenselj' across the restaurant table as he and Elaine shared mid-morning coffee, "Bob Smelton is getting the axe and the word has to break soon."
"That figures. It's been two weeks since he made the pitch to you. What's holding him up?"
"Maybe he can't find a candidate?"
"Don't you think Al would take the job? You did recommend him."
"No, I don't think he'd take it and I also don't think Darcy would offer it to him. It would be too logical for this place. Things don't work that way"
"You sound like a professional sarcastic, but I'm afraid you're right. They haven't had a good top man here since they knifed Ken. Wait a minute though." Elaine paused and looked at him. "They did offer it to you, so there goes your pat statement out the window."
"Not so. It had me worried for a while, but I came up with the answer. I didn't hear his terms. Maybe it was going to be offered on a basis that would have made it impossible for me to do a job."
"You're pretty fast on your feet, Jordan."
"I have to be, my sweet, to keep up with you"
"Okay then. If not Al, then who?"
Her question and their attempts at finding a logical answer kept them occupied for another five minutes. After that, the other agency types began to drift in. As usual, it was their signal to leave.
Bob Smelton almost groped his way along the hall. Tears which he fought to hold back blinded him and he found his way to his office only because he had made the trip often enough to remember the way.
Passing his secretary's desk without speaking, let alone picking up messages, he slumped into his chair. If there were messages for him, they wouldn't be important. He had just been fired.
As long as he lived, he knew he would remember and relive the horror of that meeting in Sinclair's office. The vice president was smug and full of cliches as he told Bob that in the order of things, new blood had to replace old from time to time.
"There's nothing personal about this, Bob," he said with what appeared to be a warm look of friendship, "it's just that the department needs a shake-up and only a brand new man can do that."
"What did I do wrong? I brought in that tire account. I've got other things on the fire."
"There's no point in going over details, Bob. We're prepared to permit you to resign, we'll give you a nice settlement, you'll land on your feet. You have a lot of friends in the industry."
At that moment, Bob realized just how few real friends he had. When you get the chop in the agency field, he knew, you're all alone. Friends will meet you on the street, if they don't spot you far enough ahead to avoid it, they say all the proper, sympathetic things, and end up by saying that it's too bad their shop is filled right up at the moment.
"Keep in touch though, if we bring in another couple of accounts we're going to need someone with your qualifications."
He had used the line often enough himself to know that he was going to be on the receiving end of it for a while. After that, what? For the first time in his life, Bob Smelton considered the possibility of suicide.
There could be a grand gesture. He could leave a note on his desk, open the ninth floor window of his office and step out. It would be all over. If anyone laughed at him then, he wouldn't be around to hear it .
"Who's taking over?" He wondered why he hadn't thought to ask sooner.
"Mike Kalman. We'll anounce it as soon as your resignation comes in. Try to get it to me today, will you?"
Mike Kalman. Mike was his own man. He had brought him into the agency despite his lack of background. He was to have been a loyal buffer against more experienced men who could have been a threat.
No, not Mike. That just couldn't be. He had felt the knife between his ribs earlier, now it was twisting and grating against the bone.
Sitting slumped over his desk with his head in his hands, Bob felt the knife still twisting. He still couldn't believe it was true that Mike Kalman was behind the knife and ready to take over.
His hand gripped the phone tightly as he dialed Mike's number. He had to hear it from the man's own mouth before he could accept it.
Mike's secretary told him that Mike was out and wouldn't be back until after lunch. Was her tone really different or did he just imagine it? Does everybody in the department know it? Are they all laughing behind my back?
How neat of them to arrange that Mike be away when he got the news. That way, there could be no direct confrontation until later. Mike could pick up the job without having to watch the flow of blood. They thought of everything.
"Are you all right, Bob?"
Startled, Bob looked up to see his secretary, Jean, standing by the desk. He hadn't heard her come in. He noticed she had closed the door behind her, but he hadn't heard that either.
"I've just been fired." He dropped the words like soggy lumps.
"Oh no." Jean sounded genuinely surprised.
She moved closer and his arms wrapped around her hips, his face pressed into the front of her dress Through the thin material, he felt the firm warmth of her body.
