Susan needed the car that bright December morning. She rushed to get the breakfast dishes cleared and washed so that the kitchen wouldn't look like the ruins of Pompeii when she came back. Gil was singing as he ran an electric razor over his face. He sang just a little off tune, but the effect wasn't unpleasant. He knew the words to a lot of songs and Susan liked to hear his boisterous voice ringing through the house. His singing meant that, for a little while at least, he wasn't worrying about the business.
She had just finished running a damp sponge over the table in the dining area adjoining the kitchen when Gil came in. He was dressed in fresh whites. His name, Gil Emory, was sewn into the uniform over his left breast pocket.
"Charge," Gil said. "The clock is running."
He led the way out the door, cranked the noisy but efficient motor of the Volkswagen which sat in buggy, bright red grandeur in the carport. Susan came out behind him, patting at her hair. He reached across the car to open the door for her. He wasn't smiling. He was, she suspected, thinking of the payment which was due on the car.
"Charge, lover," she said. "Onward! If you're late you can't blame it on me."
I can blame anything I want to on you," he said, grinning. "I'm bigger than you."
She liked to see him smile. She was constantly trying to take his mind off the problems which seemed to press down with greater weight every day. Poor Gil, just twenty-four, an age when a man should be free to ramble, to see some of the world, to experiment and test life and whoop it up, but Gil was not free.
It wasn't Susan's fault he was tied to his business, to the city. She didn't think that the mere fact that a man was married should tie him down completely, not when he had a wife who was willing to go where he went, share whatever came his way. When, late at night or on Sunday afternoon, Gil would talk of places he would like to see, she would share his yearning for them. She could understand the faraway look in his eyes when an especially nice spring or autumn day brought the smell of the sea from the coast over a hundred miles away and reminded him of the world out there, the world far from the daily grind of operating his television repair shop in the outskirts of Orlando.
Susan could understand Gil's desire to run away from people who drove with combative intensity and walked the streets unsmilingly. She, too, got tired of seeing people who had nothing to smile about. No, it wasn't her fault. She'd go with him. The things she wanted, Gil could give her anywhere. She didn't have to have a mortgaged house in a city. She would skimp and save and go without a meal now and then, and they could bum around the world on tramp steamers or drive the bug up the Florida peninsula, west through the Gulf Coast states and then south into Mexico. She would go gladly, but there was Gil's mother. The elder Mrs. Emory was strung around Gil's young neck like the ancient mariner's albatross.
Gil's mother, like the mountain, was there. She lived two miles from Gil and Susan in a Florida-boom house, built of stucco, grotesque in its poor imitation of Latin architecture.
When it rained, the roof leaked and water discolored the ceiling of the living room. Its sole redeeming feature was the fact that mortgage insurance had paid for it in full when Gil's father died of a heart attack the year Susan and Gil were married, five years ago now.
For all its faults, old Mrs. Emory loved it. She had been offered a good price for it by a businessman who wanted to tear it down and build a modern apartment house, but she was adamant.
She could not be blasted out of it with dynamite, even though it took every extra penny Gil could make to keep it from falling apart.
So it was Mrs. Gilmore Emory, Sr., just past sixty, a pleasant enough woman if one overlooked her constant stream-of-consciousness chatter, who was the albatross about Gil's neck. Mrs. Emory received sixty-four dollars a month from the Veteran's Administration as the surviving widow of a veteran of World War One. That sixty-four dollars wasn't enough to buy her groceries, for she still cooked as if she were feeding a family. She threw more food in the garbage can, Susan thought bitterly, than Susan brought home from the store.
Gil had to make up the deficit in Mrs. Emory's bills, the taxes, which went higher each year, the insurance, and the million-and-one odds and ends of expense which infest an old house. Gil spent his treasured off-hours mowing the lawn at his mother's house, making little emergency repairs on aged plumbing, running senseless errands for his mother.
As a result, the Gil Emory home, a concrete-block development house in one of the newer subdivisions, suffered both from a lack of money and a lack of time spent on its upkeep. While Mrs. Emory's lawn flourished, close cropped and always green from the endless amounts of water she used to irrigate it in the dry spells, her son's lawn was sickly, weedy, often in need of mowing.
But she was Gil's mother and he was her only child.
That morning, traffic on the Orange Blossom Trail was at its worst. Gil drove aggressively, snaking the little Volkswagen in and out of traffic lanes, using the four-speed transmission to good advantage. The odometer of the car showed less than five thousand miles. The new car represented the one extravagance of the Gil Emorys' in the past five years.
Susan watched Gil's face as he drove. She saw the grim lines around his eyes, the hard set of his mouth. She hated to see him that way. She hated the duty which tied Gil to his mother and bled away the extra money which could have bought him a new pair of shoes, a sports-car instead of the practical VW, a new suit. Money which could be used to buy nice things for their own house, to save for the future, to pay for a baby.
Wanting a baby was the nearest Susan came to thinking of herself. There were many things she would have liked to have, dresses, coats, shoes, but she was content. She was happy in her marriage, except when she worried about Gil.
Of course, the solution was simple. Mrs. Emory had only to sell her house. She would have enough money to rent an apartment and live comfortably, enough money to last her the rest of her life, and some to spare. Or, Mrs. Emory could move in with Gil and Susan. There was about as much chance of that happening as there was of having a full blown hurricane coming up the Orange Blossom Trail before noon.
"Please don't forget to send out for lunch," Susan said to her husband. "Do you hear me?"
Gil braked to a stop in front of his repair shop. The shop was in a good location. Business was good. It was more man one man could handle without working outlandish hours. There was a large, modern shopping center just down the road and the spreading housing developments radiated outward for miles around.
"Sure thing," Gil said, bending to kiss Susan on the cheek.
"That's a kiss?"
He smacked her quickly on the lips and got out of the car. Someone was parked beside the shop, a customer waiting for Gil to open. Gil's day would begin with a rush and continue to be hectic as customers demanded one-day service on hopelessly battered TV sets.
Susan watched sadly as Gil hurried across the walk, dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door while greeting the waiting customer cheerily. Susan slid into the driver's seat and eased the car into the stream of traffic.
It was grocery day. She also had to match buttons and thread to a sample of cloth she carried in her purse. She was almost finished making a new dress and was eager to apply the finishing touches, to see how it was going to look.
She drove carefully to the shopping center, found a parking place not too far from the supermarket and opened the door of the car. As she slid her legs out, her tight skirt rode high to show an attractive length of thigh.
A nice looking man in a white sport shirt let his eyes enjoy the display before she jerked her skirt down. The man looked at her and smiled. She knew the look well. She got her share of stares from men, a few whistles, too.
A whistle, Susan thought, could be taken as a compliment. Open looks of invitation, such as she got from the man in the white shirt, were not exactly complimentary. It was as if all men thought all women were promiscuous bitches who had only to be asked.
She held her head high as she walked coldly past the man. He stopped what he was doing, putting parcels into the trunk of a big, new car, and watched her as she stilted on high heels over the smooth asphalt of the parking lot toward the variety store. She could almost feel his eyes on her as her buttocks rippled under her skirt in a provocative way over which she had no control.
In a city where beautiful woman are in abundance, Susan Emory could hold her own in any gathering. She was five feet four inches tall. Her stilted heels added height and length to her perfect legs. She weighed 120 pounds and the right proportions of that weight were in bust and hips. Since she made her own clothes, she knew her measurements well-34-24-35. She thought herself a bit too hippy, a bit thick in the waist. She would have liked to knock off an inch in each dimension, except the bust. Gil liked her breasts. But she couldn't lose weight, because she was compacted into her tight-skinned frame without an ounce of excess.
She could not resist a glance at her image as she walked past a plate-glass window. She was wearing a neat gray skirt and matching blouse. Her chestnut hair was straight, hanging close to her face, flaring attractively at her shoulders. Her blue-green eyes were large with a tiny suggestion of tilt at the outer corners which she accentuated with make-up. Her mouth was full, kissable, expressive, a lush-lined mouth which drew male attention immediately.
She was satisfied with her face and her breasts and her lips because Gil liked them.
In the variety store, she spent a pleasant half hour matching buttons and thread to her material sample. Satisfied at last, she paid the cashier and walked down the mall to the supermarket. She took her time shopping for food, making the trek down each aisle, spending long minutes in front of the exotic food counter thinking how pleasant it would be to be able to afford to try some of the wild, foreign dishes in her cookbook. However, the ingredients were too expensive.
She settled for such small luxuries as two small tins of smoked oysters to be eaten with little crackers and cheese while they watched television. Otherwise she filled her basket with staples, good, solid, economical food. She bought a healthy amount of good meats, not the most expensive cuts. Things like chicken, on which there was a good special, pork chops, which were going up, hamburger for meat loaf.
She prided herself on her ability to choose good meat. She spent ten minutes deciding which two pieces of sirloin tip to buy for their weekly blowout. That was one thing she was not going to give up, the pleasant Friday night dinner when they splurged on good steak and had a bottle of decent wine. Mrs. Emory could go to blazes before she'd give up her Friday nights.
She dropped that line of thinking guiltily. She didn't actually begrudge what Gil did for his mother. She hoped that, when and if she had a son, he would love her as much as Gil loved his mother.
There was a line at the checkout counter. It would be a few minutes before her turn. Her glance fell on a rack of magazines and books. She studied the titles idly.
"Would you mind holding my place in line for me?" she asked the young mother behind her. "I want to get something to read."
The woman nodded with a frayed smile. Susan walked to the book rack and, keeping one eye on the progress of the line at the checkout counter, began to scan the books. She decided against the one which had caught her eye. She turned her attention to the magazines and examined a line of men's books with pretty girls on the covers. One teaser caught her eye:
WHY MEN SWAP WIVES
The Inside Story of Today's Free-Loving Marrieds.
She removed the magazine from the rack, opened it, found the article and read the first couple of paragraphs. It was like many she had read along similar lines, a rehash of the Kinsey report, not really saying anything, merely arousing curiosity through its title. She put the magazine back on the rack and checked the progress of the line. There were still several baskets ahead of hers.
The bottom shelf of the newsstand was given over to a tabloid type of newspaper with lurid, attention-getting headlines. A dozen different papers black-lettered sex and perversion, ax murders and sadism. One headline stood out:
DEN MOTHER TO A PACK OF CUB SCOUTS-BUT WHAT SHE DID WAS HARDLY MOTHERLY!
She laughed inwardly. It was impossible! She squatted down, smoothing her skirt under her buttocks. The story was funnier than the headline. Did anyone in his right mind expect people to believe that a 30-year-old woman would play house with a whole gaggle of dirty little boys? She'd have to tell Gil about it. It was like something out of a risque joke. Why just tell Gil about it? It would be more fun to show him. He'd get a charge out of it.
When it was finally her turn at the cash register, she tried to hide the paper under other things, but the checker spread the sheet out in full view of everyone. Susan felt a blush creep up her throat. She was relieved when the paper went into a bag with groceries. She certainly didn't want people thinking that she was accustomed to reading things like that.
After she had supervised the boy in placing the groceries in the back seat of the car, it was still early. She locked the car and walked slowly past the store windows, examining the merchandise in the smart shops. She liked to study current fashions. It gave her ideas for her own dressmaking.
It was one of those beautiful days which make the Chamber of Commerce in any Florida city smile. It was more like May than December. In the center of the mall, a fountain poured forth clear, sparkling water in vigorous streams. At night, the jets of water were lit by colored lights. It was very pretty.
Susan paused in front of a little dress shop and looked wistfully at an evening skirt on display. The price tag, she knew, would be far beyond her means. Even if she had the money for an evening skirt, she had no place to wear it. She and Gil didn't attend any formal affairs. But the clean, simple lines of the garment appealed to her.
It might be fun to make one and use it for a lounging outfit in the evening. Very posh, Mrs. Emory, very elegant. She knew she looked her best in simple things which clung to her full, good body lines. She imagined herself in the skirt with a prim, jeweled shell atop its black simplicity, whirling gracefully around a dance floor surrounded by attractive, interesting people.
She let her daydream run to its conclusion, to a loving embrace on a dark balcony, a sweet kiss and a man-a man named Gil, of course-whispering in her ear. She smiled at herself when her imagination went beyond the kiss, when the mental images flowed into the erotic.
Good God! She was getting downright horny. Have to haul Gil off to bed tonight.
She turned away from the evening skirt and examined the other outfits on display in the window. There were some very nice ones, all hopelessly expensive. She was glad she could sew. She could make dresses which looked as good for a fraction of the price.
She studied her reflection in the window and was pleased to think that she looked quite all right, thank you, in a two-ninety-eight blouse and a home made skirt. She was turning away when the door opened and an attractive woman smiled at her.
"Well, hi!" the woman said. "Aren't you even going to come in and say hello?"
The face was familiar. "Oh, no," Susan began. "I'm just-"
"You don't remember me," the woman said. "I'm Lucia Moreland. We met at a party at Jerry Jones' house."
CHAPTER TWO
"Oh, sure," Susan said, slightly embarrassed at having caused the moment of awkwardness. "Don't mind me. I don't get turned on in the mornings before twelve o'clock. How are you?"
"I'll give you an injection to help the morning doldrums," Lucia said, smiling. "Come in, and let's have a cup of coffee. It's very quiet. I can use the company." She was a medium-tall girl, dark, soft-spoken. Her black hair was done simply, hanging straight.
"Oh, no," Susan said, thinking rapidly to arrive at some excuse. She didn't know the woman that well.
"Oh, come on in," Lucia insisted. "Whatever you have to do can wait a few minutes while we get acquainted. I've been meaning to call you ever since we met."
There was an almost tangible flow of friendliness emanating from the dark, quiet young woman. Susan smiled and walked into the store. Lucia took her arm. It was a soft, warm, friendly touch to guide Susan back through the neatly arranged racks and tables to a counter at the rear of the attractive little shop.
"You sit there," Lucia said, steering Susan to a modern, low chair, one of two facing a marble topped table on which was a fresh vase of flowers. "I have the makings under the counter. The water is hot and everything. Cream and sugar?"
"Just cream, thank you," Susan said.
Lucia poured and mixed instant coffee. Finished, she put the dainty china cups and saucers on the marble table top and lowered herself gracefully into the other chair. She wore a plain, black sheath with a low neckline which showed the upper curves of her large breasts. Her skin was smooth, perfect. Her make-up was applied with a light, expert touch to accentuate large brown eyes and a generous mouth. She was, Susan decided, a very pretty woman.
"I like the store," Susan said. "I had no idea you worked here."
"I just opened up here a few months ago," Lucia said.
"Is it yours?" Susan asked uncertainly. "I mean do you actually own it?"
Lucia laughed. "I'm afraid so. It was a bit of a decision, deciding to go out on my own. I had to borrow money, and the first few months were death."
"I should think it would be fun to own a place like this," Susan said. "All those beautiful clothes!"
"It's nice to be able to stock good things," Lucia said. She made a wry face. "But then some matronly type with a big belly and a huge bust comes in and wants a dress for a girl with a size ten figure. It's a shame. I'm thinking of adding a line of good, medium priced dresses."
"Oh?" Susan asked politely.
"The young, pretty ones are all just starting a family, or their husbands are paying mortgages or something. The girls who look best in my clothes are the ones who can't afford them, and those who can afford them are past the stage where they can wear them."
"Really? Is it that bad?"
"Oh, not really." Lucia laughed. "This is just one of my complaining mornings, I guess." She beamed at Susan. "I'm so glad you stopped by. I was watching you standing outside, thinking of the things I have that would be perfect for you." Penetrating brown eyes swept over Susan's generous bust line, her indented waist. "Now if all my customers looked like you-"
Susan laughed nervously. "I'm afraid I'm one of those who can't quite afford it."
"I have some very good things on sale," Lucia said.
Susan shifted uncomfortably. She resented being given a sales pitch when she had come into the store, on Lucia's insistence, merely for a cup of coffee. "No, really," she said.
"Oh, I'm not trying to push something off on you," Lucia said quickly. "It's just that I like to see nice things on girls who can handle them. I'd like to show you a couple of outfits for fun, just to see how the designer meant them to look on a girl."
She seemed to be sincere. Susan shrugged. "I warn you I'm the sew-at-home-on-a-strict-budget type."
"Then you might get some good ideas," Lucia said, laughing. She rose with cat-like grace and removed a black sheath from a hanger. "Now this," she said. "When the designer created it, he had you in mind."
The dress had simple, close lines and a revealing cutaway in back. "It's lovely," Susan said, fingering the material, "but it's too expensive."
The price tag said $99.95. Susan felt resentment again. It was like dangling a piece of steak in the face of a hungry puppy and then telling him he couldn't have it.
"I'd like to see how it looks on you," Lucia said.
Susan went into the dressing room and slipped into the sheath. It was a perfect fit. Her large, firm breasts jutted enticingly as she walked out, subconsciously holding herself more erect, knowing that she looked good in the dress.
Lucia was very appreciative. She made a huge fuss over the dress. Then there were others, and the next hour was a pleasant, chatty interlude as Susan tried on garment after garment. She liked some, disliked others. She wished fervently that she could say, 'I'll take this one and this one and this one-"
"You've ruined me!" she gasped at last. She had begun to feel at ease with the friendly Lucia. She had decided that she liked her very much. "How can I put on my little homemade skirt and my two-ninety-eight blouse and be happy now?"
"Darling," Lucia crooned, "if everyone looked as good in a two-ninety-eight blouse and a homemade skirt, the dress people would be out of business."
"Thank you." Susan was pleased by the compliment. "Flattery will get you something, if only a kind word."
"You're a lovely girl," Lucia said softly, moistening her full lips with her pink tongue. The look made Susan feel vaguely uncomfortable. There was something familiar about that look, and she couldn't quite place it until something tugged at her memory, something someone had said about Lucia at the party where they had met.
"I have one other thing I'd like to show you," Lucia said, turning away into a room at the rear of the store. She came out with a black garment protected by a plastic covering. She worked the dress out of the covering and held it out to Susan. "This is one you just have to try."
The dress was long and simple. The material was silky and beautiful. "It's nice," Susan said. "It's kind of revealing, isn't it?"
"You haven't noticed the best part," Lucia said. She held the dress up. It was cut away in the front. In fact, there was no front. From waist level, the dress just wasn't there.
"Oh!" Susan gasped. "You must wear a shell or a dickie with it."
"No," Lucia said. "This is it."
"I've heard of low-cut dresses, but this is silly!"
"Actually, I bought it as a sort of joke," Lucia said. She laughed low in her throat. "It's one of the latest things, the logical follow-up to topless bathing suits. It's a topless evening gown. I wouldn't recommend it for public wear just yet. I don't think the world is quite ready."
"No, I don't think so," Susan agreed.
"But for a quiet evening at home?" Lucia smiled suggestively.
Susan smiled with Lucia, thinking of what Gil would say if she greeted him at the door in a topless dress.
"Just for fun, let's try it," Lucia said.
There was a suggestion of feminine conspiracy, enough to engage Susan's interest. She went into the dressing room and slipped out of her blouse and skirt again. Dressed in bra and briefs, she picked up the dress.
"It's to be worn without a bra of course," Lucia called from outside the curtains of the dressing room.
Shrugging, Susan discarded her bra. She slipped into the dress. It was a good fit. It was tight at the waist and elasticized bands snugged the material below her breasts and up her sides as the dress tapered into tiny straps over her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror. "Wow!" she gasped.
There is nudity, and then there is adorned nudity. A woman completely nude may engage in taking a bath, sleeping, sunbathing or making love. For other activities, adorned nudity is best, something to hide just enough of a woman to make her body seem mysterious.
This dress was adorned nudity at its best. Her large breasts were bare, but the covering effect of the rest of the dress moderated that nudity into something very electric. She remembered seeing dresses of its type in art books. The women of ancient Crete, tall, bare-breasted love-goddesses, had stood proudly with bosoms out-thrust to emphasize their beauty.
"How does it fit?" Lucia asked from outside the curtains.
"Fine."
"Like it?"
"It's wild," Susan said. "I wouldn't want it for public wear."
"Come out and let me see."
"I can't come out there," Susan said. "What if someone came in?"
"May I come in, then?"
"Sure."
Lucia's face appeared between the parted curtains. She let her eyes sweep over Susan's perfectly formed, bared breasts. She seemed to be holding her breath.
"You have to take off your briefs, too," Lucia said.
Susan had been so bemused by her bare breasts that she hadn't noticed the diamond cuts below the waist level. White material showed through.
"I'd really feel nude then," she said, giggling.