Jean was just twenty-three and, while her face was a shade less than stunning, she was still attractive and her body was a lush thing.
Bob knew about her body. He had explored it without clothes being in the way. There had never been any ultimatum involved in the way of come across or else. Rather, when he first made his play for her she was bright enough to know that it was a part of holding her job.
She came across that time, on the couch in his office, and was always ready when he made demands on her after that. The demands weren't frequent though. He seldom took her to bed and that suited her fine since she didn't regard him as much of a lover and she was experienced enough so that she could make a fair evaluation of a man in that department.
Instead, he usually contented himself with running a hand up her dress as she stood beside his chair. For a while, he would play with her thighs, then, when he began moving his hand, she would part her thighs and allow him to play with her through her panties.
Now, as he felt the warmth through her dress, he discovered he needed her. He wondered if she would let him do it now that he wasn't really her boss.
Quickly, his hands moved under her dress and pulled it up. She wore no slip and he saw the nice swell of tummy through the blue nylon panties.
His face pressed into the warmth at the bottom of her panties. He felt smooth thighs below the nylon. Behind her, his hands cupped the firm, nylon sheathed buttocks.
Bob began to cry then. His cries were muffled by her body. His tears made her panties very wet, but she didn't seem to mind.
When even the film of nylon was too much, he tugged her panties down and she made no objection. His tears fell against her belly then and trickled into her triangle of tangled brown foliage.
Her buttocks were smooth under his hands, smooth and firm and warm. They almost brought comfort. It was as if there was just one thing blocking him from finding the comfort her body could provide. He had to find out what it was.
There was physical discomfort and he had to find it. He stopped sobbing as he strove to locate the area where comfort was needed most. He felt himself straining against the front of his pants then and knew what it was, knew what had to be done.
While his left hand still held Jean's bottom from behind, his right reached to fight the zipper down and reach inside. When his hand came out of the open front of his pants, it was filled and he knew all the pressure would be gone in a little while.
The hand began to move in the familiar motion he had learned back in boyhood. The fact that Jean was there watching didn't matter to him at all. Bob was a little boy again and the world had become confusing.
What he was doing would take him away from all of the confusion of adults. The silken buttocks under the nylon panties felt good as he continued to rub them.
In just a little while, Bob felt his body brace and knew it was going to happen then. He closed his eyes and held back to intensify the delicious moment just before release. It felt so good.
Then it was throbbing and spurting. He saw the jets disappear under his desk. The thing in his hand became soft. It was all better now.
Without a word, Jean handed him a box of tissues and he began cleaning himself. When he was finished, he put the spent thing back into his pants and zipped them closed.
Turning, he looked into her face without a trace of shame. There was a placcid expression on his face. She had never seen him look so boyishly innocent.
"I'm going out for a while, Jean."
"Will you be back?" She didn't specify today, just will you be back. "I don't know."
Jean was alone in the office then. She tried to tell herself that what she had just seen was really true. She saw the stains on the rug in front of and under the desk.
Trembling a little, she left the office and went to the washroom.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHAT NOW, MY LOVE....
"Oh, that's really rich." There was a look of disgust on Marg Smelton's face as she looked at the beaten, stooped form of her husband.
"Cut it out, Marg. I need you to help me, not make fun of me."
"So Mister Big needs help? Sorry, buster, I'm fresh out of it right now. Try me again in thirty or forty years."
"Why, Marg? Why are you acting like this? Why must you keep kicking me?"
"Because I'm fed up to the teeth. I've listened to your crap about what a hotshot P.R. man you were for years. All the rest were dopes and you ran the whole show. It took time, but I guess they finally figured out what a creep you are."
"But it wasn't fair. My own friend Mike helped put the knife in my back."
"Look on the bright side, Bobsy. You want to hear a funny? You're out, but little Austin is still in. Do you think they figure he's brighter than you? He's a hell of a lot better in bed."
Bob screamed a high pitched scream and ran out of the house. The sun was straight up and hot. He kept running despite the heat which he didn't really feel.
Inside the house, Marg congratulated herself on having played it just right. She heard the car roar to life out on the street.
When she began insulting him, she had done so only because she had lost all respect for the strutting peacock a long time ago. Now, seeing him stripped of his dignity and grovelling in the dirt, she just had to lash out.