"That's the idea. Let's get the full effect."
Susan raised the dress carefully, so as not to wrinkle it, slipped down her panties, let them drop to her feet, and stepped out of them. The perforations of the dress were between her navel and the upper curve of her pelvis. Enticing white skin glowed in diamond shapes around her body.
Through the dress were glimpses of soft stomach, the curve of her hips, the hollow at the base of her spine just above the slope of her rump. She felt almost naked, yet it made her feel teasingly sexy, pleasantly sensuous. She knew by Lucia's admiring looks that she wore the dress well.
"Not everyone could get away with it," Lucia said, touching her lips with the tip of her tongue. She smoothed the dress down over Susan's hips, although not a wrinkle marred the silky material. Her palms were flat, pressing intimately against Susan's softness. She tugged at the back of the dress, going through the motions of arranging the hang of the material. Her hands flowed to Susan's front and patted the tightness just below her breasts.
"Most women would sag so badly they couldn't wear it," Lucia said. "But you're perfect." Her hands cupped Susan's breasts from below. "Most women need the lift of a bra," she said, pushing up gently. "You're very firm."
Lucia's hands were warm. The touch was just a little too intimate for comfort. Susan froze for a moment, feeling embarrassed. Suddenly she remembered what it was that had been said about Lucia at the party:
"My dear, Lucia Moreland is a darling girl, but don't let her get you alone in a dark corner."
It seemed to Susan, in that frozen moment, that Lucia's hands stayed on her breasts forever. Actually, the touch was brief and could easily have been dismissed as a natural saleswoman's gesture. Then contact was broken, and Lucia was bending to tug at the skirt. Susan allowed herself to breathe.
"It's a damned shame," Lucia said, standing. "You look like ten million dollars in that dress. People would scream and snicker if you dared wear it."
"It would have to be worn on a very warm night," Susan said, letting the tension ease out of her. It was silly to be suspicious of Lucia just because some old biddy wanted to gossip.
"When I ordered that dress," Lucia said, "I was hoping that some newly married girl would see it and want it to surprise her husband. They seem to think, the two or three I've shown it to, that they'd rather spend money for something to be worn out, instead."
"Maybe you're barking up the wrong tree," Susan said. "Maybe you should try to sell it to a woman who has been married for a while, so she could use it to pep up her husband's lagging interest.
She was sorry as soon as she said it. It sounded like a complaint against Gil. She certainly didn't want Lucia to think that she was dissatisfied witl, her marriage.
Lucia tactfully ignored the remark. "I've marked it way down."
"It would be kind of fun," Susan mused. She liked the startling figure she cut in the dress.
"Would your husband like it?"
"He'd go ape." She looked at the price tag. Eighty dollars! It would be cheaper to buy a couple of fifths.
"Don't let the price scare you," Lucia said. "I'll admit a trade secret. I have about twenty-five dollars in the dress. Why don't you take it for twenty?"
"Twenty?" It was foolish even to consider it. Yet she was sure Gil would get a kick out of it. She could imagine his pleased surprise when she came out of the bedroom, nearly nude, adorned nudity. But 20 dollars!
"I'm afraid I couldn't, not right now," she said regretfully.
"Your husband will never know what he's missing."
"There are so many things we need," Susan said, arguing with herself against the urge to buy the dress, and twenty dollars be damned. "I just can't spend the money right now."
Lucia shrugged. "I feel almost like giving it to you. It's made for you."
"I couldn't let you do that," Susan said. She slipped out of the dress and put on her own clothing. Lucia helped, handing her the skirt and blouse. There was that look again. She realized with a shock that Lucia was looking at her just as some men looked at her. She wondered if there was, after all, a kernel of truth in the statement of that catty woman at the party.
Dressed, she followed Lucia back to the little marble-topped table. Lucia paused, turned, a musing expression on her face. "I have an idea," she said. "How would you like a part-time job?"
"I haven't thought about it," Susan said.
"I can't afford a girl full time, yet," Lucia said. "And yet there are many times when I need someone to help. If you wanted to work on Saturdays and a couple of evenings a week-"
"I really haven't thought about it," Susan repeated. "I'd have to talk to Gil."
"I'd let you have things you wanted out of the store at cost," Lucia said. "It would be a wonderful way to build a nice wardrobe."
Susan considered it. She liked Lucia Moreland. She couldn't believe the woman at the party had been right. After all, what proof did she have? A look? A casual touch?
"I'll think it over," Susan said.
"I'll tell you what," Lucia said eagerly. "You talk it over with your husband. Gil, isn't it? In the meantime, why don't you take this dress home with you? Show it to him." She smiled suggestively. "When he sees you in this, he won't be able to say no to anything."
"I don't think I should take it home before I decide," Susan said doubtfully. "We've talked once before about my taking a job and-"
"But this won't be like a regular job," Lucia said. "You'll only be working Saturdays and a couple of evenings."
"Well...."
"If you decide to come to work, fine. If you don't and you don't want to keep the dress, you'll at least have had the chance to wear it for one evening. Okay?"
"All right," Susan said, weakening. It was Friday. Friday night was party night at the Emory house, a party for two with steaks and wine. She could wear a housecoat over the dress until it was time to reveal herself and then....
Good Lord! She was getting horny. Just the thought sent goose bumps down her spine. "Gil Emory" she would say, "you've been neglecting your homework. Get with it, boy."
CHAPTER THREE
Susan had a bacon-and-tomato sandwich at the snack shop after leaving Lucia's. She hurried the light lunch. She had killed a lot of time since buying groceries and didn't want to risk having any of the expensive meat spoil from being shut up in the car on a warm, sunny day. When she got home, she lugged the heavy sacks of food into the kitchen without thinking anything of it. She was a strong, healthy girl and carrying a few bags of groceries wouldn't hurt her.
She put the box with her new dress on top of the refrigerator until she had finished putting away the groceries. Finished, she called Gil. As she suspected, he had forgotten to send out for lunch. The drive-in up the street from the shop delivered. Susan ordered two hamburgers for him and then, her mind at ease, went into the bedroom and laid the dress across the bed to admire it.
It was, indeed, nice material. She just had to try it on again. She stripped, donned the sexy dress and studied her image in the bedroom mirror. She had always been thankful for having nice breasts and a good body, but she had never seen herself set off so well. She turned and posed. She giggled at herself. If anyone could see her, cavorting around half-nude, they'd think she was ready for the booby hatch.
But what the hell? It wasn't every day a girl had a new dress, especially a dress like this. It was a silly luxury, completely useless for public wear, an extravagance she tried to justify by telling herself that it would please Gil. If it made Gil feel as she felt, wow!
She felt voluptuous. She felt as if being semi-nude were delightfully naughty. She felt, thinking of Gil, a hint of desire. She plotted how she would reveal the dress to him. She imagined how he would look at her, how his hands would do the first natural thing that occurred to him, how they would reach for her readily accessible breasts. She pushed her hands down her stomach, flattened them against the smoothness of her loins and, their pressure created a hint of languorous passion.
She willed the day to speed along its way so that she could show Gil the dress, so that he would do that natural thing and reach for her breasts and ... Well, hell, there she went again! But it was nice to think about it. She liked thinking about it. It was better than dreaming erotic dreams about another man, wasn't it? At least she thought only about the caresses her husband gave her.
It wouldn't do, though, to think about it too much. She tried to think of other things during the slow afternoon. She thought about life in general and about life with Gil in particular. Gil was a good man, a hard worker. He would stay at the shop until the last possible minute, trying to turn out just one more job, trying to make that extra dollar.
This line of thought brought out the hidden streak of resentment in her. She considered bitterly how hard Gil worked, how easily his hard-earned dollars were spent on the bottomless well of expenses which was his mother's home. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair to Gil and it wasn't fair to her.
A young married couple should not be saddled with the extra responsibility of having to support an additional household. Those income-tax finks had actually questioned it when Gil put his mother down as a dependent. He had had to fill out a long, complicated form to prove that he actually contributed more than half of his mother's support.
More than half, ha! They allowed him a deduction of $600, the same deduction Gil could have taken for a child. And, dammit, she didn't even have a child. She wanted kids, had always wanted kids, lots of them. Gil had to support his mother and his mother's house, so they couldn't afford kids.
She always became morose when she thought about having a baby. At such times she damned the efficiency of modern birth control methods. If it weren't for those damned pills, maybe she could just slip up once or twice, and then there would be nothing to do but have the baby. What a sweet thought! But she couldn't deliberately forget to take the pills. That would be doing Gil dirty.
It would be very easy to hate old Mrs. Emory. Didn't the woman realize what she was doing? Susan was 22. She had friends her own age who had already started on a family. One girl Susan had attended school with had three, two darling little girls and the meanest, most adorable little boy she'd ever seen. Susan smiled fondly as she thought of the little boy. She wondered what her first child would be. Twins might even be nice. Twins ran in her family.
Wouldn't it be lovely, she thought, to start one tonight? Uninhibited love play carried through to the conclusion intended by nature....
Funny, the way she thought about making a baby. It was by far the sexiest thing she could think of. It went back to the very first time when, as a virgin, she gave herself to Gil. Lord knows, she was excited enough that night. She was atrem-ble, weak, hot and cold at the same time, scared, expectant, and so damned eager that Gil couldn't believe his luck.
She had determined in advance, of course, that she was going to let Gil make her that night, and she had come prepared. She wore her frilliest bra and panties. She was ready and willing, and when Gil started playing around, after long, torrid kisses, she wanted it so badly she was almost crying with need. And with Gil inside her, after the first shattering pain, she was not disappointed in the results.
A grand and glorious night, and the most glorious moment of all came, with Gil pounding down on her in finishing frenzy, with their movements smoothed from their initial awkwardness, when she suddenly realized that she had forgotten one damned little thing. She had thought about it all day and all evening and had prepared herself with careful washings and perfumings-and she had forgotten the basic thing.
She was very, very near when she thought about it. She was panting with her first experience of total sex, and her body was burning with rapture, and the thrills were coming so thick and fast she could hardly keep from screaming aloud in her delight when she thought, Damn! He's not using anything!
She clung to him for a long moment while a shuddering realization of total intimacy cascaded through her body, a white hot flash of pure desire that made anything she'd felt before seem pallid in comparison. That moment, that tiny little moment when she knew she could become pregnant by what she was doing, when she realized that there was nothing to stop her from being the truly complete woman big with child, was the hottest, most passionate moment she had ever known.
She tore at Gil like a woman possessed, grinding against him, pulling him into her with a cosmic force, wanting more, more, wanting him to share her moment of complete abandon.
That was why she had this thing about having a baby. It all went back to that first night. Now she tried to tell herself that it was no different, but there was not a chance of her having a baby thanks to the modern pills and, by God, it did take something out of it.
Oh well. She was young yet. There was time. She sure wasn't going to ask herself to wait until she was thirty or so to have a baby, but there was time. Gil didn't like to talk about it. It worried him to think about all the expenses of having a baby. When she talked about babies, it made Gil irritable.
He had changed a lot since that first night so long ago. He had changed since the Army years. Money was scarce during the Army years, too, and then Susan was in agreement about waiting to have a baby, but things were different then. Gil didn't know then he was going to learn enough electronics in the Army to open up his repair shop. Now that things were fairly settled, when it was a logical time to think and plan for a family, there was Mrs. Emory, and Gil was always so tired.
Come to think of it, he did a hell of a lot of television watching and a hell of a lot of sleeping. When had that started? When had things reached the point where it was more fun, for Gil at least, to sleep or watch television than to have a spirited game of mattress polo?
"Ah, come on, hot-pants," she told herself aloud.
She couldn't blame Gil. Tension and worry erode desire in a man.
But she couldn't accept that excuse as a total explanation. When they were first married, there had been days when Gil would slip away from his company at lunch time, skipping his meal, to come home to her for a quickie, a fast and lusty roll in the hay which was very, very good in spite of the lack of time to really get the most out of it.
Then there were the nights and the mornings. Gil was very fast in the mornings. In the mornings, she had to work fast to keep up with him. He'd awaken, all warm with sleep and with the night-taste in his mouth and she'd be awakened by his hand in her gown, playing with her.
Sometimes she wouldn't even know a thing until she was rocked out of sleep by his movements within her, and those were really lovely times, when she knew first the deep feeling of being penetrated and she'd come slowly awake to find that her body had been functioning in her sleep.
Then she would have to steam up quickly because he was so fast in the mornings and she'd put a little extra effort into it, heaving under him like a wild wench, straining to beat him. Her mornings were good, not really complete, but good, more like nice preludes to better things ahead.
She said aloud, "Knock it off, or you'll be doing it with yourself." She wasn't reduced to that yet.
Gil hadn't made love to her in the morning, hadn't sneaked home at lunch, in years, but she wasn't reduced to playing with herself! She had a man!
But she had a man so concerned with his job and money problems that he had been neglecting her needs.
"Don't be an ass," she said, talking aloud again.
She tried reading but couldn't concentrate. She watched a soap opera on TV. One of the characters was pregnant out of wedlock. She smirked. Other people got knocked up at the drop of a pair of panties, and she couldn't manage it because of modern science and a husband who worried about money.
She said to hell with it and went into the kitchen. It wasn't time to start on the evening meal, but if she went slowly and meticulously she could stretch the job of getting ready for the Friday night feast until it was time for Gil to come home. If he came home on time....
She called him at the shop. "Gil," she said, her voice going soft and warm at the sound of him. "Gil, you're not going to work late tonight?"
"Gee, honey," he said, sounding harried, wanting to get back to his work, "I've got jobs stacked up to the ceiling."
"Sweetie, it's Friday night, don't you remember?'
"Friday?" he asked absently. Then he added, "Oh, yeah."
"If you'll close on time and be home early, I'll have a surprise for you," she promised.
"Yeah?" His mind seemed to be elsewhere. "What?"
When he was in the Army, he worked in Company Headquarters and had access to a telephone. When things were slow, he'd call her at home and they'd play telephone games, making sexy little remarks, teasing each other until they could be together again.
He sighed. "Look, Suze, I have a customer waiting. See you later?"
She frowned, disappointed at not being able to play the game. But, after all, they weren't newly-weds any longer. "You'll be home on time?"
"I'll try."
"Don't just try, buster," she said, letting her beginning anger show. "You do it."
"All right," he said irritably. "All right! Now, if you don't mind, I have a customer."
When they were married, someone gave them two place-settings of good silver. It was supposed to form the foundation for a complete set, but somehow they could never afford to add to it. She got it out of the drawer, took it out of its cloth wrappings and spent a few minutes polishing it. With her good china and two of the tall crystal wine glasses, the table looked very chic.
She put fresh candles in the silver candle holders, also a wedding present, and fussed with napkins and arrangements until things were perfect. Then she put two medium-sized potatoes into the oven, wrapped in foil. She got out the steaks and put meat tenderizer on them. She made the salad-tomatoes, lettuce, radishes and tiny bits of apple-and put it into the fridge. Allowing an hour for the potatoes, she could put on the steaks at six if Gil showed up.
With nothing to do, she sat down on the kitchen stool and looked out the window at the palm tree in the yard. She and Gil had planted the tree when they moved into the house. It was growing nicely.
Across the street, two small boys rode skateboards. She felt the familiar ache of wanting when she looked at them. They were about six, she imagined. If she had had a boy when she was first married, he'd be only a couple of years younger than those two. She stopped herself. No need to go down that road again. She watched the second-hand on the kitchen clock. She noticed the paper she'd bought at the grocery store and reached for it idly without leaving the stool.
The story of the woman who entertained her cub scout troop in an unusual way was as unbelievable on detailed reading as it had been when she scanned the headlines. She looked out the window at the two little boys and couldn't imagine a woman wanting to do anything to them except mother them. Intercourse with one? How silly. She turned to the inside pages of the paper and read about an axe murder. She shuddered.
On page three, an article claiming to be the true confessions of a nymphomaniac held her attention for a few minutes. Then she thumbed through the pages, her interest flagging, skipping over stories of rape and incest and perversion to the inside of the last page. The classified ads caught her eye and she scanned the columns. Offered for sale were pictures of nude girls, fancy underwear, aids for those who wanted to quit smoking, for those who had irregularity, for those who needed trusses.
Her eyes stopped at a column headed PERSONALS:
FUN LOVING FLORIDA COUPLE WOULD LIKE TO MEET BROAD-MINDED COUPLES INTERESTED IN PHOTOGRAPHY, MODELING, PARTIES. SHE'S A SWINGER, 36-24-36. HE'S CONSIDERED HANDSOME.
And:
ATTRACTIVE BLONDE, DIVORCEE, HAS SWINGING MALE FRIEND FOR PARTIES WITH BROAD-MINDED COUPLES.
Susan made a wry face and put the paper aside. It was a bunch of nonsense, she thought. The article about the woman and the cub scouts implied a lot and said little. It was the same with the ads. If they were for real at all, the definition of "broadmindedness" would be the exchange of pictures of naked girls or something. She couldn't imagine anyone advertising for sex partners, not for real. It was just something to make people buy the paper. Otherwise it made no sense to her.
Susan was a one-man woman, pure and simple, not because she had never felt a stir of interest for another man, but because she didn't believe in a quick roll in the hay, a casual hump in the back seat of a car. She knew the difference between sex and love and that was important, but she could not separate sex and love.
She liked her sex, Lord yes, she liked to roll in it, throw herself into it body and soul. She liked being used by her man, used well and long until every nerve in her body was screaming from the loveliness of being loved. She liked to do it again and again....
"Whoa, girl!" She laughed.
Hot pants again, and Gil a full hour away!
Well, what harm would it do to dream a little?
CHAPTER FOUR
She decided that she would try to remember the best time she had ever had with Gil. After reviewing a few incidents which stood out in her memory, she arrived at one particular night during the second year of Gil's Army service. It was New Year's Eve, and they had partied until late. Half-stewed, they went home to the apartment at four o'clock in the morning. Neither of them was sleepy. They were keyed up, still slightly boozy. They went to bed and made love. It went on and on until she climaxed three, four times and Gil was panting like a stallion before he finally made it with a burst of pure passion that was so good she could almost feel it now, remembering it. It was a lovely time, but it was so long ago. She hadn't had one like it since.
It shocked her to realize that she hadn't been a multiple threat in a long time. It seemed, as she thought about it, that lately all Gil did was crawl on and get it over with. Just one good one and then, bam, off to sleep.
She was suddenly concerned. Was she becoming a discontented wife? Was the next step to play musical beds with the neighbors? Not a chance. Things would be all right if she could have a baby, and she could when-when what? When Gil's mother sold her house? Mrs. Emory wasn't going to sell. When Mrs. Emory died? She felt guilty. She didn't wish the old woman dead. She didn't hate Mrs. Emory. Mrs. Emory was as healthy as a horse, fortunately. She should be good for another twenty years, at least.
Twenty years-yipe!
Black gloom settled over her. She thought about the years ahead and wished that she could foretell what would happen. She thought about growing older and not being able to start a family, of seeing Gil age before his time, seamed with worry and the extra financial burden he carried. She would not let it happen.
She would start tonight. She'd tell Gil, "I'm going to have a baby." She'd say, "Gil, we're going to start a family, and no backtalk. If the choice has to be made between a new pair of shoes for junior and a plumbing job on your mother's house, then your mother is going to have to learn plumbing. That's all, boy."
That was nutty. Gil wore the pants in the family, thank God! She wouldn't have a man who couldn't manage his own wife.
But hadn't she waited long enough? Wasn't it time to start thinking of herself? She was a good wife. She tried to make life good for Gil. Not that she was perfect. She had her moods, her black moments when she wasn't fit to live with, times when she made it rough on Gil. But she wasn't a bad wife. She could be better and she would. She'd love Gil until he screamed for mercy. If that's what it was going to take to make up for Gil's lack of vigor in bed, she'd be the aggressor.
She would become a sex kitten. She wouldn't wait for Gil to make the first move. If she felt like moving, she'd move. If she could interest him, she would be the one who got all the gravy from her new policy. She might be able, with some determined sexiness, to talk Gil into letting her go a few days without the pills.
She wondered how long it would take to get pregnant?
No matter how long it took, it would be fun.
Just before six she checked the potatoes in the oven. They'd be right in another few minutes. She turned on the broiler in the stove to let it heat and stood by the window, waiting for the red VW to turn into their street. At five past six, impatient, she went to the telephone. Gil was still at the shop.
"Gil," she said plaintively when he answered, "it's after six."
"Is it? Christ!" He sighed. "I've got to finish this job, honey. I promised it for first thing tomorrow morning."
"Dammit, Gil. I've got dinner almost ready."
"Well, hold it awhile. Give me thirty minutes."
In thirty minutes the potatoes would be overdone, tough. "Oh, Gil!" she said dispairingly. "Not on Friday night! Can't you leave it?" Her voice softened involuntarily. "You know how I look forward to Friday nights."
"Well, I guess I could come in a half hour early tomorrow."
"We can go to bed early," Susan said. "I don't promise we'll get to sleep early, but we can go to bed early. Now will you please get the hell home?"
He chuckled. "Okay, babe. See you in ten minutes."
She wasn't taking any chances. She didn't start the steaks until he drove into the drive. Before that, however, she rushed into the bathroom, took a quick shower, dried, scented herself with her nicest perfume, the one' she saved for special occasions, flipped her hair with a few quick strokes of the brush and put on her new, adorningly nude dress. She put her nicest housecoat over the black dress and tied it tightly before going back to the kitchen.
Gil drove into the driveway. She met him at the door and lifted her face to be kissed. He pecked her on the lips, and she moved close against him, asking for more. She pulled his face down and planted her lips on his mouth. He tasted good, manly, a sexy taste spiced with cigarettes.
"What's the big surprise?" He smiled at her. He was almost six feet tall, husky. When he wasn't worrying about money he had a young smile. His sandy hair was cut short. His face was lean, his nose strong. His grey eyes were piercing. She thought he had the look of an eagle about him. She loved him without reservation.
"Don't be impatient," she said, smiling suggestively. "Go get washed. I've just put the steaks in."
"All bears beware," Gil said. "I'm hungry enough to eat one."
"Hurry then," she said.
She poured wine into the tall crystal glasses. The color went well with her nice table. Then it was time to prepare the big surprise, what she hoped would be, for Gil, the main course of the evening-herself. She pulled the drawstrings of her housecoat and noticed that she hadn't drawn the drapes in the kitchen.
She closed them, got rid of the housecoat and, with the proud look of a beautiful woman who feels confident in her dress, she waited. She lit the candles on the table, turned out the overhead lights. She heard Gil coming through the house and struck a pose for him, a mischievous smile on her full lips.
It was comical. He walked into the kitchen and said, "Who forgot to pay the light bill?"
Then he glanced at her. She was standing near the table so that she would receive the romantic, flattering glow of the flickering candles. He did a cartoon type double take, his mouth open.
"Great bubbling Christ!" he said.
She moved toward him slowly, her hips swaying, her lips parted, finding it difficult to breathe. She wet her lower hp with her tongue.
"Like it?" she breathed.
"Great God," he said. "Where's the rest of it?" But he liked it. She could tell by his eyes that he liked it.
"This is the ultimate weapon," she purred. "With it, we women are going to conquer the world." She came close to him, thrust her bare breasts against his chest. "Or," she said, "we might even succeed in seducing our husbands with it."
He had changed into a short-sleeved sports shirt. When his arms went around her, she could feel the firmness of his muscles. She clung to him, full of love for him, feeling wanted, tender.
"Will it work, do you think?" she asked.
"I wouldn't be surprised." He closed her mouth with his. His hands came up, just as she had suspected they would, and closed over her exposed breasts. It was a long, lovely, shuddering kiss. She luxuriated in the hardness of his body, in his smoothly rippling muscles as he moved to make his embrace a living thing.
She let her hands rove up and down his back, from his flat hips to his muscled shoulders. She moved her hips. She pressed harder and harder against him until she felt him begin to respond. Finally, she pushed herself away.
"The steaks," she said, content, now that the fires had been kindled, to let them smoulder through the meal, until, later, one touch from him would set them blazing.
"Who cares?" He held onto her, his hands moving down to lift her by the soft handles that were her rounded buttocks.
"Lover," she said. "There's prime beef in the oven." She kissed him quickly, moved slowly away, feeling his eyes on her swaying rump as she went to take the steaks from the broiler. She served, seated herself. Gil was still standing, watching her, his eyes glued to her exposed, pointed breasts.
"Sit down," she said softly.
He obeyed. The steak was just right, red in the center, piping hot. At first, desire won out over appetite, but after a few bites Susan realized that she was hungry and began to enjoy the meal. The wine was good but the headiest draft of all came from Gil's eyes as they studied her from across the table.
"That's quite a dress," Gil said, after he, too, had blunted his first appetite. "Where did you get the pattern?"
"I didn't make it."
"Oh?"
"Do you remember Lucia Moreland, the dashing brunette at the Jerry Jones party?"
"The hot number?"
"Is she a hot number?"
"That's the impression she gives. I didn't do any personal research."
"I should hope not!" Susan said. "Well, she has a little dress-shop down at the plaza."
"Would it be impolite to ask how much you paid for it?"
She was off-guard, weakened by the emotions she had experienced, knowing that she had made a hit with Gil in the dress, remembering the strength of his arms around her.
"It's a seventy-nine-ninety-five dress," she said, teasing him.
He looked at her in complete disbelief.
"It was marked down to twenty dollars," she said, seeing the danger of that course. She didn't want to get him sidetracked on money, not with the evening opening so perfectly.
Seventy-nine-ninety-five was such an unthinkable price that it really hadn't registered on Gil. He could understand twenty dollars. It just happened that twenty dollars was the size of the electricity bill he had paid for his mother that very day. Twenty dollars represented two hours of hard work when things were going right at the shop, more hours if he ran into problems. The insurance was due on his mother's house, and he hadn't paid off the December bills for his own home.
"Twenty dollars?" he asked gruffly. "Great God, Susan, for a thing you can't even wear outside of the house?"
Susan felt her spirits sink a bit. She was not going to let him spoil the evening, however. "I haven't bought it yet, Gil."
"Well, don't." He spoke unnecessarily sharply.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes. He had liked the dress. He was being unreasonable. The dress had sparked fires in both of them. Why did he want to spoil everything. It was so nice to be able to look sexy for him. It was so nice with his arms around her. She loved the way he had kissed her, the way his hands found their way to her bared curves.
"I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was still hard. "I'd like nothing better than to be able to buy you nice things, everything you want, but you know how things are."
"Yes," she said. The steak had lost its flavor. "I damned well know how things are. How much money do we intend to hand out to your mother this month, Gil?" She was immediately sorry for saying it. However, the damage was done. His face hardened.
"Oh, Gil," she said. "I was going to tell you. I was just having a little fun with you. I haven't bought the dress and if I do keep it it won't take a penny out of our budget. Lucia wants me to go to work at the store."
"Damn," he said disgustedly, putting down his fork.
Well, she thought, this evening is shot to hell. She decided she might as well go ahead with it, now that it was started. She had tried being nice and it didn't work.
"I'm going to have this dress, Gil," she said. "And there are a lot of other things I want, too. I know how it is with us money-wise, and I understand your concern for your mother. I don't really begrudge what we do to help her, it's just that I think it's time I began to get a few of the things I'd like to have. This job with Lucia will allow me to buy some very nice dresses at cost."
"It doesn't matter how I feel about your going to work?" Gil asked.
"Yes, it matters," she said. "You matter more than anything to me. You know that. But this will be just a part-time job, Saturdays and a couple of evenings. We could work it out so that you could do your late work at the shop on the evenings when I'm working. You wouldn't even realize I was away."
"Susan," he said, very carefully. "I just don't like the idea of my wife working."
She fought down her growing anger. "Can't you learn to like it?"
"I see you've made up your mind."
"Yes," she said simply. If he had not spoiled the evening, if he had understood about the dress, she wouldn't have gone against him so strongly.
"I guess that's it, then." He fell into silence and finished his meal quickly. She wasn't hungry any more, but she finished the steak simply because they had just one good steak each week, and she would be damned if she'd let him spoil that little pleasure for her. But it was spoiled. She didn't enjoy the remainder of the meal.
He was the one who broke the long silence. "Help you wash dishes?" He made it clear by the tone of his voice that he didn't want to help.
"No," she said. "I'll do them. Why don't you take a glass of wine into the living room and watch TV?"
He poured a glass and left her alone in the kitchen. It didn't take long to wash the few dishes and the broiler pan from the stove. She cleared things away and walked into the living room. Gil looked up from the evening paper. She had thrown an apron around the black dress. He grinned at her, then laughed.
"That's pretty funny," he said.
He looked down. The frilled apron did look silly atop the straight, black dress, below her bare breasts. She giggled.
"It is, isn't it?"
One nice thing about Gil. They had their little spats, all right, most married people did, but with Gil things ended quickly. There was none of that silly business of pouting and carrying a grudge for days, not even for hours. She tossed the apron aside and sat on the hassock in front of his chair. He had not, as she suggested, turned on the television.
"Gil," she said.
He looked at her thoughtfully. She had gone to a lot of trouble to make the evening interesting for him. She'd outdone herself in arranging the table and in preparing the food. She'd gone out of her way to doll herself up in a sexy dress for him.
"Hey," he said. "This is Friday night, remember?"
"I remember," she said. "I was afraid you'd forgotten."
"Now, now." He grinned. "No pouting. Let's be pals, okay?"
Susan smiled. "Suits me, boss. Wanta play games?"
"Such as?"
"I could name a few."
"Well?"
"Like post office?" she asked. "For children," he said. "Grab ass?' "Don't be gross."
"Nine innings of mattress polo?" He grinned. "You don't play that game in innings."
He reached for her. She went to him and let herself down onto his lap. Her hair fell around her face, making an attractive chestnut frame for her full lips, her mouth parted slightly. "It's played in falls, like wrestling. I promise to lose three out of three falls."
His lips were firm, gently insistent. His hand went immediately to her breast. She felt her nipple harden under his touch. She could also feel, with a tightening in her stomach, a growing hardness against the soft bottom of her. She squirmed to feel him better. Hot juices roared through her system.
All the frustration, all the pent up desire, grew into an undeniable flood of need inside her.
She wanted him. She sought him with clinging body and soft arms and gusty sighs. She felt him with her hand, loving his voluptuous round hardness. She wanted him in her. She could not wait.
She had decided to be more aggressive, hadn't she?
"Are you going to carry me off to bed or do I just fall down here on the grubby old rug?" she asked, her voice throaty.
"That rug, thank you, is not grubby. My wife keeps a nice house."
"Don't tease," she said.
"So fall down on the floor."
It sounded like a wild idea. The rug was new. It was clean, deep piled. She pushed herself backward from his lap before he could catch her, eased herself down, pushing the hassock away in a quick movement. She gathered the dress in her hands and folded it to her waist. She could feel her glands working like mad. He looked down and she raised her hips from the floor, pushing herself at him, urging him with all her body to take her.
CHAPTER FIVE
"This is the way you asked for it, lover," she said. She lifted her arms. He bent to pick her up, but when he put his hands under her shoulders, she tripped him, and he had to catch himself to keep from falling on her. She pulled and he came down atop her. She could feel his touch.
He had landed just right. She reached for him, found him, pulled on his body until, with strength born of her wild desires, she had him centered.
"Hey, let's do away with the clothes," he said, still touching her, wanting nothing but one slight thrust to unite them.
"No!" she gasped. "I want it now!" She pushed upward, impaled herself on him, as the first throbs of ecstasy possessed her. She felt joy as he matched her movements, welding their bodies together. She felt wanton, let pure sensualism take her, felt him possess her completely, thought, oh God! how wonderful to be a woman!
Small, spasmodic muscles clutched at the beloved alien within her. Her breath grew fast and hard. She began the climb to heaven, regretting only for a moment that his bulky clothing prevented the ultimate in closeness. He moved to kiss her open mouth, giving her his tongue to tease. He was delighted with her all-out response.
She cried out once, twice. Then she was slowly tensing, lifting her entire body to press hard against him, holding him tight to check his motions.
"Ah, God!" she gasped. "Ah, Gil!" She made swift little movements to savor the delightful after-effects, and then she relaxed against the hard floor.
"Hot-pants Suzie," Gil said, smiling down at her.
"You know it, buddy," she said proudly. She felt proud and satisfied. Within her, she was carrying his seed. She was so glutted with feeling that she didn't consider the fact that his seed would be planted in sterilized ground. She felt too good to think about it.
"You do it to me," she said. "You make me have hot pants."
"I'd better not catch anyone else doing it," he said.
"No danger."
The floor was hard but not uncomfortable. She lay underneath him and felt him ebb away from her.
"You know, darling," she said, her voice soft and languorous, "that you've hopelessly wrinkled a twenty dollar dress."
"I have?" he asked. "Who the hell was it who fell down on the floor and started this."
"I'll have to keep it," she said.
"Wasn't that what you wanted?"
She kissed him quickly. "I really wanted to enjoy my husband, that's all I wanted."
"Really?"
"For real and true." She snuggled her face against his shoulder. "Are you glad you have a hot wife?"
"You know it!"
"Are you going to take me to bed and do it up right for me?"
"You know that, too." He eased his weight off her. "But only because it's Friday night and you look so sexy in that damned twenty-dollar dress."
He rolled off her and helped her to her feet. She held the dress away from her, not wanting to mess it up.
"This time I'll take it off," she said.
"I'll vote for that."
"Come along," she said. "Follow me, sexman."
In the bedroom, she pulled the dress off over her head and shook out her hair. While Gil undressed, she made quick repairs in the bathroom. When she came out, he was lying atop the spread on his back. She liked him nude. He had such a good, strong body.
She threw herself down on him, making him grunt with her weight. She pushed herself up quickly, avoiding his arms, straddling him.
This one was going to be long, loving and slow. She was going to take her time, savor every small movement. Afterwards, she'd he under him until sleep came, feeling him still within her as the world went away, leaving only love and sensuous awareness of Gil.
It was lovely. So utterly lovely! Nothing could be as good.
Nothing? Oh, God, how could she be dissatisfied?
But the truth was that one thing could improve it.
"Darling," she whispered, not stopping her sinuous, slow gyrations. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could start a baby?"
He paused. "You didn't forget the pill?"
"No," she said, "but I'd like to. I want a baby, Gil. I want your baby in my womb. I want to feel it growing. I want to know you put it there, darling. I want your baby. I want that more than I want anything else in this world."
"I know," he said, taking up the rhythm slowly.
"Let's do it," she begged. "Can't we, please?" Her words gushed out in tempo with her increased movement, as she was excited by the thought. "I can skip the pills and then in a couple of days ... It would be about the right time of the month, I think. Oh, wouldn't it be nice to know we were making something when we do this? To know that we're being as close as two people can ever be?"
"Gil?" she asked, when he didn't answer.
"Don't, Suze. Please don't."
"I would like a child. Maybe we could name it after you, if it were a boy, and he'd look like you, and when he was big enough you could buy him baseballs and things and-"
"You know how I feel," he said. "You know I want kids. But-"
"But there's the insurance on your mother's house," she said bitterly.
"Susan!"
"All right," she said, squeezing him, "I'm sorry. We won't talk about it."
But something had gone out of it.
She let him roll away from her and watched his back disappear into the bathroom. She heard water running as he showered. She closed her eyes to try to dispell the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Something had gone out of her.
It seemed so ugly, so sterile. It seemed useless, all the motion and the wildness and the moistness. It was sinful, almost, to make love just for the sake of the transient sensations it produced in her. Her body was incomplete again, crying out for the little, impregnating seed which could become, in nine months, a tangible proof that love was clean and good.
When Gil came back to bed, she told herself that she had to get up and go clean up. But she didn't really care. Something was gone. She felt used and tired. She closed her eyes and turned away from Gil. When he put his arm over her, she moved. Her body was sticky with sweat. "Don't, Gil! It's so hot."
He moved his arm and turned onto his side, his back to her. It was not even 10 o'clock. " 'Night, sweetie," he said. "Goodnight."
After he began breathing evenly, she was still awake. She lay on her back, messy, sticky. Such a waste! It wasn't right. All the loveliness had gone out of the night and what had seemed to be beautiful love was represented by a sticky, dead, useless residue. They were two animals giving pleasure without purpose past mere sentience.
Was that love? No, that was mere sex, a far cry from what she wanted, what she needed.
She felt very sad. Before she finally dropped off to sleep, her cheeks were wet with silent tears. She cried because she was in bed with a stranger. The man sleeping at her side, purring softly through his nose, was not her Gil, not the vital, young lover she had known. He was a tired man, a distant man, interested only in money and in keeping his mother's house from falling down from disrepair and old age.
CHAPTER SIX
The sadness was still with Susan when she awakened Saturday morning. She rushed into the kitchen to prepare Gil's breakfast. During the night, the advance elements of a cold front had moved south to cover the Central Florida area. It wasn't cold enough yet to light the oil burner in the hall, but the heat from the open oven felt good. Susan wore a battered pair of slacks, faded from many washings. She had on a mannish shirt with long sleeves and had brushed her hair back and applied lipstick before coming into the kitchen.
Outside, low clouds promised some badly needed rain. The lawn was dry and brittle. There was, Susan noticed, a tell-tale brown circle on the side of the yard which indicated that the chinch bugs were back. She'd have to remind Gil to bring the sprayer from his mother's house and get some good bug-killer on the grass before the little devils ate it all.
She heard Gil rambling around in the back of the house. Water ran. The electric razor buzzed. That was her signal to put on the eggs. She wasn't hungry. She'd make do with a grapefruit and a piece of toast. It wasn't that she had to watch her weight. No matter what she ate, she seemed to stay within a few ounces of her regular 120 pounds.
She didn't feel like having a big breakfast, that was all. The grey day, the haunting disease that had begun in the midst of their lovemaking the night before, seemed to cast a cloud over her spirits that matched the clouds outside.
Gil came in, fresh in his white uniform. She forced a smile. No need to let Gil know she was in a blue funk. He had enough worries without being inflicted with a neurotic wife.
"Get the paper yet?" he asked cheerfully.
"I didn't think of it."
"I'll get it." He went out the door, and she looked at him through the window. He was straight, tall, handsome. She told herself that she was being a fool, that most women would be happy to have a good man like Gil, that her troubles, fortunately, were all small ones.
Gil, unlike some men she knew, wasn't a heavy drinker. He didn't spend his evenings "out with the boys" flitting from one bar to the next, getting drunk and panting after B-girls. He didn't play around. At least, he didn't play around to her knowledge.
Once, while he was in the Army, she had had suspicions about Gil and the wife of a sergeant who lived in the same apartment building with them. She never had proof that Gil played footsie with the woman. If he did, he handled it discreetly.
Now, with all of Gil's time spent at the shop and at his mother's house, she didn't see how he could ever find the time to go catting, even if he had the urge.
"I thought you'd be wearing the new dress," Gil said lightly as he came back into the house unfolding the morning Sentinel.
"Down boy," Susan said. "That's for special occasions."
"Maybe we can have a party tonight," Gil said. "Just you and me and a fifth of old rotgut."
"That might be nice," Susan said without enthusiasm.
"Maybe we can go out on the town. I'd like to see the looks on faces when you walked into a joint with that dress on."
"I'll bet you wouldn't!" Susan said.
"I'd be the envy of every man in town."
"You'd have to fight to defend my honor." She served his breakfast and sat down. She removed seeds from a runty grapefruit from the tree in the back yard. Gil looked up at the sound of a car in the driveway.
"Company?" he asked. "Search me."
Sharp heels pounded on the concrete of the carport. There was a light knock at the kitchen door. Susan went to open it. Lucia Moreland was there, dressed in a well fitting one piece knit dress. She looked very fresh and very pretty.
"Hi!" Lucia said. "Did I get here just in time to interfere with your breakfast?"
Susan brightened in the face of Lucia's cheerfulness. "Not at all," she said. "Come in."
"Who is it, honey?" Gil called, unable to see the door from where he was sitting.
"It's Lucia Moreland," Susan said, as Lucia followed her back into the dining area. "You remember her, don't you?"
"Of course," Gil said, standing up so quickly that he bumped the edge of the table and spilled coffee over the lid of his cup into his saucer. "Have you had breakfast, Lucia?"
"Oh, yes," Lucia gushed. "I'm sorry to break in on you like this, but I got up this morning and felt so lonely that I asked myself, where can you find a good cup of coffee and genial companionship at this hour of the a.m.? And I said, to myself, why not bust in on the Emory's?"
"We're glad you did," Susan said.
"Sure," Gil seconded. "Don't you want some breakfast?"
"Oh, no," Lucia said. "Just a cup of coffee if you have it." She put her hand on Susan's shoulder and tried to push her down into a chair. "You just tell me where things are and I'll serve myself."