As she watched him wince under the lash of her words, it struck her that in his condition, the sting of her words could drive him to suicide. When that thought registered, her mind told her other things.
One of the fringe benefits at the agency was a very fat life insurance policy on him. She wasn't sure of the amount, but it was something like seventy or eighty thousand.
Having been fired from his job, knifed by his best friend and insulted by his wife, it was very possible that he would drive badly, so badly that he could be killed.
It wouldn't really be suicide. It would be the bad driving of a man who was upset. With the insurance, the equity in the house and their investments, she would be on easy street.
Somewhere out there, there would be a man, a real man who knew how to handle a woman and keep her happy.
Until then, though, there was still Austin. Austin was always willing, eager and young enough so that he could always recuperate quickly for another ride. Even more important was the fact that he gladly did anything she wanted.
Waiting, hoping for the ring of the phone or the knock on the door that would tell her about a terrible accident, Marg gave a lot of thought to taking Austin or some other boy into her home to live with her on a full time basis.
If need be, she could move to some other city and they could pose as mother and son. It provided her with some exciting thinking while she waited.
The accident didn't happen though. Bob drove very badly, but, thanks to some alert driving by others along his route, he reached downtown safely.
When he left the house, he didn't know where he was going. Then, it had merely been a matter of escaping from the terrible, stinging words his wife was spitting at him.
Deep down inside, something told him that most of the horrible things she said were true. For a long time, he'd used words and fancy footwork to stay ahead of the game.
But it was over now and he was out. Washed up at thirty-five, he thought with a shudder. I can't be. I just can't. There has to be something. I've got my whole life ahead of me.
He thought of Kent Dowson then. Kent was older and wiser. He would provide comfort and show Bob which way he had to go. There would be another good job somewhere and Kent would help him get it. He would start rebuilding his career and climb right to the top next time.
Maybe it would be with another agency and he would use his contacts to raid Marks and Mountain. He would steal some of their biggest accounts and more heads would roll. Maybe one of them would belong to Darcy Sinclair and other would be that of his good old friend Mike Kalman who had stolen his job.
As he toyed with the dream, he felt the dejection slip away and become strength and excitement. It would be good to get to the top again and laugh at the dirty bastards who thought they had screwed him.
When he looked up again, Bob came to an abrupt halt. He had passed the building he was looking for. Turning, he walked back almost two blocks and turned into the entrance of Kent's building.
He had to wait in the reception room for about ten minutes before he could get in to see Kent. This time, although the receptionist flashed him one professionally correct smile, she didn't show him her legs at all. Bob wondered whether there was a code whereby that fringe benefit was for winners only.
The waiting was intolerable and he felt his courage slipping again. What if Kent didn't want to help him? Where would he go then? What would he do? Why is Kent making me wait like this? A possible answer appeared, but he didn't like it so he tried to push it out of his mind.
He turned to look at the receptionist again and saw that she appeared to be busy reading something on her desk. She still wasn't showing her legs.
Damn you, you bitch, he wanted to shout. Swing your legs out from under the desk and give me a look at them. I'm still important. I'm going to be even more important than ever before.
Maybe, he continued the fantasy, some day I'll be your boss. I'll fix you then just like I fixed Hope. He saw her bending over a desk, the front of her dress open, her bra removed, big firm breasts dangling.
Behind, her dress and slip were thrown over her back and her panties were pulled down. She had a nicely rounded bottom and it arched outward toward him. Perhaps there would even be red marks on the white cheeks where he had beaten her with his belt and made her cry.
His pants and shorts were down and he was just pushing it into her.
Just as she was begging and crying, a faint buzzer sounded on the desk and his dream was shattered. He heard her talk brightly into the phone for a moment, then replace it in the cradle.
"You may go in now, Mr. Smelton," she said without getting up.
The first time, she had opened the door and ushered him in. Now she merely sat at her desk and told him he could go in. He was going to have to speak to Kent about her. Perhaps a couple of months in a typing pool would improve her manners.
Bob glared at her as he passed her desk and walked into the office. She didn't notice him.
"This is a surprise, Bob," the man greeted him with an affable air. "How are you?"
"I hope you don't mind me barging in like this?" he countered weakly.