"I'll get it," Susan said. She was watching Gil with some interest. His eyes were glued on Lucia. He was still standing. "You'd better finish your breakfast, Gil," Susan said. "If you don't, you'll never make it to work a half hour early."
Gil sat down. Susan went into the kitchen with Lucia following. When Gil couldn't hear, Lucia whispered, "The real reason I came by was to ask if you'd had a chance to talk things over yet, I mean about coming to work."
Susan nodded grimly. "We've talked."
"Oh-ho."
"He doesn't like the idea."
"That's too bad. I was hoping-"
"I haven't said no," Susan said quickly.
"Oh, so it's that way." Lucia smiled knowingly. "Well, if you need some help?"
"Perhaps we'd better let it ride for a day or so."
"I don't want to push you, Susan, but a girl came to see me yesterday, just after you left. She wants to work part time and I do need someone. Don't feel that I'm trying to force a decision. If you're reasonably sure you can come to work, I can wait a few days."
Susan made her decision suddenly. "There's no need to wait." She carried Lucia's cup and saucer back to the table.
"Lucia has to know if I'm going to work for her," she told Gil. "She's had an application from another girl."
The smile faded from Gil's face.
"Susan is perfect for the job," Lucia said, smiling warmly toward Gil. "She'll be very decorative and useful. You have a beautiful wife." ' "Yes," Gil said. He seemed to be slightly ill at ease under Lucia's gaze. He returned her look and smiled. Susan noted that his eyes went down to measure the fullness of Lucia's breasts. She remembered Gil had described Lucia as a hot number. It would seem that Mr. Gil Emory felt some attraction for Lucia.
"It isn't as if she would be working at a full-time job," Lucia said. "We'll only take her from you on Saturday's and two or three evenings each week."
Gil looked at Susan. "How about Friday evenings?'
"I don't know," Susan said. So that was his plan. He was going to make it seem as if she were not interested in their little Friday night parties.
"Friday is, of course, one of our busiest nights," Lucia said.
"Sometimes it's pretty busy around here," Gil said.
"Look, kids," Lucia said. "I don't want to stick my nose into the middle of your private affairs. I just thought-"
"Gil," Susan said evenly. "I want to go to work for Lucia."
Gil smiled, but the smile had a forced quality. "If your going to work means we'll be seeing a lot of your boss around here, I'll vote for it." When he looked at Lucia there was no trace of shyness.
Susan felt a little pang of anger. He was trying to make her jealous, hinting that if she went to work for Lucia he might find out if Lucia really were a hot number. It was the last straw. It was childish, and it made her furious. She looked at the dress Lucia wore. On the racks at Lucia's store it sold for over a hundred dollars.
Of course, Lucia looked good. Any woman with a halfway decent figure would look good in a dress like that. If that was what Gil liked, she'd by-God give it to him.
"When do you want me to start, Lucia?" Susan asked, looking at Gil, daring him to object.
"Today?"
"Fine with me."
"That's wonderful." She turned her smile on Gil. "You're not going to be angry with me, are you?"
"Angry with you?" He made it sound incredible. "What a silly idea!"
"Now that it's settled," Lucia said, "I'll be running along. See you at the shop around nine-thirty, all right, Susan?"
"I'll be there."
Lucia rose, took her cup and saucer to the sink and tiptapped out the door. When the sound of her car faded, Gil said, "She comes on strong, doesn't she? Makes herself right at home."
"You came on pretty strong yourself," Susan said, still a bit angry.
"Honey," he grinned, "if my wife is going to be a career girl, I've got to have something to help me while away the lonely hours." His smile was without warmth.
"On the wrong track entirely, my friend," Susan said.
"Oh?"
"It won't work."
Gil rose lazily. He moved to the back door. Lucia was in the street, just straightening the car to drive away. When Gil called out, she stopped and rolled down her window.
"We're having a little party tonight, just Susan and I. Would you like to join us?" Susan thought his voice could be heard all over the neighborhood.
"I'd love to," Lucia called back.
"Bring someone if you like," Gil said.
"I'm fresh out of someones," Lucia said, smiling. "May I still come?"
"See you about eight," Gil said. He closed the door and looked back at Susan defiantly. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach.
"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked bitterly.
"What am I doing? What do you mean? I just asked your new boss to visit, that's all. You have to be nice to the boss."
"All right, Gil. Let's be nice to the boss."
"I thought you might enjoy having her over," Gil said innocently.
"I'm sure I will," Susan said coldly. "But I'm not so sure you will." She was thinking of what the catty woman had said about Lucia. Wouldn't it be a big joke on Gil to have him make a huge play for Lucia, for a woman who liked girls?
* * *
After a bad beginning, the day straightened out when Susan started work at the little dress shop. Lucia was bright, cheerful and very helpful. Susan was a quick learner. She spent part of the morning getting acquainted with the stock. She waited on a couple of young married women at mid-morning all alone and made a good sale. Before she realized it, it was lunch time.
She and Lucia sent out for sandwiches and ate them seated at the little marble table. By evening, Susan was handling customers like an old pro. She was able to make suggestions and sound authoritative about fashions and materials.
Just before closing time, she sold a very expensive evening gown to a well-dressed dowager with a huge, hanging bust and a tightly corseted belly. When Lucia closed the doors, she sank wearily down into one of the chairs facing the marble table. Lucia came to stand beside her, putting a soft hand on her shoulder.
"Well, how do you like it?" Lucia asked.
"I thought it was fun, but I didn't realize how tired I was until I sat down."
"You'll get used to it. Today was exceptionally busy. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"I'll be more help from now on," Susan said. "I'm getting the hang of it."
"Of course you are! You're going to be perfect." Lucia's hand was still on Susan's shoulder, kneading her tired tendons. Once again, Susan was reminded of the rumor she had heard about Lucia. She looked up into Lucia's face, admittedly curious.
"Now," Lucia said. "I have a reward for a good day's work. I keep martinis in the rear of the store. Shall we have one, two, or three?"
"No more than one," Susan said, smiling. "I'm a cheap drunk."
"Glad to hear it," Lucia said. "The supply will last longer." She led the way into the storeroom at the rear of the shop. During the day, Susan had glanced into it. There were racks of garments, packing cases, odds and ends. In one cleared corner, there was a small refrigerator, a chair and a neatly made three-quarter-size Bed.
"Put the tired body down, and I'll do the honors," Lucia said. She went to the refrigerator, took out two chilled glasses and a shaker. Susan sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the chair for Lucia. Lucia handed her the drink and stood in front of her.
"I'll have to hurry," Susan said. "No use pouring fuel on the flames of dissension at home. Gil will be there before too long, unless he runs into a lot of work at the shop. I should be there when he gets home. I have some frozen spaghetti sauce which I've been saving for just such an emergency. It won't take me long to get dinner, but I think I should be there just to make him feel better, at least on the first night."
"Drink up, then," Lucia said. She went down beside Susan. Her weight caused the mattress to give, and Susan had to hitch herself up to keep from sliding against Lucia. The martini was very cold and very strong. It hit the spot after the day's work. Susan could feel it bum its way down her throat into her stomach.
"Boy!" she said. "It wouldn't take many of these."
"My capacity isn't very great, either," Lucia said. "By the way, do you want me to come to your place tonight?"
Susan looked at the dark-haired girl quickly. The tone of the question implied there might be a reason why Susan wouldn't want her.
"Of course," Susan said.
'I'm not blind, darling," Lucia said.
"No, I didn't think you could fail to notice."
"You're not bothered?"
"Should I be?"
Lucia laughed, a low, liquid sound deep in her throat. "I don't think so." She looked into Susan's eyes. "Not about that."
Susan wanted, out of curiosity, to find the double meaning behind those words. "There is something which should bother me?"
Lucia touched Susan's leg, high up, near the panty-line. "No, don't mind silly me."
"Do you know," Susan said carefully, looking down at the trimly manicured hand which still touched her leg, "that you're constancy touching me?"
There was a moment of frozen silence. Susan held her breath, wondering if she had been too direct. There was a candid relationship already established between them. They talked together easily, with no beating around the bush. Lucia's reference to Gil's behavior was an example. And Susan felt like being direct. She didn't want to go on wondering about Lucia.
During the day there had been, as she said, a constant series of touches from Lucia, a light pat, a stroke on the arm, occasional body contact when they were working in close quarters. She hadn't really thought about it until now, until she felt the touch of Lucia's soft hand on her leg. At that point, suspicion came back. She remembered once again that someone had said, "Don't let her get you in a dark corner."
"Am I?" Lucia removed her hand slowly, her face expressionless.
"Not that I mind," Susan said, watching Lucia's face closely. "It's just...."
Lucia's hands fluttered. She seemed, for the first time in Susan's experience with her, to be ill at ease. "I don't know why," she said. "It's just a silly habit, I guess. If it bothers you...."
"Oh, no," Susan said, distressed to see the self-contained Lucia floundering. "I don't know what I was thinking of to make an issue of it."
Lucia sighed deeply, drawing her shoulders up, letting her chest fall with her exhalation. "What have you heard about me, Susan?"
It was Susan's turn to feel flustered. She didn't want to force Lucia into a soul-searching session which might prove embarrassing for both of them.
She didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the pleasant relationship so swiftly built up with her new friend and boss.
"What do you mean?" she asked, playing for time to gather her thoughts and make a graceful exit from the situation.
Fully recovered, Lucia said, "Let's not kid each other."
"I'm at a loss," Susan said.
"All right, let me say it. You've heard, no doubt, that I have unusual tastes."
"Why, no," Susan said, but her blush gave lie to her words.
"I like you Susan. Do you mind my saying that?"
"Not at all. I'm pleased. I like you, too-very much."
"I'm glad. I don't want to do anything to change that. I want us to be good friends. If my mauling you bothers you, just yell at me until I remember to keep my hands to myself."
Susan thought she recognized deep pain behind Lucia's words, and her heart went out to her. It was she, then, who did the touching. She put a hand on Lucia's arm. "I still don't know what you're talking about, Lucia. I assure you that I've heard nothing, and if I did, I wouldn't believe it if it were bad."
Lucia sighed again. "No, we'd better cover the ground since we're in this deep." She took a deep drink. "I think you're mature enough, Susan, to understand that all people are not alike."
"Of course."
"Let's go about it this way," Lucia said. "How do you feel about women who like other women?"
Susan's heart skipped a beat. So it was true! Well, it didn't make any difference. It didn't make Lucia any less nice, any less friendly. "I don't know, really," she said, being very truthful. "I've never thought about it much, I guess."
"You've never been approached by a Les, huh?"
"No."
"What would you do if you did run into one, if a Les tried to put the make on you?"
Susan laughed nervously. She had to weigh her answer carefully. She wanted to make it clear that she didn't hold it against Lucia if she were that way, but she didn't want to encourage anything either.
"I don't know," she said.
It was clear now, that what she had heard about Lucia was true. Lucia, herself, was telling her about it. She was uncomfortable. Strangely, she felt as much discomfort for Lucia as she did for herself. She felt great sympathy for Lucia. She wanted to make it sound just right.
"If she were a nice girl," Susan said, "and I liked her, I might like to see how the other half lives."
Lucia smiled warmly. "Thank you, Susan," she said. "Thank you for being so understanding." The smile faded, and she was serious. "But I won't bother you. It's not because I have anything against being friendly with someone who is working for me, either. It's because I value your friendship so much. I wouldn't want to risk losing it."
"Now it's my turn to thank you" Susan said sincerely. "I feel the same."
The smile they exchanged was warm and friendly. Both were comfortably silent as they finished their drink.
"Let's have just one more," Lucia suggested.
Susan felt warm and very close to Lucia. Confidences exchanged had brought them nearer. She respected Lucia for being honest with her. She respected Lucia for promising not to start anything sexy.
"I'll have one more," she said, still feeling the warmth of the first martini. Drinking on an empty stomach was murder, she knew, but one more would hardly hurt her.
"One up, and then I'll have to go," she said. "Do you have to go home and change or something?"
"Not if you'll let me use a hairbrush," Lucia said.
"Can do. Then we'll go directly to the house. You can help me with the spaghetti. You do like spaghetti, don't you?"
"Love it."
The second martini, as always, was better than the first. Susan, in a hurry to get home, killed half in seconds. She was studying Lucia out of the corner of her eyes. The more she looked at the girl, the prettier she got. Susan admired Lucia's perfect face, her large eyes, her beautiful figure.
For just a second, she let herself wonder how it would feel to have the soft, gentle arms of a woman around her. She wondered if it would be vasdy different from being held by a man. She had not had much experience, really. In all her life she had made love with just one person-one man-Gil. Thinking of Gil reminded her of his clumsy attempt to make her jealous of Lucia. She laughed aloud. The joke was really on him now.
"What's so funny?" Lucia asked.
"I can't tell you."
"So be that way."
"It might make you mad."
"I promise it won't," Lucia said.
"I was thinking about Gil." She laughed again. "You know, he thinks you're one hot number."
Lucia chuckled. "I see what you mean."
"Wouldn't the joke really be on him if I...." She paused. Lucia was looking at her very strangely.
"If you what?" Lucia asked.
"If you and I ... Why was she being coy? "Lucia," she said calmly. "You said you wouldn't bother me. What if I want to be bothered?"
"Would you repeat that, please?" Lucia asked, wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully.
Susan felt daring, sophisticated. She was just teasing, of course. She wasn't the type to go for women. She liked to feel that man.
"What if I want to be bothered?" she repeated.
"Then, darling, as someone once said in an old movie, you just whistle." Lucia spoke softly but with great meaning. "But don't whistle unless you mean it, Susan. You'd better mean it or you might get raped."
Susan faked a wide-eyed, frightened look. "Oooh, how scared I am!"
They laughed together. Lucia drained her glass and Susan followed suit. Lucia rose, smoothing down her skirt.
"Well," Lucia questioned. "Shall we go?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I suppose we should." Susan spoke regretfully. She wasn't in the mood to go home to Gil. She was still a bit miffed with her husband. The martinis were just beginning to make her feel good, and it was friendly and interesting to sit in the storeroom and talk with Lucia. Besides that, there were funny litue feelings dancing in her stomach.
She stood up. Lucia was an inch taller. Susan couldn't explain her sense of pleasant expectancy. She had the feeling something was going to happen. She felt something should happen. Standing there, looking into Lucia's attractive face, her thoughts were confused. She thought of Gil's silly act, of his attempt to scare her out of taking the job by making a play for Lucia. It would really serve him right if ... If what?
If she said, "Lucia, I'm whistling?"
If she felt Lucia's arms go around her, entered a field of experience about which she knew absolutely nothing? What kind of a lover would Lucia be? How would a girl like that go about it? Oh, she had the picture, the one presented in books and magazines, but how would it actually be?
"Lucia?" she said thoughtfully.
"Yes?"
"I might, someday."
"Might what, Susan?"
"Whistle."
"Don't tease," Lucia said.
"Lucia!" Susan whispered. She puckered her lips. She felt as if she were on the brink of a daring adventure. Once before in her life she had felt that way, the night when she was seventeen, when she decided to let Gil make love to her all the way.
She felt a delighted trembling inside. Her breath was swift. Her heart hammered. She stood, lips puckered, on the brink. Lucia looked at her, smiled. Full lips parted, a pink tongue flicked out to moisten the round surface of Lucia's lower hp.
"Damn!" Susan muttered, her lips puckered again.
"What's wrong?" Lucia asked, moving closer.
"I can't get the damned things to work," Susan said, little chills chasing up and down her spine. T can't whistle."
"It's the intent that counts," Lucia said, touching her now, her hands on Susan's arms.
"Whistle, whistle, whistle!" Susan said, and then she couldn't talk any more because warm, feminine lips were closing on hers, a soft, warm tongue was flicking at the outer surface of her lips, edging inside, searching and finding sweetness in one continuous movement as their bodies flowed toward one another and touched. Two soft globes pressed into Susan's own breasts and she could feel, as the embrace went deeper, hips grinding against hers.
It was happening so quickly. She hadn't really wanted it, hadn't really believed it would happen. It seemed strange that things could change so swiftly. One moment they were just female friends, talking easily. The next, entirely different beings, their relationship changed drastically.
She knew, now, how female arms felt. They felt soft and protective, not muscular. They felt intimate, and they were closed tightly around her, and soft hands knew the exact, nice spots on her back and her rump. She was sure it would end. She wasn't really letting Lucia suck her tongue into a hot, sweet mouth. She wasn't really feeling the hard pelvic bulge grind into her own.
But she was helpless to stop it. She felt herself being pushed back, back, felt the edge of the bed against the back of her knees and let herself be lowered until she was on her back on the mattress, Lucia bending over her, not once having broken the wet, passionate kiss.
Then she was lying on her side with Lucia facing her. Their bodies stretched full length, their long flanks pressed tightly together, their breasts mashing each other's with corresponding softness. She could feel the warm radiation of nearness.
There was a small, smacking sound as Lucia broke the first, long kiss.
"Why?" Lucia whispered. "Curiosity?"
She could still be completely honest. They were that close. "At first, I think."
"And now?"
"Ummm!" Susan murmured as soft lips brushed hers. She put her hand behind Lucia's head and pulled the dear face to her, opening her mouth hungrily to savor the exotic taste of Lucia's lipstick, of her tongue, of her open mouth.
"It's more than curiosity now?" Lucia asked.
"More than that," she said.
"What do you want?" Lucia asked. "Do you want me to stop?"
"I want something," Susan said. "I don't know what to do."
"I can show you, darling."
"Do! Please do!"
Hands worked with her clothing. Blouse buttons opened, exposing a lacy bra. The blouse was pulled from the waist of her skirt, pushed up to expose her bare midriff. Warm lips, Lucia's lips smeared with lipstick, closed down on sensitive stomach skin, kissed and teased and soothed. A warm tongue flicked at her in loving abandon. Tender hands raised her shoulders as she cooperated eargerly, unfastened the bra and exposed her large, perfect breasts.
"Do you remember the day I touched you there?" Lucia asked, putting her hands, gentle and soft, on Susan's breasts. A quiver of excitement went through Susan as fingers moved expertly to toy with the rapidly stiffening tips.
"Ummm!" Susan murmured again, not trusting her voice.
"It was so good," Lucia whispered. "I had to fight myself to stop. Do you know that?"
"Tell me," Susan said, wanting to hear the soft voice. She was lost in the strange wonder of her urges.
"I felt it all the way up to my guts," Lucia said. "I wanted you so terribly, so very, very terribly. I didn't dare dream we'd be together like this, so soon."
A gasp of pleased surprise came when Lucia's lips first closed over one of her breasts. She arched her torso, heaving her breast up to push hungrily into Lucia's mouth.
"Good?" Lucia asked, pausing.
"God, yes!"
The thrills mounted. Her body was crying its need. She felt her hips begin to make their demanding, circling, searching motions. Lucia pushed her onto her back. She pressed upward, pushing herself against the front of Lucia's thigh, loving the contact as she humped her body to feel it.
"How do you do it, Lucia?" she breathed. She was fully ready, wanting to get on with it. She liked the breast-kisses, but she needed something more.
"There are several ways."
"Show me. Show me now!"
Lucia was unbelievably beautiful. Her body was lusher than Susan's, but not overly lush. It was full and ripe, and it glowed with health as it was exposed with hasty hands. Lucia jerked Susan's skirt and panties away and lowered herself, full length, atop her. Her body was soft and warm and voluptuous. Susan felt the beautiful pressure deep in quivering softness. She used her hips to savor it.
"This is one way," Lucia said. "Do you like it?"
"Lovely!" Susan said, opening her mouth wide for a wet, tongue-filled kiss, toying with Lucia's lips between her teeth, tasting her sweet feminine breath as she allowed her body to rev up into rhythmic motion. She fought and lunged and made hard movements to press Lucia closer against her.
"Play with my breasts," Susan said excitedly. Tender fingers toyed, teased, squeezed. "Harder!"
Sensation approached pain as fingers pinched tender areas. A low moan of pleasure came from Susan's lips.
"You're not close?" Lucia asked.
"Yes! Oh yes!" Her body strained upward. Lucia stopped her movement.
"Not yet!" Lucia said.
"Now!" Susan cried.
"No. Wait!"
Lucia pulled away. Where, in Susan's arms, i there had been warm woman, there was emptiness, and she opened her eyes in protest. She reached for Lucia, but the dark girl was already positioned, looking like a lovely love goddess with her breasts pendant, her hair hanging around her face. Susan stared, wide-eyed, expectant, as the face neared, touched. Searing wonder shot through her body with the hard push of contact. She cried out with the goodness of it.
As the skilled Sappho did things to her, she churned against the loveliness and went high, higher, until, with an explosion which, she felt, should have been audible, she peaked, climaxed. Thrills shot throughout her body with a climax that went on and on under the expert persuasions of Lucia's soft, now gentle, touch.
She was weak. She lay lax, her eyes closed, letting Lucia's lips move slowly up her body, feeling the weight of Lucia, turning her head to accept the kiss which had a strange, not unpleasant taste of love.
"How do you feel now?" Lucia asked. "Guilt? Shame?"
Susan opened her eyes. "Should there be?"
"There is with many the first time."
"It was so beautiful, Lucia. How could I feel guilty?"
"Good!"
They didn't speak for a long time. "I'm not sure I want to do it again, though," Susan said at last. "Why?"
"Because of what it did to me."
"What did it do to you?" Lucia asked, smiling down at her.
"It was so damned good," Susan said, clasping Lucia tighter. "It was so much better than anything that's happened to me in a long time. I might get to like it too much."
"Hey!" Lucia said with concern. "That sounds ominous. You haven't got problems you'd like to tell me about, have you?"
Susan shook her head.
"You said it hadn't happened to you like that in a long time. Isn't your man doing his homework?"
"Oh, sure," Susan said.
"But not lately?"
"Oh, look," Susan said. She felt guilty talking about Gil's sexual habits with another person. "Let's drop the subject."
"What's wrong, Susan. Has something gone awry with your marriage?"
"No. Not really." She smiled, wanting to brush off Lucia's guestions. "It's just that-oh hell. I guess the only way to say it is that the honeymoon is over."
"Is that all?" Lucia laughed. "If it's romancing you want, baby...."
"I don't think that's it, Lucia."
"I'm the most romantic girl-lover alive."
"I've been very selfish, I guess," Susan said.
"Don't think you were leading me on. If that's what's bothering you, forget it. If you say you don't want to play again, that's it."
"You do understand, don't you?"
"Hell no!"
"Well," Susan said, "if I did it again, I'd feel it was cheating on Gil, and I've never cheated on him."
"What about this?"
"No," Susan said. "It wasn't cheating because I didn't know what I was getting into. I didn't know how lovely it was going to be. I thought it was just some kind of gay-hey, how's that for a play on words?"
"Don't try to be funny," Lucia said, smiling fondly. "You've got a few years to go before you hear all the plays on that word that I've heard."
"I mean some sort of a fun experiment," Susan went on. "Just something between friends, you know?"
"Just us sweet little girls playing games?"
"I guess so."
Lucia smiled. "Sometimes little girls can surprise you."
"What I mean is, I didn't think it would be so complete," Susan said. "I thought it would be a nice little something, kind of like sneaking a couple of hard rubs with a soapy washcloth in the bathtub."
Lucia giggled. "You too?"
"I thought I'd go home maybe just a little bit twittered from playing games with you. I had no idea it was going to send me to the moon. If I did it again, knowing what you can do to me, I'd feel guilty, because the feelings I had with you are supposed to be Gil's and Gil's alone. Now do you understand?"
"I get the picture," Lucia said. "You're asking me very nicely not to get you twittered, as you say."
"Yes. Can you forgive me?"
"Well, I know what I'll be missing now," Lucia said. "It won't be easy to forget that you're quite a gal, my Susan. I thought I wanted you before, but right now what I felt before was just a twinge."
The pressure of Lucia's arms slowly increased. She rained soft kisses on Susan's neck.
Susan was touched. She was also curious. "But how was it nice for you? I mean, I didn't do anything for you."
"Darling, you'll never know," Lucia said. "That's one thing you never can know until you've been there, and I don't think you'll ever make the trip."
Susan didn't understand. "But did you go? I mean did you reach a climax?"
"Did I go? Whoo!" She raised her head to grimace at Susan suggestively.
"When?" Susan was still puzzled.
"When you went."
"With me? But how?"
"I suppose it's some kind of sympathetic reflex or something. I don't know how it works, I just know when it works it's really something."
Lips touched Susan's softly, gently, not demanding at all. It was a sweet little kiss, harmless. Susan pursed her lips and answered it.
The kiss changed, became more than a little touch. Susan turned her head away. "We've got to get home to Gil."
"Maybe he's working late," Lucia said, hopefully.
"I'd better call him."
She padded, still nude, to the extension telephone in the storeroom. There was no answer at the shop. She dialed her home number and got Gil. She told him that she and Lucia were detained at the store, putting up stock. She said they'd be along in a few minutes. When she returned, Lucia was pulling on her panties. She watched as Lucia's fine, full breasts were covered by her bra. Then the knit dress went on with a wiggle of beautifully full hips. Susan gathered up her clothing.
"I'm still curious," she said. "Now you want to ask questions."
"Yes, may I?"
"Shoot."
"Do you like other women to do to you what you did to me?"
"Now and then, but generally I prefer to be the aggressor."
"Do you-" Susan began. "Do you...."
"Do I have many lovers?" Lucia smiled sadly. "No. I'm not really promiscuous. I do things in spurts. I go for weeks and weeks without the slightest urge and then, suddenly, I'm turned on and I'm a tiger for several days."
"And I've turned you on," Susan said.
"Yes, darling, but don't fret. I'll be all right."
"You won't-"
"Find someone else? Maybe."
"I don't think I'd like that," Susan said, puzzled by her sudden possessiveness for Lucia.
"That's sweet," Lucia said sincerely. She pulled her dress into place, smoothed her skirt. "We'd better be getting home to your Gil."
"Oh, to hell with him!" Susan said sharply. "Any other night he'd stay at that son-of-a-bitch of a store until midnight."
"Now, now," Lucia said.
"Oh, I don't really mean it," Susan said.
"All right, sweetie, up, up and away." Lucia led the way to the mirror in the bath, where they repaired the damage to face and lipstick. They left the night-lights burning in the store and Lucia locked the door behind them and led the way to her car, parked in the alley behind the store.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gil had brought home a fifth of good bourbon whiskey. He had started on it when Susan and Lucia reached the Emory house. He was, Susan could tell, beginning to feel his oats. She could recognize the relaxation that comes from a good jolt at the end of a work day. He was seated at the table in the dining area. When the girls walked in, he got up, handed them two prepared drinks.
"Whiskey and water for Susan," he said. He turned to Lucia. "I figured you for whiskey and Seven-Up. Right?"
"Perfect," Lucia said, giving him her best smile.
"This is real service," Susan said. "Do you think I should hire this man on a permanent basis to serve us drinks when we walk in the door?"
"This is for a special occasion, lover," Gil said. "I'm merely trying to put up a front for our guest."
"You're doing fine," Lucia said. "Keep up the good work, and I might be so impressed with husbands that I'll give up being a gay bachelor girl." She winked at Susan over the word gay.
Susan went to work on dinner. There wasn't really much to do. She took the frozen spaghetti sauce from the freezer and put it on low heat to thaw. While the sauce was thawing, she readied a fresh batch of spaghetti, made a hasty tossed salad and put the plates on the table. She sipped at her drink as she worked.
Gil and Lucia were seated at the table. Gil, having a good head start, was at a stage of gaiety Susan knew well. Having had the two stiff ones at the store, she was not doing badly herself. She knew she'd have to space her next few drinks carefully, or she'd end up being really lit.
Gil and Lucia talked while she moved around the kitchen, preparing the simple meal. Lucia sparkled. Looking at her, seeing the undivided attention she gave to Gil, made Susan wonder. However, she rationalized Lucia's making a play for Gil by thinking that a girl like Lucia, an acknowledged Lesbian, must be under pressure at all times to hide her true nature.
Lucia, Susan thought, could not afford to have the whole area know that she liked girls, so she probably went overboard to make herself seem attracted to men. It was, Susan thought, an effective smoke screen. It was far better, for a girl in Lucia's position, to be damned as a flirt than as a Lesbian.
She joined in the talk occasionally. It was light chatter, booze talk, the little, unimportant things people say when they're beginning to be looped, things that sound, to them, very clever. It was Gil who began telling jokes. At first, the jokes were only mildly risque.
Then, as Lucia and Susan joined in and the supply of "clean" jokes was exhausted, the subject matter became less inhibited. There was an undercurrent of suggestion to the most innocent remark. Sex, that lively subject which heightens almost every party, was referred to slyly at first with innocent smiles or knowing accents.
Gil mixed more drinks. Susan forgot that she was supposed to go easy. She was getting lightheaded. She didn't really like to drink too much. She always begrudged the waste of a day after having had too much to drink. Still, she occasionally went too far and woke up with that blah feeling which makes one want to do nothing more than drink ice-water and lounge around feeling blue.
She had finished her second strong drink before the spaghetti sauce began bubbling. She went to work on the spaghetti itself and sliced garlic bread, buttered it, put it into the oven to warm.
By the time dinner was on the table she was feeling no pain. Gil had started the record player in the living room. It was turned up very loud.
Susan asked him if he shouldn't turn it down because of the neighbors.
"Hell, it's only eight o'clock," Gil said. "We'll turn it down at four a.m."
"Don't wake me when you do," Lucia said. "I'm an early-to-bed girl."
"Good idea," Gil said. He took Lucia's arm and tugged her toward the door. "Good night, Susan," he said.
It was funny. Susan laughed for two reasons. One, because she felt good and laughing came easily. Two, because of poor Gil, all turned on over a woman who had no use for men. Let him paw the floor, she thought. Let him pant. Fat lot of good it would do him.
However, there was a hint of resentment toward Gil deep inside her. She had never been wild about the sexy little by-play between married couples that went on when otherwise sensible people had too much to drink. She didn't like to see Gil acting like a stallion in rutting season. It wasn't like him at all.
If he's so damned horny, she thought, why doesn't he use some of that energy on me? The logical follow-up was to blame Gil for what had happened with Lucia earlier that evening. If Gil had been doing his homework with proper en-thusiam, she told herself, she wouldn't have sacked out in a three-quarter-size bed with a pretty Lesbian.
She caught herself with a start. There was somewhat of a revelation contained in her thoughts. So, she told herself grimly, you do feel guilty.
Well, hell! she told herself. It wasn't right, what I did. It wasn't normal. It was fun. It was very interesting, but I didn't have to do it, and I don't think I'd do it again if I had it to do over. It wasn't really necessary.
At heart, she decided, she was somewhat of a prude. Or was it that she was, after all, faintly jealous of the way Gil looked at Lucia? Not that she blamed him. Looking at Lucia was a pleasure. You'd never guess, from her fresh, wholesome look, that only a couple of hours before she'd been nude in bed with another woman. Lucia was hanging on Gil's every word, encouraging him to be more witty, more wild in his double entendres.
"All right, kiddies," Susan said, putting the bread on the table and sitting down, "know this. It's time to knock off the horseplay and feed the hungry bods."
"Who's hungry?" Gil asked.
"For food, that is," Lucia said, smiling sweetly at him.
"Honey," Gil said to Susan a bit later, after they were all seated, "Lucia is playing footsie with me under the table."
"Behave, Lucia!" Susan said.
They thought it was funny. They laughed like crazy. They were so silly about it that Susan couldn't help laughing too. She leaned down quickly and looked under the table. Lucia had kicked off her shoes. She was rubbing both feet on Gil's leg. Susan rapped Lucia's leg with the handle of a knife. Lucia yelped and jerked her feet back.
"Caught in the act!" Lucia giggled.
"Where did you get the idea that I'm a foot man?" Gil wanted to know. He raised his hand and pinched Lucia through the open back of the chair. "I'm a fanny man, myself."
"Hey you two," Susan said. "Eat!"
"I beg your pardon," Gil said loftily. "Do we know that woman?"
"Not in the slightest," Lucia said. "Ignore her."
Lucia was pretty well potted, Susan noted. Her dark eyes were squinted, her hair was f ailing down over her forehead. She ate slowly and carefully, making a production of each bite. She looked very sexy. Susan caught herself remembering the wild abandon of their session in the storeroom. She shut off the thought guiltily and looked at Gil. He, too, was more than mildly looped. Susan served coffee and insisted that they drink a cup. She had one herself.
The sobering effect of the food and the coffee was counteracted by a very strong drink for each of them when they finished eating. The fifth was more than half empty. Gil looked at it for a long time and announced that he was going to the store for reinforcements.
"We have plenty," Susan said. "Unless you want to get bombed out of your gourd."
"Why not?" Lucia beamed happily at Susan.
"She's some kind of party-pooper fink," Gil said.
"All right, all right," Susan said. "If you want a head tomorrow, go get some reinforcements."
"I need company for the long, snaky trip," Gil said, standing in the door.
I'm going to wash the dishes," Susan announced. "If we're going to get blasted, I don't want to have to face dirty dishes tomorrow."
"I'll help," Lucia said. She wobbled to the sink.
"No," Susan told her. "Just sit down and keep me company."
"I insist," Lucia said. "I'll wash. You dry and put away since you know where things go."
"I need company," Gil said. "I might get lost."
"We'll send out scouts," Susan said. "Now shoo."
"Lucia, come along," Gil said.
"Oh, no, you don't!" Susan said, laughing. "I don't have enough scouts to find both of you."
"Either Lucia goes or I pout," Gil said, sticking out his lower lip. Lucia thought it was very funny. Susan laughed.
"All right," she said. "Take off, both of you. Just don't forget where you live, lover."
"I'll keep him straight," Lucia promised.
"Who's going to keep you straight?" Gil asked.
Susan watched the car back from the driveway and then she started the dishes. She glanced at her watch. The liquor store was five minutes away. Five there, five inside, five back. They should be back in a quarter hour.
They were not. She finished the dishes, dried them, put them away, tidied up the kitchen, and it was only then that she thought to look at her watch again. A half hour had passed. She swept the floor, although it really didn't need it, and sat down with the remains of her last drink and a cigarette. Fifteen minutes later, she heard the car in the drive. She saw the glow of the car's lights go out and then there was a considerable wait, three or four minutes, perhaps, before she heard a door slam, heard them coming into the kitchen.
"Honey," Gil started as he came in the door with a fresh bottle in his hand, "you'll never believe it. I got lost. I got lost right in my own back yard. If Lucia hadn't been along to guide me and give me aid and comfort I'd still be out there somewhere, searching, searching for home and loved ones and the fire of the hearth."
"Your lipstick is smeared," Susan said. She couldn't decide whether to be angry.
"Blood," Gil said, wiping the tell-tale smear with the back of his hand.
Lucia came in. Her hair had fallen more around her face. She used her hand to push it away.
"You've got a tiger here," she said.
"That's funny," Susan said. "I always thought his growl was worse than his bite."
"Arrrrrrg!" Gil growled, putting his arm around Lucia, trying to bite her ear.
"All right, Tarzan," Susan said, deciding to be slightly amused. "Slow down. That's my boss you're trying to eat."
No, she wouldn't be angry. She couldn't understand what had come over Gil, being so open with his flirting with Lucia, walking into the house with Lucia's lipstick a blatant testimonial to the fact that he had kissed Lucia at least once, probably more than once to judge by the size and extent of the smear. If he were still trying to make her jealous so that she would quit her new job he was on the wrong track. She wasn't about to give in under pressure.
She was free, white and twenty-two, and wives were no longer slaves to the home and the man of the house. If she wanted to work, she would, by God, work. If Gil wanted to make an ass of himself over Lucia, fine! If Lucia wanted to play along with him, that was fine, too! Fat lot of good it would do both of them! She, Susan, herself, had what Lucia wanted, and what Gil wanted, Lucia didn't give a damn about.
Drinks. Music. Gil seemed to settle down slightly. In the living room, he sat next to Susan on the couch and used his hands in little caresses. He was feeling very amorous. She supposed because he was so stirred up by his flirtation with Lucia. It wouldn't be the first time a hubby got the hots over some woman and then brought his energy to bed with his wife. That seemed to be the direction in which the evening was going. Well, it wasn't such a bad deal for wifey.
She smiled to herself. Let someone else do the stirring up, then grab all the gravy. She belted her drink, in the mood for a party, happy, lightheaded, gay. There was one helluva fine bossa nova number on the record player. She swung her foot in time with the beat and hummed. She had kicked her shoes away, as had Lucia, and was barefoot.
"Hey, man," she said. "That's dancing music!" Gil got to his feet, swayed, pulled her up. He didn't do the bossa nova very well, but neither did she. Gil tried to go into a clutch, and she had to hold him off. Damn, he was feeling amorous.
"You're not keeping the beat," Lucia told them.
"What are you," Gil asked, 'some kind of a critic fink?"
"What I am," Lucia said, "is probably the foremost bossa nova dancer in all of Florida."
"Yeah, yeah!" Susan said.
Lucia came out of her chair and fell into the rhythm of the dance, moving alone, all grace, all sensuous flowing hips. Gil and Susan stopped dancing and leaned on each other to watch.
"Not bad," Gil said.
"Not bad? Hell, it's terrific and you know it!" Lucia moved toward them, her hips swaying, her fingers snapping the beat.
"So show me," Gil said, leaving Susan.
Lucia said, "I'll show Susan." She led. Her arm was pressed lightly around Susan's waist, guiding. There was no hint of sexiness in it. It was only when Gil broke in that old mother sex began to make herself felt. At first, Gil concentrated on trying to keep in step with Lucia, then he went into a clinch.
"Dancing," he announced, "begins to lose its purpose when it gets too complicated. Dancing is just huggin' set to music."
"Absolutely not," Lucia said. "Dancing is dancing, and huggin' is huggin'. You can't do both at once. You can't do justice to either."
"We can fix that," Gil said happily, pulling Lucia tightly against him. He grinned over Lucia's shoulder at Susan.
"Maybe you'd better concentrate on dancing," Susan said. She felt good. Having decided not to be upset by Gil's play for Lucia, she didn't mind his horsing around. Let him get himself riled up something fierce, then she'd take him to bed and work it all out of him.
Lucia jerked away from Gil. "He's wrong, you know, about not being able to dance and hug at the same time."
"You said that," Gil objected.
Susan giggled at their confusion. "You're both blotto."
"You said," Lucia told Gil, standing very straight with apparent effort, her head drooping slightly, her lips parted and lush, "that you can't do both at once."
"You said that," Gil repeated.
"And I can prove it," Lucia said. "Susan, can I borrow this lout for a minute?"
"He's yours," Susan said giddily.
Lucia wrapped herself around Gil in a sensuous embrace. She held herself high with her arms locked around his neck. She flattened her breasts against his chest. She stretched her body, putting her weight on her arms, leaning in toward him with her back bowed. She ground against him.
The slow, rhythmic beat came from the music. Lucia moved with it, her feet not leaving their original points on the floor, her hips marking time, grinding, moving, her whole body stretched and pressed against Gil as she made erotic, wild movements against him. It seemed to Susan that Gil's eyes actually glazed.
He glanced at her over Lucia's shoulder and grinned, a silly look on his face. He seemed to be asking Susan, what do I do now, coach? Lucia put her face against Gil's neck. Her eyes were closed, her body undulating, her hips grinding in small circles. She seemed to be trying to crawl between Gil's legs. It was very interesting.
Susan, sitting down on the couch watching, her legs folded under her, wondered what Lucia was feeling. She knew what she felt when she danced with Gil that way. She felt him begin to stir and she felt like being taken. But Lucia? Lucia was just playing a game!
At that, it made an interesting picture. Susan watched as their bodies pushed hard, trying to make the contact more intimate. They made a nice couple. The problem was, Lucia didn't care for men. Poor Gil. All the promise of that warm body in his arms and it wouldn't do him a bit of good. Of course, he must be enjoying himself. He had that silly grin on his face and Lucia knew what she was doing.
She was putting on a good act. Susan wondered if Lucia were secretly revolted by the close contact with a man. She saw Gil's hands lower themselves on Lucia's back and clasp her rounded buttocks to lift her even higher. It was time to do something, Susan decided. She had to rescue two fairly nice people from themselves, to deliver Lucia from an intolerable situation and free Gil from an attraction which could only lead to frustration. She rose and pulled on their shoulders. They came apart reluctantly.
"My turn," Susan said. "I don't dig this wallflower bit."
"Who are you cutting in on," Lucia asked, "me or Gil?"
"Thursday is my day for girls," Susan said. "This is Saturday."
CHAPTER NINE
Gil took her into his arms and enclosed her in a strong band of muscles, pressing against her. He was excited.
"Hummm!" she said, wiggling against him to let him know she noticed.
"Hummm, indeed!" he said.
Lucia went down the hall toward the bathroom.
"She comes on strong," Gil said.
"Watch it, lover."
"Jealous?"