"Not at all, Bob. I don't have an awful lot of time though. It's one of those frantic days. Have a seat."
"I've been fired, Kent."
It wasn't the way he intended breaking the news at all. He had intended handling the whole thing casually and talking about bigger possibilities where talent was appreciated and knives didn't fly.
Instead, he realized, it sounded like the little boy who comes sniveling home to tell mommy that the big boys were picking on him. He wondered if there was still time to take a new tack and salvage his dignity.
"I'm sorry about that, Bob. It came as quite a surprise to me. Why didn't you tell me it was coming?"
"You heard about it?"
"Yes, the agency called this morning to tell me. Some chap named Kalman, I think."
So that was it, Bob realized. While Sinclair was breaking the news to him, Mike was in another office calling the clients to assure them that they would get improved service in the future under new management.
"You're not going to keep them on the account, are you?"
"Well, Bob, this is a business matter. We do have a contract and it looks as though Pete can do the job we want. I don't know about this Kalman chap, but he seems intelligent enough. What do you think of him?"
"But he's the guy who knifed me. I brought him into the department, trained him, and now he steals my job out from under me."
"I understand, Bob. The business world is a rough place. I guess maybe agencies are rougher than most. You just have to learn to roll with the punches and bounce back. That's the way it is."
"Kent, there must be something I could do here. How's your internal P.R.? I've got a lot to offer."
"Well, now, Bob, I really hadn't given the matter any thought. As far as I know, our department is set up pretty well, but I could check into it and see how it looks. Give me a couple of days. In the meantime though, keep looking around. There are a lot of agencies who could probably use a man with your background."
Bob spotted the stall. The next time he asked, Kent would look sympathetic and tell him that there just wasn't a place for him in the organization.
It was going to be that way everywhere he went. Always the expression sympathy, the promise of looking around for a spot and calling him if anything broke. Nothing ever would though.
People would hurry by on the street without quite managing to catch his eye. In restaurants and bars, they would become intent on their conversation and not be able to see him. They surely wouldn't invite him to join them at their table.
It's the contagious thing about being a loser, he sensed. A loser is a reminder that the same thing can happen to the man on top of the heap. If you talk to one, some of it may rub off and stick to you.
"Tell you what, Bob. Go on over to the apartment. I'll be able to shake loose soon and we'll have a little fun. I'll be there as soon as I can."
That was out of the question, Bob told himself. I have to find myself a job. I can't go on being an unpaid prostitute wearing panties and nylons and turning my bum up whenever he wants it.
As he watched the elevator doors close behind him, Bob was determined he was going to pick himself up and start climbing up the ladder again.
When he reached the street, he turned and walked directly to the apartment.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT'S BEEN FUN, BABY....
"You mean I'm not the only dope around here?" There was a trace of a smile on Elaine's face as she sat on the corner of Carl's desk. "You feel sorry for him too, don't you?"
"Sure I do. I don't mean I'm sorry he got the knife, he's done his share of that. What I'm sorry for is that he's such a pitiful little man with no talent and no real resources."
"What do you think he'll do?"
"There's one I don't want to guess about."
"Are you saying you think he may kill himself?"
"Maybe I am. He doesn't have the strength, but with a couple of pushes in the wrong direction, I think he could. I doubt that he'll get any comfort from his wife. He discarded that right a long time ago."
"In the meantime, the king is dead, long live the king. No talent Bob Smelton gives way to even less talent Mike Kalman. It could only happen in the agency world."
Bob wanted to laugh, but neither had that many laughs on tap at the moment. They had heard of Bob's demise only minutes before and even though they thought they were prepared for it, the shock was still there.
"Do you have anything important on this afternoon?" he asked. "Anything you can't cancel?"
"No. Why?"
"Well I have and it has nothing to do with this place. Get your purse, I've just declared a half holiday in honor of the new king."
Without asking questions, Elaine slipped off his desk, informed her secretary that she was long gone, picked up her purse and was back in two minutes.
Outside, the hot sun tried to raise blisters on the sidewalk, but they didn't care. They could almost smell fresh air through the mist of smoke, carbon dioxide and the sweaty armpits of the big city.