"Of Lucia?"
"Can you think of anyone better to be jealous of? She turns me on, you know."
Susan laughed. "All right, if you want me to be, I'll be jealous."
"You don't think the old dog has it in him," Gil said.
"Lover, I know you have. What you have in you I'm fully capable of taking care of, how about that?"
"Is that an order?"
"Is what an order?" she asked.
"Telling me to save myself for you."
Susan decided to humor him. "You're still bigger than I am," she said. She recognized a note of belligerence in Gil's voice. No need to get him riled up that way, too, to force him into proving to himself that he was captain of that ship.
"Smart girl," he said.
There was his readiness against her. She knew it well. She felt him push into the softness of her stomach and she wanted him, her body responding to his stimulus. She tiptoed, raised herself, leaned her torso backward. She remembered how Lucia had looked in the same position and got a voyeuristic thrill. Lordy! she thought, how can I be horny after this afternoon!
But when she heard Lucia come back into the room she made no attempt to free herself from Gil's embrace. She moved, swaying, grinding, making only a slight pretext of keeping time with the music. Actually, she was only vaguely aware of the music. She was more aware of Gil her man, of loving the deep, passionate embrace, knowing tiny thrills, wanting those small emanations from her sensitive regions to be heightened into the lovely, continuous roaring need which ended in heaven.
"Cut!" Lucia said, pulling on her shoulder.
"He's mine," Susan said. "Go marry your own man."
"Don't fight, girls," Gil said, the idiot-grin back on his face. "There's enough for all."
"Ho-ho!" Susan said.
"Ho-ho!" Gil repeated. He spread his legs wide, struck a pose. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," he sang out, "the Third Wonder of the World, Gilmore H. Emory, will perform a daring feat! He will dance, he will romance, he will enchant, both at the same time yet, two of the world's most beautiful women."
He grabbed both of them. Susan struggled only briefly. She was pressed hard against one of Gil's outspread legs. Beside her, in the circle of Gil's arms, was Lucia. Gil pushed them around roughly, positioning them. His arms held them close. Lucia giggled uncontrollably. Susan saw the humor in the situation. Gil got her in the right position. She was pressed against his leg, his leg between hers, her long flank tight against Lucia's. Now Gil was pushing and tugging at Lucia with his other arm.
Susan watched, fascinated, as Lucia let her legs part slightly, leaned inward to press against Gil's thigh. Lucia was no longer laughing. She moved as Susan watched, grinding against Gil's thigh.
"Now this is living!" Gil said smugly. "Those Sheiks of Araby know what they're doing." He kissed Susan lightly on the cheek. "The secret is to keep harmony in the harem. You do that with impartiality." He kissed Lucia on the cheek. "You don't neglect one beautiful slave for another."
It was silly. They were all skunk-drunk. But there was that awareness. Gil's hard thigh was pressed against her in a strategic spot. She let Gil kiss her, then watched as he kissed Lucia. She could see their mouths come together. She was very close to them. She had an impulse, which she stifled, to join the kiss, insert her own mouth there to make it a three-way meeting.
She saw Lucia's lips part just at the moment of touching, saw Gil's tongue extend, and then their mouths were tightly pressed together. She saw Lucia's eyes roll and close. Lucia's lashes were very long. They looked very pretty lying along her upper cheek. Lucia moved her head, making the kiss an active thing. Susan saw her sag against Gil as if her knees had gone weak. She was making small circles with her hips, small movements with her legs parted, pressed into Gil's leg.
"Hey!" Susan said softly. She was surprised at the huskiness in her voice.
"I'm not forgetting you darling," Gil said, coming back to her lips. There was a swirl of dizziness. She knew she was looped. She knew she was becoming very excited. Yet it couldn't go on much longer. They would get rid of Lucia....
But she was docile as Gil led them to the couch. He positioned them on each side of him, possessively, strangely sure of himself. He leaned on Susan for a deep, all-consuming kiss. She felt his demanding, felt his male urging, felt her knees grow weak and tiny waves of desire begin to flow through her.
When he kissed Lucia with the same demanding force, she found herself leaning toward them, drawn strangely to the heat of their embrace, looking at their meshed lips, watching the movements of their bodies as they strained for more contact. Gil's hand came up slowly to clutch one of Lucia's large breasts and she held her breath. Now it would surely end.
She knew the thrill of that touch, the man touch, but Lucia? The woman who liked girls would stop it now. That, she told herself, was why she had let it go this far. It was only a silly, drunken game with only one possible ending because of Lucia's nature. Lucia would stop it.
Lucia's hand came up, closed over Gil's hand on her breast and pushed. Lucia didn't pull on the hand. Gil's lips sealed Lucia's, then Gil was back with her and her surprise was drowned in the pleasure of having her own breast handled lovingly. She went soaring on sensation into the realm of passion where nothing mattered.
She couldn't believe it was happening. She knew it had to stop. She let it go because it felt so good, because it was very sexy to watch Gil do the same things to Lucia that he was doing to her. When Gil turned to face them, kneeling on the couch between them and alternated kisses on their upturned faces, she accepted the kisses and watched avidly as Gil kissed Lucia.
When Gil put one hand on her breast, the other on Lucia's, she took a deep breath and felt the thrill of Gil's experienced manipulations. When his hand went to her knee, he began to work slowly past soft inner thigh.
She remembered, looked quickly at Lucia, and saw Gil's other hand hidden under the folds of Lucia's dress. Lucia's skirt was high, showing lots of thigh. She, too, was giving him access.
She felt Gil's fingers begin to explore, to press under the tight nylon. He was watching them closely, his eyes squinted, the idiot-grin no longer on his face. Instead, there was the look of fierce desire Susan knew so well.
He stopped his caress. Susan, eyes closed momentarily, waited for him to begin again. Instead, she was lifted in one quick movement as Gil stripped her panties away expertly. She sat up with'a jerk. But in the same quick movement, without protest from Lucia, Gil took her panties, and there were two small heaps of white on the rug.
Gil put his hands, both of them, under Lucia's skirt before one hand came to her, and she felt Lucia was leaning back, lips parted, her eyes closed. There was a half-smile of dreamy rapture on her face.
"Lucia!" Susan said. "Let's you and I go powder our nose."
Gil pushed her back. "No!" he said, trying to keep it light. "You're under my power."
But the moments of lightness were past. His effort fell short, smothered by the aura of passion that seemed to fill the room.
"Back in a minute," Susan said with determination. "Lucia?"
Lucia sighed and rose reluctantly. Susan led the way into the bathroom and turned to face Lucia. "This is about to get out of hand," she said. "Gil will start wanting to complete the job soon."
"Sorry," Lucia said. "I guess I got carried away."
"I don't understand," Susan said.
It happened so quickly that she couldn't stop it. Lucia gathered her into her arms and kissed her, soft lips pushing, urging.
"Lucia!" Susan half wailed.
She had broken off a pretty nice thing there, had pulled herself away from Gil's caresses because she thought Lucia needed to be rescued, and now Lucia was making love to her. For a moment, she enjoyed the kiss, then she pushed herself away.
"If you want to stop the whole thing, just say the word," Lucia said.
"I like girls. I also like some men, and your man is quite a guy. I can go two ways with him." She kissed Susan again. "With you, doll."
That sweet, all-consuming kiss, twin mounds pressed warmly into her own, a feeling of almost painful desire and delicious weakness. It was wrong, the way she felt. It might even be evil, but it was so damned good that she let the kiss go on and on. She felt Lucia's hands touch the rounded curves of her rump, let herself be lifted into the loving position where nothing mattered but the demands of her body.
"Just say the word," Lucia said, turning her loose suddenly.
Susan fell back weakly, catching herself on the sink.
"I'm suddenly at a loss for words," Susan said, committing herself, telling herself that she wouldn't do a thing to stop it. If it came to that, it would be the doings of Gil and Lucia. She'd just be along for the ride. "I'm speechless," she added.
"Sure?"
Susan closed her eyes, asking for one more kiss. It was good.
Lucia stepped into the hall. "Gil?" she called. She reached for Susan's hand and squeezed it. "Gil, can you come back here for a moment?"
"What's wrong?" Gil asked, wobbling through the hall door. "Someone fall in?" The three of them stood in the hall, directly in front of the open door to one of the spare bedrooms, the one with a large double bed made with fresh linens and a smooth, silky spread.
"Susan and I thought we'd be more comfortable in the bedroom," Lucia said.
Gil looked at Susan questioningly. She smiled weakly. He took her other hand. "All in favor of comfort, say aye."
No one spoke. Gil ushered them into the room, eased Susan down onto the bed. She lay on her back, one arm under her head, watched as Gil took Lucia into his arms and, from the other side of the bed, eased her down, kissing her, to he beside Susan.
He crawled between them. His hands moved on their bodies. His kisses alternated until Susan's last reservations were dissolved in a torrent of lust, until her body sang a song of thrills to his every touch, and her excitement was raised to a peak as she watched Gil make love to the beautiful Lucia.
When he removed Lucia's dress, Susan held her breath. She wore only her lacy bra, panties already gone, left behind on the living room floor. Once again, as the bra went, Susan was struck by the sheer beauty of Lucia's body. Gil, she could tell, was not disappointed.
Lucia helped undress Susan. Then, together, they stripped Gil.
"All right, girls," he said in a choked voice. "Who's on first?"
Susan's breath caught. She wanted him and yet, with that almost unnatural, erotic stimulation high in her, she wanted to see him with Lucia first, to be able to watch, to drink in all the intimate details of an act she had never before witnessed.
"All right." Gil looked at Lucia's bared body hungrily. He pushed her back quickly. Susan sat up to see better. Her breath was rapid. There was nothing evil about it. She had been wrong. It was exciting to watch them lunge at each other. She went gladly to join them when Lucia called for her. She was wildly excited again. She was kissing Lucia when she felt her go stiff and knew with a wild pounding of her heart, that Lucia, now, was experiencing the little totality of climax.
Finally they sat, nude, on the bed. Gil had gone to the kitchen for drinks. They were laughing, not talking about what had happened, merely hinting at it. It was as if they were all a bit ashamed of it, now that the surges of lust were quiet. Susan tried to forget the small hurt she had felt when Gil chose Lucia for his final partner, rather than the familiar body of his wife.
After all, she had participated in the act. She had given it her blessing. It was, after all, better than having Gil leave home to experience another woman. She told herself she wasn't hurt, that no one was hurt by the affair. They were all adults. It wouldn't make any difference in their lives. It was just a brief, exciting interlude which had been, she thought, good for them all.
CHAPTER TEN
For a few days it seemed as if Susan had actually received an unexpected bonus from the three-way adventure with Lucia Moreland. Gil, stimulated by the affair, was very amorous. The nights around the Emory house were quite interesting for Susan. Gil was so much like old times that Susan began to wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to seek some sort of outside stimulation every time their marriage began to go a bit flat in the bed department.
Then Gil had to go to the bank and borrow two hundred dollars to pay the taxes on his mother's house, and he was once again the old Gil, harried, worried, working late at the store.
Susan worked two evenings that week in Lucia's store. She was relieved to find that Lucia was not the sort who wanted to talk about the party. When Susan thought about the things that had happened, she got a little sick to the stomach. She didn't suffer from guilt or curse herself. There was just the little sick feeling when she remembered.
Lucia acted as if nothing had happened. She would touch Susan in that warm, friendly way of hers but she did not make any overt moves toward anything sexual.
The Friday-night steak-party came. Dinner was late because Susan had to stay at the store until closing time, but it was enjoyable, nevertheless. It was nice to get back into familiar routine with just her and Gil at the table, making conversation in a relaxed way.
The weekend began with a long Saturday at the store for Susan, and then there was a quiet Sunday. Gil worked the crossword puzzles and Susan scanned the paper from cover to cover, and there was a ballgame on TV to while away the afternoon. Susan, rested by the long, easy, loafing day, thought it would be nice to get into bed early for a bit of marital exercise. She suggested it.
It turned out to be a dismal flop. Gil wasn't really with her. His thoughts were a million miles away. Susan could almost see the worrisome dollar signs before his eyes. He was thinking about the shop, instead of about her. His love-making was weak, uninteresting. Susan felt almost cheated.
She found herself thinking seriously about Gil and herself the next day. After he went to work and she had done her work, she sat at the dining-room table with coffee and looked at the wall and thought, where are we going? Five years of marriage was only a beginning. She wanted to be able to celebrate her 25th wedding anniversary by getting mildly potted and taking her husband to bed. What would they be like in twenty years? Already, clouds were appearing on the horizon of their marriage.
She decided to be completely impartial and analyze the situation.
First, there was the worry of having to support Gil's mother and her house. This could be faced, although it had a direct and unfortunate bearing on her desires to have a child. So, her big complaint was that their marriage was not allowed to follow the natural course, the course which began with the birth of a baby and went on from there until they had the house as full of kids as they wanted it.
That, really, was the whole situation. Oh, she had some mild complaints about the sex life of the modern American housewife, namely herself....
Could it be that she thought too much about bed?
Well, what else was there? If you can't have a baby or redo the living room or take a trip ... The whole world was orientated around sex. All you had to do was pick up a newspaper, read a magazine, turn on the television, listen to the lyrics of the so-called music so popular with the kids.
Sex, sex, sex-it was used to peddle everything from automobiles to pills for constipation. The whole world told women to be sexy. Girls started dating at the age of 12 and got knocked up at 13 and no one seemed to be too upset about it.
Everyone, she thought, worships the great god, sex. Men slave to make money for sex, to be able to buy the prettiest woman, whether she be wife or just a one-hundred buck whore. Little girls were brought up to be good mothers, good, dutiful wives, but what was the first duty any wife was asked to perform? The classic position, flat on her young back, acquiescent and receptive.
Was she, herself, dotty about sex?
She hadn't always been. She didn't start dating until she was 15, wasn't allowed to date a boy in a car until she was 16. Other girls in her classes had steady boyfriends and were making it when she was allowed only to go to parties, then only when one set of parents picked her up and her own parents came to get her when the party ended at an early hour.
Her home wasn't a fanatically religious one, but she went to church almost every Sunday. There was a lot of good, plain, decent morality in her home. Her mother and father were happily married, easy together, happy with each other to this very day. She would have bet her last pair of nylons that her mother would have tackled a brace of tigers before she would have jumped into bed with a Lesbian, much less with a Lesbian and her husband.
She was confused. It was a little late to begin feeling guilty about the Lucia affair. That was over and done. She wasn't hurt. A bath the next morning, a complete rinse, inside and out, and she was like new. Gil, too.
But that was the modern way of thinking about it. Wash away the traces, and it didn't happen.
It was also very modern to think that she had been rewarded by Gil's new interest in sex, brought about, no doubt, by his stimulating evening with Lucia. But that was a bit sick, wasn't it? At any rate, it didn't last. Take that bit last night. They hadn't really shared the love-act. They were two separate people using each other's bodies for self gratification. She wasn't even sure that Gil had enjoyed it much.
Perhaps the trouble was with her. Was she unexciting to Gil? Without undue egotism, she rejected that. Men looked at her and liked her. She wasn't bad at all.
Why, then, was the honeymoon over? Why wasn't there a glow of warmth where there had once been bonfires? How could she help them regain that young zest which used to make their nights pleasant and exciting?
She could try harder. She had to admit that she, herself, wasn't as fiery as she had been. There had been a time in her life when just a look from Gil would start her steaming. Now she sometimes approached the sex-act with cold deliberation, doing it only because she knew, once it was begun, that it would be good, beginning it without the compulsion she had once known. It was fine once it was started, except for the vague feeling that she was using nature's gift for a cold selfish purpose. Sometimes Gil would say, "Hey, wanta do it tonight?"
And she'd say, "Yes, it might be nice."
It was crude. It was wrong, somehow.
Perhaps after two people lived with each other for a long time there was need for outside stimulation. Gil's fire and eagerness after the three-way party seemed to support that contention. But the stimulation hadn't lasted more than three days, and then things were back to normal.
Would they have to enter into a sex adventure once a week to keep themselves interested? And why worry about being interested? Why not just let nature take its course. If they both wanted sex, why not take it. If not, let it ride. Why was sex so important?
Because there was nothing else.
She was enough of a prude to rebel at that idea. She didn't like to think herself a slave to sex. She didn't like to think of doing the things they had done with Lucia. She didn't want to have to use outside erotic stimulation to make Gil want her. She wanted him to want her for herself, herself alone.
But, she thought, let's not blame it all on Gil. After all, she had been thoroughly stimulated herself. She had never been so wildly excited in her life. She had let herself go that night, for sure. Once with Lucia in the storeroom, twice on the bed. She had acted the part of the libertine very well.
There must be something to think about other than sex, she told herself. She poured herself another cup of coffee and thought about financial problems. She thought about Gil's mother and her house and the never-ending bills, the continuous drain.
From there, it was logical to go once again to Gil's refusal to let her have a baby and she was back where she had begun, with sex. Thinking about having a baby made her hope once again that perhaps the act would not be so meaningless, so purely pleasure-seeking, if it were being used for the purpose nature intended, that of making a baby.
She could think of nothing more wildly exciting than to be able to open herself, really open herself to Gil, and let Gil really have her, seep into her, seed her. That would be true togetherness.
Damn, damn, damn Gil and damn his mother!
Time and time again she had to remind herself that it wasn't Gil's fault. Actually, she was just overemphasizing sex again. She was letting sex be the dominant factor in her life when it shouldn't be. She would work toward more togetherness in a living way, a non-sexual way. She'd try to build the marriage in other ways.
They could live a good life. She would forget sex. She damned sure wouldn't ask Gil to take her to bed. She'd wait until he was ready and, perhaps, by letting him choose the times, he'd be restored, vigorous, aroused fully.
She tried it. She waited and waited. She tried to be sweet and very considerate, and she couldn't see any change. Things were not bad. They just didn't change. The days went by, and her naturally passionate nature began to make itself felt. She became resentful when Gil kissed her goodnight in a matter-of-fact way and turned over to go to sleep. She found herself snapping at him for no important reason, and he snapped back.
All right, dammit, she had tried. What was she supposed to be, a nun? She caught herself thinking erotically of the affair with Lucia. She tried to suppress die thoughts, but they were too stimulating. It was easy to remember the bliss of Lucia's lovemaking. The temptation to whistle for Lucia again was very great. She almost did, one evening when they had closed the store. She wanted, more than anything in the world, to go into Lucia's arms.
She decided, compelling herself to be strong, that forcing Gil to go to bed with her would be the lesser of two evils. At least, she would be keeping her desire at home. She didn't want to start the fires burning with Lucia again. She didn't want the guilt feelings nor the complications.
She went home that night determined to vent her pent-up need on Gil, and she found that she didn't have to make the first move after all. The foundation of a game of mattress polo had been laid for her by the tabloid paper which she had bought at the supermarket days ago. She had never shown it to Gil. She had pushed it into the drawer with her cookbook and forgotten it. Gil was seated at the dining-area table when she came in, reading the paper. "Hi, honey," she said.
"Pretty spicy reading material you've been hiding around the kitchen," Gil said, grinning at her over the top of the paper.
"I wasn't hiding it," she said, resenting the accusation. "I bought it and forgot all about it. I brought it home for you."
"For me?"
"I thought you'd get a laugh out of it," Susan said. "That big story on the front page, especially."
"You think it's funny?"
"Yes."
"You mean funny ha ha as opposed to funny peculiar."
"Funny ha ha," Susan said. "I'll bet they made it up. Can you imagine a grown woman doing those things with little boys?"
"She was one sexy bitch."
"I think she was one crazy bitch if she really did those things."
Gil lowered the paper. "Seems pretty sexy to me," he said. "I can just imagine that girl's pants sizzling. She must have been really stirred up. I get quite a mental picture, just imagining how they must have looked."
"I get sick," Susan said.
"That's because the average, normal woman can't really understand a truly sexy woman," Gil said lightly.
It hit her squarely in the seat of her frustrations. "What? What did you say?"
"What I mean," Gil said, "is that you're a normal, healthy woman. You don't let sex become a big thing with you."
"You're implying that I'm not a very sensual woman?" Susan said.
"I don't mean that at all."
"Well, what do you mean?"
"I mean that there are people in the world who are a little nutty on the subject of sex, that's all. This old gal in the story, for example. I'd like to have been there when she got that case of hot-pants. She wouldn't have needed a bunch of Cub Scouts, you can bet that."
Swift anger sent the blood to Susan's face. Here she was, about to perish from need for him, and he was telling her she wasn't really sexy. He was saying that he could be excited by a slut of a woman who did things with little boys, but that he wasn't very worked up over little, normal Susan.