"Are you going to buy me a drink?" she asked with her best coquette smile.
"Damn right I am, lady. Just as soon as we get home."
She called him a cheapskate but she didn't really mean it and he knew it. It was all a part of their game to keep the world from closing in.
"As long as you keep laughing at it," they had agreed one night as they sat in bed playing the word game after a stimulating session of the love game, "the world can't really get at you. When you stop laughing, you're dead."
Although born of a fun game, the words stuck as their personal credo. They promised themselves they'd have it translated into latin so that it could hang over a mantle somewhere.
On the way home, Bob pulled the car to a stop not too far from a liquor store. When he returned with a big paper bag that clinked nicely, Elaine poked around and discovered, among other standard items, a bottle of champagne.
"Planning on a christening or something?" she asked.
"Something like that."
When she saw that he intended keeping his secret, she stopped trying to pry it out of him. In time, she knew, she would find out and would probably enjoy it.
"Are you in the mood to eat?" Elaine asked as they closed the door of his apartment behind them.
"Not food," he answered looking menacingly at the front of her dress.
"Oh goody." She did her impression of a bump and grind routine to let him know dinner would be served any time he wanted it.
He poured a pair of drinks and they carried them out to the balcony. The air was a little better at that level than it had been on the sidewalk. All the pollutants were still there, but at that altitude, they were diluted a bit by air.
"Remember that six month schedule I gave for getting out of the agency?" he asked as he leaned on the rail with his glass in his right hand.
"Uh huh."
"Well the six months ran out this morning. Does that upset you?"
"Upset me? You goofy darling, now I know how much I love you. I'm glad we have champagne to celebrate the big event."'
"That's not what the champagne is for?"
"What is it for, mystery man?"
"The champagne, my darling, is to celebrate the fact that I am now telling you I love you and we are going to get married as soon as the law allows."
He put his glass precariously on the rail and turned to catch her as she threw herself into his arms. As if she had seen it coming, Elaine had already disposed of her glass.
There was a long kiss, after which he repeated the words of love and apologized for having made her wait so long to hear them.
Elaine was in no mood to listen to apologies and told him so between the next few kisses.
"Of course I want to marry you, darling," she told him at last as she put his glass back into his hand and picked up her own again, "but not just now."
"Why not?"
"You're a strong free bird, my darling," she told him in a voice that rang with love. "Right now, you're taking a great big step in throwing your job away and starting to write. You don't need the added shock of marriage."
"Shock hell. I love you woman. I adore you and I want to marry you. What's so shocking about that?"
"Darling, I'll live with you in a one room flat in the Bronx or a shack back in the hills of Georgia if it fits the plan. But I won't marry you right now. I give you my love and my body to do with as you will, but I won't marry you just now."
"The hell you won't. You're going to marry me if I have to wring your beautiful neck to make you say yes."
"I'm just as tough and as stubborn as you, Carl. I say I want very much to marry you and I will, but later."
Taking time out for a very big gulp of his drink, Carl put the glass down on the floor of the balcony and turned to her. Sensing that something was about to happen, Elaine wisely set her glass down on the table.
A moment later, she had been picked up and was being carried into the apartment. The trip ended when he dropped her onto the bed so that she bounced a little.
Although he worked quickly, he was reasonably gentle as he pulled her dress off. He was a little less gentle with her half slip.
When he reached for the bra, he didn't bother to unfasten it. There was a sound of tearing and it fell away to expose her lovely breasts, heaving with passion at being taken so roughly.
Not waiting for her to lift her body, he raised it with one hand as he jerked her panties down and off. Bending, he pressed his mouth between her thighs and Elaine felt the moisture that would prepare the love path for him.
Dropping her again, he quickly pushed his pants and shorts down and threw himself onto the bed. His hands caught the weight of him and a moment later, he was lying on her. He came into her quickly and began making love to her with a savage passion that drove her wild with ecstasy.
Her nails dug into him through his shirt as she exploded through a magnificent climax and a moment later, he was spurting his maleness into her receptive body as he shuddered against her.
"Now will you marry me right away?" he panted.
"Oh yes, my darling. Oh yes. This very minute. Call someone to come in and perform the ceremony."
"No more argument?"