"Does that type of woman appeal to you?" she asked, keeping her voice low with effort.
"There's something about a promiscuous woman which brings out the beast in a man, I guess. They're like a bitch-dog in heat. They put out something which appeals to men the way the scent of a bitch attracts old stud-dogs. A truly wild woman makes a man feel his oats."
"Do you put Lucia in that class?" Susan asked.
"No, not really. She's a hot number, though. I'd guess she's pretty careful about whom she plays around with because she's a level-headed girl. A real nymph doesn't care about anything except getting it."
Susan felt as if she had been rejected, in a way, by the man she loved. She was hard hit. Something, however, drove her on. Coming on top of all that had happened, the lapse into immorality with Lucia and the three-way party, coming after her agonizing self-appraisal and her unsuccessful decision to make sex less important in her life, the realization that Gil was more excited by the thought of a slut than by her was a blow.
There was, in the male animal, a strangeness she had never been able to understand. A male can be excited by pictures, by simple, arty shots of a nude woman. A male can be excited by smutty stories. A male can be excited by so many things that have little or no effect on a woman.
She wasn't ready to accept the fact that the story of a middle-aged nymphomaniac taking on a Cub Scout troop could excite her husband when the clean, willing body of his not unattractive wife could not.
"But Lucia excites you," Susan said, trying to understand.
"She did a fine job one night, didn't she?" Gil chuckled.
Susan smiled disarmingly. She had to know more about his thinking. "Would you like to do that again?"
"I don't know, honey. Would you?"
"It was more your party than mine," Susan said. "After all, you had two women."
"You didn't do badly," Gil said, acting as if it were all one huge joke. "You should have seen yourself go into orbit when Lucia was working on you."
Just how far had he grown away from her? "Was it exciting for you when she was making love to me?" she asked. "It was interesting."
"You could have joined us," she said, leading him on. "How?"
"Well, when she was kneeling over me you could have come up behind her and...." She made a suggestive motion with her hands.
Gil licked his lips thoughtfully. Susan studied his face as she continued talking. "Just think. Lucia's nice, full body and you taking her while she was doing me."
Gil laughed, somewhat nervously, Susan thought. He rose from the chair. She saw with grim satisfaction that he was aroused. She was sickened. She evaded his grasp at first, but he caught her and pulled her to him. She could feel his apparent readiness.
When she was only a child her mother caught her watching two dogs coupling on the lawn. Her mother's shocked, angry words had made an impression on her. She had been sent into the house as if she had been doing something wrong, when all she was doing was watching something she had never seen before. It made her feel dirty and shameful.
Now she knew that feeling again, knowing that her husband had been stimulated by the story about a woman who did things with little boys. She resented being made to feel that way. Sex shouldn't be dirty. Sex was a clean, healthy game to be enjoyed by married people. Gil had no right to dirty it. She tried to escape, but he held her. He was pressing against her hard, demanding her surrender with his lips.
Finally she relaxed and accepted his kiss. She didn't return it, but he persisted. His tongue tried to arouse her, and when he lowered his hands and lifted her into place by the round, smooth handles which were the curves of her rump, she knew that she was going to be responsive. The awareness was there. There were strong indications that the wild storm of passion would be set into motion quickly.
"I've got to fix dinner," she said when he broke the kiss for a moment.
"Not now!" His lips brushing her ear, sending shivers running down her neck.
"You need food after a long day's work."
"We'll send out for a pizza later," Gil said. "Or maybe I'll just make you my dinner."
Well, it was nice. It was fine, very fine, to feel his passion, to know that he wanted her, wanted her badly enough to forget dinner. She let her body flow inward to curl against his, to feel his hard chest pressed against her breasts.
She gave herself to him, accepting the fact that erotic stimuli, not her own body, herself, had aroused him. She followed him eagerly to the bedroom and undressed swiftly.
It was one of those lovely times when two persons seem to melt together and become one entity, when two bodies weld themselves with such heat that nothing, it seems, will ever make them two again. Soul-love poured out of her, responding to the stimulus of body-love, and she felt that her great well of love could not help but be shared by Gil.
Then Gil blew the entire, beautiful moment.
"Let's have Lucia over Saturday night," he said.
"What?" she gasped.
"Let's have a party with Lucia again."
"Oh, Gil!" It was horrible. He had destroyed all that beauty with the revelation that he had not even been thinking about her. He'd been thinking about Lucia!
"What's wrong?" He slowed his movements. "Are you trying to tell me you didn't enjoy it with Lucia?"
"Let's-don't-talk," she said, fighting to regain the reality. She wanted to return quickly to nirvana.
"It makes me sexy to talk about it," Gil said.
The damage was done. There was passion left. She couldn't be brought to a physical peak and then have it die entirely. But the sheer loveliness was gone. Now it was mere mechanical, physical satisfaction. She continued her motion.
"Why do you like to talk about it?" she asked.
"It was kind of exciting, don't you think?"
"Yes, it was," she admitted.
"It was damned exciting," Gil said. "And the best part of it, I think, was when she went with you. Man, you were hot."
"Yes, I guess I was."
"You guess?" He chuckled. "Hell, you were sizzling."
She finished unexpectedly. One moment she was striving for it with mechanical determination, lunging into his body, then it was there. One moment she was reaching, the next she was gasping, mouthing his lips hungrily while it pounded inside of her. It was good and powerful, but it wasn't complete. It was just release.
"Hey!" Gil said.
"It was a quickie," she told him.
"Sneak up on you?"
"Yes."
"You don't mind if I continue?"
"Silly," she said. She made it good for him. He went on and on and, try as she might, she could not recreate any interest. She begrudged the waste. Any other time, she would have been happy that he took so long. Any other time, she would have gone twice, but now she was dead inside. Everything about it had lost interest. She didn't have time, then, to think about it. She was too busy making it good for him.
"Wouldn't you like to do it again with Lucia?" Gil asked.
"Tes." That was what he wanted her to say. "Really?" His movements were more firm. He was near the verge. "I'd like it."
"Saturday night," Gil said. "We'll have a party and...."
He told her what they would do. He put it in basic language. His movements were wild. He was making himself passionate by thinking of Lucia.
Well, damn it, if that was the way he wanted it....
"We'll all get naked," she began. "You can take me and then her."
It was working. She made her voice soft and sensual. And, as she whispered the words to him, she felt his hard-driving body tense. It was like beating herself with a whip. It hurt. She went on, driven by some perverse wish to feel the full extent of Gil's treachery.
He climaxed. Then he sighed, made little after-movements, kissed her hard, then softly let his weight down on her, breathing hard.
After a long time he said, "Do you really want to, Susan?"
She knew what he meant. She had hoped that he was merely carried away during the heat of the sex act, that he would forget about it when the act, itself, was over, when he was sated. But he still wanted to talk about another party with Lucia. He wanted Lucia. He didn't want his wife. He had used his wife's body, just now, as a mere substitute for Lucia.
"If you do," she said wearily.
"I guess I do," he said. "Not as much as I wanted to a few minutes ago, but it might be fun to do it once more."
"Just once more?"
"I don't know."
Hurt and anger were strong in her. "I know something that might be even more fun," she said.
"What's that?"
She eased herself out from under him. She went, nude and angry enough not to worry about being seen through the kitchen windows, to grab the tabloid paper. On the way back to the bedroom, she folded the paper to expose the classified-ads pages.
"This might be more fun," she said, thrusting the paper into Gil's hands, pointing to the first ad in the personals column.
Gil read it aloud: "Fun loving Florida couple would like to meet broadminded couples interested in swinging parties. She's a swinger, thirty-six twenty-four thirty-six. He's considered handsome." Gil looked up at Susan. 'Tor Christ's sake!" he said.
"Well, do you expect to have all the fun?" She smiled at him, hiding the anger and hurt. "What do you think I am, some kind of queer? If we're going to have sex-parties, I'd like a more interesting partner. Lucia doesn't have the right body appendage for me."
"But this is an open invitation to swap wives," Gil said in disbelief.
"That's the way I read it," Susan said, getting some satisfaction from his shock.
"Dammit, Susan!"
"What's wrong, lover? I shared you, didn't I? You had your fun. Why can't I have some fun too, if we're going in for that sort of thing in a big way?"
She had won. She felt it. That, she thought grimly, hiding her true feelings behind an innocent smile, should stop the fun and games for a while. She wasn't going to let him know how she really felt. She would never tell him that going to bed with another man was the least of her ambitions.
Gil covered his confusion by reading the ad again. He was frowning. "This can't be for real," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Hell, why would anyone have to advertise?" He put the paper down. "Boy, what a blackmail situation this would be! You couldn't tell what kind of a nut would answer an ad like this."
"I suppose there are ways," Susan said. "I would imagine that there'd be preliminary letters and exchanges of pictures and then a meeting somewhere."
"I'll bet the editors of this paper just put in these ads to attract attention," Gil said.
"Could be," Susan said. She felt her victory slipping away with Gil's rising doubts about the authenticity of the ad. "Wanta try it and find out?" She moved to the dresser and began to apply cold cream to her face, getting ready for bed, forgetting, in her agitation, that it was early and that she hadn't fed Gil.
"What are you doing?" Gil asked.
"The usual maintenance work."
"It's a little early, isn't it?"
She remembered. "Hoo, boy!" she said. I'll bet you're hungry."
"Any stray bears better watch out," Gil said.
He sounded so natural saying that! She smiled at him. Perhaps she had made her point. Perhaps now they could work toward healing the small breach between them.
She didn't think any more about the paper. The last time she saw it, it was on the bed. She went ahead of Gil into the kitchen and prepared his meal. She felt sure that her suggestion she take on a man had stopped all Gil's thoughts about further sex-adventures. Gil wasn't abnormally jealous, but she knew from past experience that he was a typical enough man to think his wife was his own private property. She had, she thought, won an important victory.
So it seemed for the next few days. Gil didn't mention Lucia. When mutual desire put them into bed, he performed very creditably without once mentioning Lucia. In general, life in the Emory house returned to normal. She worked two evenings plus Saturday, and Gil put in a lot of extra hours at the shop. They had dinner with Gil's mother, and Susan listened patiently as the older woman complained about being alone with such a large house to keep. Susan suggested, for the 100th time, that Mrs. Emory sell the house and move in with them. Mrs. Emory made agitated talk about not being able to bear the thought of leaving her home. Susan told herself that, mother or no, she would wait no longer than one more year to start a family.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Things ran along smoothly enough. As the days went by, Susan seemed to forget the events of the past weeks. When she did think about them, she couldn't even remember how it felt to be in Lucia's arms. The details of the orgiastic scene in their bedroom were blotted out by the sameness of the passing days. But, in blue moments, she admitted that nothing had changed. Gil was still Gil. She still didn't have a baby. The money problems were unaltered.
She did her housework with the usual efficiency. She enjoyed her hours at the store in Lucia's company. There seemed to exist an unspoken agreement with Lucia. They simply didn't mention sex.
Susan was so confident things were under control fhat she invited Lucia for dinner. She refused, however, to drink heavily, and Gil and Lucia, their spirits dampened by Susan's abstinence, didn't drink much either. The evening passed without complications. They listened to records, discussed general subjects and Lucia went home just past eleven.
Susan thought the evening went well. It was as if the three of them were saying, by their restrained actions, "Well, we've had our little adventure, let's not complicate things any more."
Susan agonized with Gil over his tax return. They filed early, borrowing money from the bank to pay the tax. Gil had just finished paying off the $200 he borrowed to pay the assessment on his mother's house. Susan kept telling herself that the situation was fine-that things couldn't help but improve.
Soon they'd be able to start a family, buy some new furniture. She was reasonably happy. She didn't have all the things she wanted, but she wasn't in dire need of anything. She used her small salary at the store to buy two new outfits, one of which as a real knockout, one very practical.
She was completely unprepared for the night when Gil came home early with a large manila envelope in his hand. She met him at the door, as usual. She kissed him, as usual. He went through the kitchen, as usual, and came back to sit down at the table while she finished dinner. Then things stopped being usual.
"Hey, cat!" Gil said, as she was washing pans prior to putting the food on the table. She always washed her pots and pans before eating, so as not to have so many dishes to wash afterwards.
"Ummm," she answered.
"Come here. Take a look at this."
He pulled papers from the manila envelope. One was a picture. It was an eight-by-ten glossy of professional quality, high in contrast, good in shadow. It was a good picture of an attractive blonde woman. Gil tossed it carelessly toward her, watched her face as she picked it up.
The woman was lying on her back on a rug, her hands beside her head. Her breasts, even in repose, were good. They stood up, strong and firm.
Her navel was a dark, shadowy dent in a smooth plane of stomach. Curves rounded into the mound of love, which was covered by a wisp of thin material. Her hair was light and attractively done. Her eyes were large. Her lips were parted in a suggestive smile.
"Friend of yours?" Susan asked, still unsuspecting.
Gil didn't answer. He pulled another picture from the folder. This one was of a tall, muscular man in a swim-suit. He stood beside an expensive-looking swimming pool. He looked about 35 years old, had short hair with a natural kink. His face was well-featured and reminded Susan of someone.
"Looks a lot like Gregory Peck, doesn't he?" Gil asked.
"Gil, baby," Susan said acidly, "I can understand the female pinup. Some little boys like them. But why the muscle man?"
"My week for boys," Gil said. "Actually, he's for you." He grinned at her archly.
"I don't want him," Susan said.
"This is Mr. Paul Radford," Gil said, tapping the picture with one finger. He picked up the picture of the girl. "And this is Mrs. Radford, Una to her friends."
"So?"
"So," Gil said, looking sheepish. "The Radfords want to buy our dinner next Saturday night."
"For free, take," Susan said. "But why the skin shots?"
Gil laughed. "Remember that crazy newspaper you brought home? This is that swinging Florida couple."
"You didn't!" Susan said, shocked.
"I did!" he said. "Not that I'm serious, you understand. I was just curious, that's all. I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd answer the ad and see what happened. This is it."
Susan was curious, in spite of her shock. "But what did they have to say?"
"Oh, their letters are couched in very careful language."
"You've written them more than once?"
"Twice. The first letter asking for information and then one telling them about us."
"And just what did you tell them?"
"Oh, that we were a swinging couple, all that rot. It seems that Mr. Paul Radford digs your picture, baby. And Mrs. Una Radford here is ape over yours truly."
"Where did you get a picture of me?" Susan asked.
"I had a snap enlarged."
"Which snap?"
"The time you wore that sexy bikini over at Vero Beach."
"Oh, you bastard!" Susan said. "I was about to burst out of that thing!"
"Maybe that's why Paul Radford likes the picture."
"You silly-" She turned away. "What will those people think?"
"'Those people' think we're going to Tampa to play fun and games."
"Well, not me, buddy-boy," Susan said heatedly. "For God's sake, what do you think I am?"
"Hey, cool it! I told you, this is just for laughs. I just wanted to see what would happen if I answered their ad, that's all."
"Let me see their letters," Susan said.
"Here's the last one." He handed her a typed sheet.
Dear Susan and Gil, Thank you so much for the very nice pictures. Through them, we feel as if we know you without even having met you. Paul cannot get over how very lovely you are, Susan. And I think that you, Gil, are a very attractive man. I do hope that our pictures pleased you as much.
Paul suggests-he's leaning over my shoulder as I write, panting with impatience-that we get together on neutral ground. Perhaps dinner-our treat of course-at the South Seas House in Tampa? Eight o'clock Saturday?
If you will confirm this date by return mail, Gil, we'll be there early and we'll have a cozy table reserved. When you come in, just ask for Paul Radford. This will be a lovely way to determine whether or not our little friendship by mail is to grow into a more satisfying relationship. It will give us a chance to look each other over in person, to talk a bit, to discover our mutual interests.
Please say you'll meet us there?
Lovingly, Una Radford
"Someone is nuts," Susan said.
"It's a little hard to swallow, isn't it? A chick like that and a man who isn't a bad looking cat. Seems they're going to a lot of trouble, advertising in the newspaper, sending expensive pictures. You'd think playmates wouldn't be that hard to find."
"The way she underlines certain words," Susan said. "That leaves no doubt about what they're saying."
"That's the way it seems."
"What could they be after? Blackmail?"
"Oh, I don't think so," Gil said. "It takes all kinds of nuts to make a world, doll. Maybe they really do get their kicks this way."
"Not with me, they don't!" Susan said, letting the letter fall in front of Gil. "I'm not going to Tampa."
"I wasn't really thinking of going," Gil said. "I think I'll write them, though. I'll tell them we can't make the gig this time. I'll tell them you came down with something, something lingering. We can keep the letters going and maybe get them to commit themselves in language a little more clear."
"Why?" Susan asked. "Why do you want to play around that way? I don't think you should. What if they are some kind of blackmailers, or what if they suddenly appear at the back door and say, here we are, let's play grab-ass or something?"
"No danger of that," Gil said. "I used the address of the store, and I told them our last name was Stevens."
"Oh, that would make it rough!" Susan said sarcastically. "They'd have a real hard time tracing us from that. All they have to do is see the name, Gil Emory, up over the door at the store, figure out that, since the store is a one-man operation, Gil Stevens must be the same as Gil Emory. Then they look under E in the telephone book and here they are, saying-"
"Let's play grab-ass," Gil finished for her. "You're a worrywart."
"You shouldn't have written to them in the first place," Susan said.
"I was just curious," Gil said defensively. "After all, what's the harm? I'm going to write them and see if I can draw them out a bit in their next letter. I'll put in some sexy things and see if they take the bait."
"I wouldn't, Gil." She was genuinely concerned. She didn't like any part of it. It seemed dangerous, foreign to all her thinking. "They might be nuts or something. This person who signs herself Una Radford might be some psycho. He could have stolen the pictures somewhere. You just don't know."
Gil looked thoughtful. "There's only one way to find out."
"No!" said Susan.
"It wouldn't really hurt anything. They wouldn't rape us right there in the South Seas House. Hell, if they're on the level, we don't have to play games with them. The worst we could do is find out about this and get a free meal. The South Seas House is a first-class joint. A meal and a couple of drinks tfiere is about equal to our weekly budget."
"No!" said Susan. "Now put that mess away and let's have dinner.
That was Monday night.
On Tuesday, things started, as Susan was fond of saying, to go to hell in a handbasket. At Lucia's store, she lost her patience with a particularly trying matron and told the corseted old bitch that if she didn't like the way things were done to take her business elsewhere. The old bitch, it seemed, was one of Lucia's oldest, free-spending customers.
Lucia calmly rebuked Susan, and Susan had to take it. She didn't like taking it, but after her temper cooled she realized that she had been in the wrong. She took Lucia's bawling out, called the corseted old bitch and apologized. It was disgusting to be forced to humble herself for the old bag. It set her up for a rousing quarrel with Gil that night.
The argument began over something completely insignificant and developed into a flushed, name-calling knock-down and drag-out during which Susan said things about Gil and about his mother she soon regretted. But she was too steamed up, too stubborn, to go crawling to Gil. They went to bed not speaking. They were cold and distant, and when Gil touched her she pulled away.
The spat continued at the table on Wednesday morning. Susan, sorry about the things she'd said, tried to be sweet.
"So," Gil said nastily, "we're bright and sunny this morning. Just as if nothing happened."
"Nothing did happen, really, Gil. We both just lost our tempers, that's all."
"Speak for yourself," Gil said moodily.
So she was apologizing again. "I'm sorry, Gil. It's just that-"
"Oh, so now we're sorry," Gil said. "You think you can say anything, get away with murder, just as long as you smile at me and say you're sorry."
She was surprised. That wasn't like Gil. Gil was the original copy of the easy-going husband. He didn't mind a rousing fight now and then, but when the fight was over it was over. He never held a grudge.
"Gil-"
"I have feelings, Susan," Gil said. "You said some pretty nasty things last night."
"I know. I said I'm sorry."
"But you meant what you said, didn't you? You said you wished my mother were dead, Susan. Do you remember that?"
"I was mad, Gil. For heaven's sake! You don't really think-"
"I don't know what to think. You've been acting pretty strange lately."
She bristled. "I've been acting strangely!"
"You act as if you were God's gift to the human race. You do as you please. You forget you've got a home to look after, and you expect me to just sit back and grin and take all the rot you want to hand out."
"Whoa, buster," she said. "I take care of your damned home, such as it is." She knew, she thought, what was bugging him. It was the job.
"If it's my working that's eating your gizzard, you can forget that, man. I'm going to work until I get the kind of clothes I want. You can't buy them for me."