"No more argument, my darling. If I ever argue with you again, punish me the same way, please. I love it and I love you."
"Then it's time for the champagne."
He started to move away from her, but Elaine's arms wrapped around him tightly and stopped him.
"Oh darling," she whispered into his ear, "that was the best one ever. Do you think it was because we did it formal?"
"What's with formal?" he wanted to know.
"Well, my husband, I've never seen a man make love while wearing a shirt and tie."
Carl looked at himself as if realizing for the first time that he was still wearing them. They both laughed, their bodies still joined. It was a very good laugh."
"Be careful you don't trip over your pants and break anything important," she laughed as he began to get up.
He moved away from her carefully and stopped at the edge of the bed to take off his shoes, pants and shorts. Only then did he hurry away to get the champagne he had put into the freezer earlier.
When he returned with it and the two long stemmed glasses, he announced that it wasn't chilled quite enough, but neither really cared.
"Nothing could stay chilled in this room with us around," she consoled him.
The cork popped and bounced off a couple of walls. He poured champagne into the two glasses, slopped some onto the bed and didn't give a damn.
They drank a toast then to their love and their marriage and their future. Between sips and kisses, they exchanged their vows of eternal love. No matter how good their wedding was, both knew, it couldn't begin to approach the beauty and loving solemnity of the moment they shared then.
Elaine told him then about the Unitarian church. Neither were churchgoers, but she had been to meetings in the church when social issues were being discussed and had learned a lot.
The most important thing was that people being married could, if they wished, write their own ceremony to include poetry or anything they liked.
If they didn't want to write their own, she went on to explain, the standard wedding ceremony talked all about love and beauty and made no mention of duty, or death or heaven or hell.
Carl had never thought of getting married in a church, but he had to admit it sounded exciting.
"After all," he exclaimed, "we're both writers and if we can't come up with the best damn ceremony in history, we should be ashamed of ourselves."
"We will, my darling," she assured him with anothr hug that spilled more champagne onto the sheets, "we really will."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Climbing out of the bed almost painfully, Bob Smelton picked up the panties that had been discarded earlier and stepped into them. He pulled them up until they caressed his spent body snugly.
As he walked out of the bedroom of Kent's apartment, he heard the man still breathing deeply as a result of his exertion.
Behind, Carl felt raw and uncomfortable as he always did after a session that way. It didn't matter now though. Soon, the feeling would be gone and everything would be comfortable. There would be no pain, no shame, no more feeling of inadequacy-
As he passed the mirror, he saw himself in the padded black bra, black nylon panties, black garter belt and dark nylons. He used to enjoy looking at himself this way. It was different this time though. When he looked into the mirror, he saw nothing. The glass was blank.
The thick carpet felt reassuring under his feet as he walked toward the balcony. The heat of the sun assailed him as he walked out onto the balcony.
On the balcony of an apartment across the court, a woman in a two piece bathing suit looked startled and moved closer to the rail for a better look as if she couldn't believe what she saw.
"Good-bye, Kent," he called loudly over his shoulder.
Bob heard a rustle from the bedroom and heard Kent hurrying toward him. With a quick motion, he gripped the rail and threw himself over. For just a moment, he seemed to be floating upward. The feeling didn't last long.
"I've just made the most fascinating discovery, darling," Carl called to his wife who sat a few feet away from him.
He turned away from the typewriter that had been set up on a plain wooden table in the yard behind their comfortable cottage in the Mexican village.
"Tell me, my master," Elaine put her book down and bowed impressively.
"I've just discovered that they have an entirely different sun here in Mexico. It doesn't permit things like smog and carbon monoxide and all the gunk to stay in the air. Wait 'till I tell the world about it, I'm going to be famous."
"You will be famous, my wonderful husband, but as a writer. As far as discoveries are concerned, I've made a much more important one."
"You're putting me on, lady." Carl pushed his chair back and moved toward the hammock in which she swayed. "What could be more important than a new sun"
"Well, I guess it's a matter of how you spell the word. Unless my counting is very faulty, my period is about eleven days late and I have the most wonderful feeling that there is a new son and it's right here in my belly."
Carl tipped her out of the hammock as he embraced her, but he caught her in his arms and held her through a very long and passionate kiss.