He was deceptively calm. "That's one thing I've been meaning to ask you, sweetie. Why the sudden yen for fancy dresses and things? Who are you trying to impress?"
She flushed. It was very close to an accusation.
"You know better than that," she snapped.
"Do I? You're gone two or three evenings a week. How do I know what you're doing?"
"Now just a damned minute, Gil Emory. You know damned well what I'm doing."
"Do I? Don't you think I know how easy it would be for you to say the store is open late, or you and Lucia had to put up stock or something. Hell, how do I know what you're doing. That Lucia-"
It was too much. "You son-of-a-bitch," she spat. "How dare you accuse me of-"
"Of what? Do you have a guilty conscience, Susan?"
"Me?" She was screaming. "What do you mean, do I have a guilty conscience? I should think you'd be the one for that, writing those damned letters."
She threw the manila envelope containing the Radford's pictures on the table in front of him.
"You're trying to set up a wife-swapping deal with total strangers, and you have the gall to accuse me of having a guilty conscience."
"Maybe this is why men swap wives," Gil said, glaring at her.
She felt the tears forming. There was a sharp little pain at the back of her nose. She knew she wouldn't be able to go on much longer without crying.
"After all," Gil went on, carried along by his anger, "what's wrong with what I've done? I was just trying to satisfy my curiosity, that's all. I seem to remember that it was your idea."
How could she explain? She couldn't. She could only strike back. "Sauce for the goose," she said inanely.
"What's that supposed to mean? Lucia?"
She remembered a weapon. "Not at all," she said quietly. "I mean the mousy little wife of your sergeant friend. I'm talking about that weekend in Atlanta." She saw from Gil's expression that she had struck a nerve. "Just what did you do for a whole weekend alone in Atlanta with that woman while her husband was hurrying back to the base for duty? What did you do-play checkers?"
He moistened his lips. "Just what any red-blooded man would do," he said defiantly. "I took her to bed."
"Repeatedly," he added.
She had. always suspected it. The woman had told her husband, after he'd been called back to camp unexpectedly, that she had stopped off with relatives over the weekend, and Gil had come home with a very logical story about running into buddies in Atlanta and boozing it up with them.
But Susan had always suspected that Gil and the woman had spent the weekend together.
Suspecting and knowing for sure were two different things, however. It hurt. Even after so long a time, it hurt. They had been so happy then. How could he have wanted another woman when they were so happy, when the flame of their love was so bright?
"So that's one you owe me, isn't it?" she asked calmly. "Add Lucia, and that's two. Maybe we'll go to Tampa Saturday night. I might just take a liking to this Paul Radford."
"Knowing you, I'm sure you would," Gil said.
"I just might. I'm human."
"If that's what you want, I'll answer the letter this morning."
"You do that."
"Don't think I won't."
"Oh, I'm sure you will," she said. "I've seen the picture of Una Radford, remember?"
He slammed out of the house, his breakfast unfinished. Susan was at last able to give vent to her tears. She ran to the bedroom, threw herself down on the spread and let the sobs shake her body until she was emptied. She went to the bathroom, rinsed her eyes with cold water, tried to busy herself with housework.
Gil returned to character at mid-morning. "Hey, kid," he said, when she answered the telephone. "I said some bad things."
"Yes you did."
"Is it too soon to say I'm sorry?"
She didn't answer for a moment. She felt weak, deserted. Some of the props had been knocked out of her life by Gil's admission of his infidelity back there in Atlanta. She was still hurt by his voiced doubts of her faithfulness. "Maybe it is a little soon," she said.
"I'll give you until evening," he said. "Just remember that I didn't mean half the things I said."
After she put the telephone back on its cradle, she wondered which half he did mean.
It was one of Susan's evenings to work. She told Lucia she might have to give up the job because of problems at home. Lucia didn't seem to be concerned about it. There was a coolness between them since the incident of the corseted matron. Throughout the evening, their talk was strictly business.
This change in Lucia seemed to confirm to Susan that it would be best if she did quit. It was nice to be able to buy a few nice clothes, but she had worked long enough to pay for the two outfits. She didn't really need anything else.
Just before closing time a young blonde came into the store, and Lucia greeted her and escorted her back to the counter. Susan, not wanting to be curious, stayed in front and waited there until Lucia brought the young girl to her.
"This is Frances," Lucia said to Susan. "She's the one I told you about the day you came to work. She still hasn't found anything. If you're really considering quitting...."
"I think it would be best, Lucia," Susan said, smiling with resignation. Lucia wasn't hiding her attraction to the newcomer very well. "You know how it is."
"I'm so sorry to see you go," Lucia said politely. "I've enjoyed working with you. If you should ever need a recommendation, feel free to call on me. I'll give you the best one possible."
"Thanks," said Susan. "I don't think I'll be needing that."
"Well," Lucia said. "If you ever need anything from the store, I'll give you a good discount and you can lay anything away for as long as you like, darling."
"That's very kind, Lucia."
Lucia walked the blonde to the door, unable to keep her soft hands away from the girl's good body. She was so wrapped up in her new playmate that Susan had to smile as she began closing down the store for the night. She was sure now that it was for the best.
Her working upset Gil. Her working had led her to commit the nearest thing to infidelity she had ever done. Her coming to work had resulted in her going to bed with Lucia, and it had put her in a bed with both Lucia and Gil. Her working had, she thought, brought unwelcome tension into her marriage. She was sorry that she had ever started.
Now was the time to call it quits and go home to try to repair the damage. She wasn't too concerned. Her marriage was strong enough to survive what had happened. Not even Mrs. Emory's old stucco house could seriously damage her relationship with Gil.
She was in a very humble frame of mind when she went home to Gil. He tried to say that he was sorry again and she wouldn't let him. There was a minor competition in apologies. Neither of them was willing to let the other take all the blame for their fight. Things ended well in bed, where they both won, together. Susan was warm, relaxed, happy. She was dozing when Gil pushed her to attract her attention.
"Susan?"
"Ummm?"
"Are you awake?"
"Just barely."
"We have a problem."
"I know," Susan said, thinking he was going to bring up money. "What is it this time?"
"That letter I threatened to write," Gil said. "I did. I was pretty teed off. I'm afraid I wrote it and put it into the mail before I cooled down."
"Well, you can just write another one."
"Too late. They wouldn't get it in time. They'll be going to Tampa, and they'll expect us to meet them there."
"I thought they lived in Tampa."
"No, their address is in Miami. You remember they suggested that we meet on neutral ground?"
"I can't be too shook up about it," Susan said sleepily.
Gil brought up the subject again at breakfast. "We'll be doing them a pretty dirty trick if we let them drive all the way to Tampa and don't show up."
"Call them or something."
"I tried. No Paul Radford. Must be an unlisted number."
"Or they're using false names."
"Be that as it may, I feel badly about it. They may be a couple of nuts, but it's still stinky of us to-"
"Stinky of you, darling. It was your doing, not mine."
"Well, I feel badly about it."
"So you go down to Tampa," Susan said.
"Oh, sure!"
"Gil, you don't really expect me to go down there knowing that those people expect us to-"
"We could drive down, have dinner and tell them thanks, but no thanks."
"And get into some tricky situation."
"I think they're civilized people."
"It just isn't that important to me, Gil. I don't care what those people think, just as long as they don't think I'm like them. The best thing we can do is forget the whole mess."
"It's not that I'm interested in their little games," Gil said. "It's just that I hate to tell someone, anyone, that I'm going to do something and then not do it."
There was sudden sickness in Susan's stomach. Was he genuinely concerned about keeping his word or did he want to go to Tampa to meet the Radfords because of the lovely body of the girl in the picture? More and more she was realizing that Gil had changed.
First had come the gradual loss of interest in making love with her, then the confession that he had been unfaithful with the sergeant's wife in Adanta. Put the episode of Lucia in between, and you had a changed man, a different man from the one she had married and loved.
She wasn't sure she knew her husband anymore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gil hit the Interstate Four exchange and accelerated the VW into the traffic stream. They sped over Orlando proper at 55 miles an hour. Traffic was moderate at mid-afternoon on a Saturday. Tampa, thanks to the new four-lane road, was just three to four hours of comfortable driving away.
Susan adjusted her seat-belt, lit a cigarette and looked down on the busy streets of the town. Soon they were in open country, so swiftly did the new road carry them past traffic which once would have cost them an hour or more. They were going to meet the Radfords, and Susan was still doubtful about it.
She had finally given in to Gil at one o'clock when he came home, announced that he had closed the store for the day and started once again on the line that it was only common courtesy to keep the engagement.
She sighed, shrugged, said, "All right."
She wore the simple black dress she had bought while working with Lucia but took no pleasure in wearing it. It seemed almost vile to be wearing the new dress for the first time to a rendezvous with a pair of libertines who were thinking about getting the Emorys, separately or together, into bed with them.
Gil turned on the radio and smooth music filled the small car, drowning out traffic sounds, the whip of the wind past the windows. There was little talk between them.
Gil had promised her they would do nothing more than have dinner with Paul and Una Radford. She herself doubted the Radfords would show up. She felt the whole thing was a hoax, that they would go into the South Seas House, ask for Paul Radford and get nothing more than a blank stare.
To guard against that, Gil cashed a check. They would at least be able to have dinner if the Radfords weren't there, so the long drive would not be completely wasted.
Since neither of them had been to Tampa since the big new highways were built, Gil got lost trying to find Hillsboro Avenue. He said it was a good thing they had allowed a time margin. Susan didn't care. He tried to cheer her up, tried to get her to look on the coming evening as an adventure, an interesting excursion into an area of human behavior unfamiliar to them. Susan said that she wasn't really interested in people who placed ads advertising for wife swapping partners.
Gil finally found the South Seas House. It was impressive, very expensive looking.
"Let's hope they're there," Gil said. "Our little bankroll might not be enough for napkins and water."
"We can always go get a hamburger at a drive-in and go to a movie," Susan said.
"After coming this far, I'm going to see if those cats are for real," Gil said.
It was past eight when Gil pulled into the parking lot at the South Seas House. A girl in a grass skirt met them just inside the door.
"We're looking for a Mr. Paul Radford," Gil said. "He's expecting us."
The girl consulted a chart. "Oh, yes," she said, in a very non-South Seas accent. "This way, please."
Susan's heart beat rapidly. She had been hoping the Radford's invitation was a joke. Gil followed the grass skirt across a large area, past a secluded bar, up three steps and into a dining area with a view of the water. Susan walked behind Gil, straight, proud, hiding her unease. She was a target for male eyes. Her black sheath fitted her tightly.
She felt the attention and tried to walk without her usual hip-swaying movement. She felt self-conscious and unnatural. She took a deep breath, thought to hell with feeling embarrassed, and swung after Gil, very feminine, her hair gleaming in the subdued lights, her eyes on Gil's back.
"Ah, there you are!" It was Paul Radford, rising from a table near the huge windows.
Susan recognized him immediately from his picture. She decided that he looked younger in person. His dark hair was curled close against his head, but on him it looked good. He kept it cut short enough to avoid any taint of effeminacy. He looked very masculine.
"Gil!" Radford extended his hand. "Glad you could come." So far it was like a business meeting or something.
Radford turned his attention to Susan. She saw smiling blue eyes, a firm, well-formed mouth with lips that held a promise of sensuality. It was a pleasant face. He had good white teeth.
"Susan!" he said, caressing her name, making it sound lovely. "You're as beautiful as your picture."
"This must be Una," said Gil.
The blonde Una smiled blazingly and extended her hand over the table without rising. Gil took her hand and Susan saw long, tapered fingers with perfect nails close and squeeze Gil's hand.
"It's good to meet you, Susan," Una said.
"Sit down, sit down!" Radford said, laughing good naturedly. "I've ordered for all of us, if you have no objections."
"We trust your judgment," Gil said.
Susan settled into a comfortable chair. She looked again at Paul Radford. There was something fascinating about him. He had perfect ease of manner, along with good looks. His suit was of excellent material, probably hand-tailored, much more expensive than Gil's charcoal-grey.
A waitress in a grass skirt, obviously cued in advance by Radford, brought exotic drinks on a large tray. The drink was mixed in a pineapple.
"To the four of us!" Paul Radford said.
Susan sampled the mixture through straws stuck in the top of the pineapple. It was sweet, beefed up underneath by liberal quantities of rum.
She thought, well, what the hell!
She needed something to help her get through this evening. She wondered how long it would take the Radfords to bring the conversation around to sex. When they did, if Gil didn't speak up she would. Look, she'd say, you're pretty people and all that, but I don't like the name of the game.
"Did you have a pleasant drive down, Gil?" Una Radford asked. The seating was arranged so that Una was next to Gil, while Susan's chair was closer to Paul. Una's question set the mood for a while. Meaningless chatter-no personal questions-dull conversation about the drive to Tampa, about Tampa's mushroom growth, about the differences in weather between Orlando and Miami. Susan joined in politely, working on her drink, which seemed to be bottomless.
"I must warn you," Paul said to her. "This thing has hidden fangs. It's designed to make strong men weak."
"It's good," Susan said, not willing to exchange repartee with Radford. She didn't want to become too friendly with them, to give them ideas.
Waitresses brought food. The small table was filled with appetizers, and they were only preliminaries to the main event. Susan tried tasty bits of pork, of fish, of things she didn't recognize. Her appetite had dulled by the time the entree arrived, and she didn't eat much. Una and Gil were talking between themselves in low voices. Now and then Susan could hear. They were exchanging likes and dislikes, like two young people out on a date.
Radford, as if sensing Susan's reserve, was polite. When he spoke it was pertinent, terse, sometimes quite witty. Susan couldn't help but like him. In spite of the aura of unreality about the whole affair, Paul Radford was a civilized man.
She could hardly believe that the meeting had been arranged through an ad in a tabloid" paper. She couldn't picture Paul Radford posing his wife in the nude for sexy pictures. He seemed to be several cuts above the ordinary, well mannered, cultivated. She began to talk with him, was amazed to find out how easy it was. It was much later that she realized that she was talking with great animation, laughing, enunciating each word carefully to cover the fact that she was beginning to feel the potent drinks.
When Radford suggested they move the party to the bar, she went without protest. The meal had been delicious. She felt fine. She had put the dirty implications of the evening out of her mind and was simply enjoying the company of two interesting people in luxurious surroundings.
She let Radford take her arm. When they were seated at the bar, she was next to Paul with Una on her left and Gil beyond Una. Radford ordered drinks. Hers was a pleasant concoction which tasted as harmless as fruit punch. She liked the place. She thought the Radfords were very pleasant.
"Gil," she called, leaning in front of Una. "It's a long drive back to Orlando, doll. Don't you think we should start thinking about leaving?"
"Leaving?" Una was aghast. "I thought you were staying the night with us."
"We've rented a very comfortable place," Paul said softly. "It's on the bay. There's a beautiful view, and we've stocked the bar well. We can move the party there. There's more than enough room for you two if you see fit to spend the night."
Susan squinted meaningfully at Gil, saying mentally, Get me out of here I
"I wish we could," Gil said, "but-"
"It's much too far to drive to Orlando tonight," Una said with finality. "We wouldn't think of letting you go out on the road in this condition." She patted Gil's cheek playfully. "You're getting twittered, darling."
"Don't I know it!"
"A shame to let the apartment go to waste," Paul Radford said.
"You see," Susan said, looking daggers at Gil, "we promised Gil's mother to be back tonight.
She's quite old, and she worries about her little boy."
"Oh?" Paul looked at Susan. He smiled. "At least come see the place. If you feel that you must drive back tonight, we'll fortify you with black coffee and see you off." He put his hand lightly on Susan's arm. "We don't want to lose two very attractive new friends."
"I don't think-" Susan began.
Gil said loudly, "We'll stop by for a bite. That coffee sounds like a winner."
Radford was a smooth operator. He manipulated Susan into his car before she had a chance to protest. It was a new Continental, huge and very plush. It smelled of luxury. Susan thought it amusing to think of Una, used to such roominess, trying to climb into the little Volkswagen with Gil. To break the silence as Paul maneuvered the car into traffic, she voiced her thoughts about the difference in the two automobiles.
"Una will manage," Paul laughed. "She's quite adaptable."
He drove a few blocks in silence. "Una is a remarkable woman. I think you'll like her very much."
"I'm sure I will," Susan said.
"I consider myself very fortunate to have found a girl like Una," Radford went on. "I don't deserve her. She's very understanding, very mature. She's intensely loyal. She has become so much a part of me that I can't believe my fortune."
It puzzled Susan. Why was he giving her a hard sell on Una? Was this supposed to be a wife swapping gig or a mating of likes?
"Una is one in a million," Radford said. "We understand each other perfectly. I love her beyond reason."
Why, then, was he trying to set up a deal? She began to suspect that perhaps Una Radford wasn't interested in Gil.
"I'm telling you this so that you'll understand about us," Radford went on. "I was very much alone until I met Una. I couldn't believe, at first, that there was another person in the world who could see things as I see them. The more we came to know each other, the more we knew we were made for each other. We wanted the same things out of life, the good things."
"Oh?" Susan was beginning to doubt her analysis now. She wasn't sure just what Radford was saying.
"It may be very egotistical of us," Paul said, "but we consider ourselves somewhat special. We like to think of ourselves as being two of the very few really free people in the world, free of set ideas, set morality-"
"I see," said Susan, beginning to believe that she really did understand what he was getting at.
"We think it takes a special breed of people to reach for the good things in life without being inhibited by custom and habit. That's why we find it so pleasant to discover a wonderful couple like you and Gil. I'm sure, having been with you this evening, that you and Gil are our kind of people."
Little do you know, buster! Susan thought.
Aloud she said, "I see," minking-now comes the pitch. Now he's going to say, let's choose up sides and go to bed.
His hand reached for hers, found it. "I'm sure we're all going to be very good friends, Susan. I must admit that I'm very much impressed by you-and by your husband."
Susan let her hand stay in his. To pull it away would be to admit she was not as sophisticated as the Radfords. He had done a very deft job of making it sound as if switching partners were the intelligent, sophisticated thing to do.
She was still under the spell of the expensive night club, the elegant surroundings, the urbanity of the Radfords. She knew she would have to tell Paul Radford and his sexy wife in no uncertain terms that Gil and Susan Emory were not their 'special kind of people."
For the moment, she remained silent.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Then they were there. The impressive apartment building faced the water, and there was ample parking space for both cars.
The apartment was a vast expanse of carpeted areas and ultra-modern furniture. Small talk-a drink-music from hidden speakers, soft, throbbing. Gil and Una huddled at the bar, his head bent toward hers. Time seemed to stand still.
Susan tried to catch Gil's eye, to tell him, Goddammit! Let's get out of this guilded spider's den and go home.
He wouldn't look at her. He had eyes only for Una. She wore an extremely low cut gown, sparkling with rhinestones. The cut gave Gil a spectacular view of lush upper breast-curves and when Una laughed, as she did often, she would let her shoulders slump forward to reveal even more.
"What about that coffee?" Susan asked.
"Later," Gil said. "Right now I'm making a fool of myself with good scotch."
Later, she had a chance to speak with Gil.
"Aw, come on, honey!" he said. "We'll cut out before things happen. They haven't tried to rape us yet, have they?"
"Gil," Susan said desperately. "Don't do this! Don't do this to me!"
She felt desperately alone, frightened. Worse, she was beginning to be attracted to Paul Radford. His flattery, his looks, his virility were having their effect on her. Dammit, she was human. He was an attractive man. She felt an ominous air of evil hanging over her. Something was going to happen if they didn't get out of there.
"I'm not going to do anything to you," said Gil. "Una talked pretty freely on the way over. You're right in thinking that they'd like to play games. She admitted as much. But she also said that they didn't believe in pushing people into anything. She said that neither she nor Paul would make the first move. So, if we don't do it, this is just a get-acquainted night. Okay?"
Una Radford broke up the conversation by drawing Gil onto the large rug. She draped herself around him and left Susan alone with Paul while the soft music throbbed.
"They dance well together," Paul observed.
"Yes."
"Shall we see if we can do as well?"
There was nothing else to do. Her husband was dancing with the tall, beautiful Una. She let Paul take her into his arms. He was a good dancer. He didn't hold her tightly. There was no clutching, no pressing of his body against hers. Gradually, she let the tension drain out of her.
It was good music and Paul was a fine dancer and the drinks were buzzing around inside her head. Well, it was get-acquainted night. She wouldn't make the first move. She felt relatively safe. She decided to relax and enjoy it. After all, a very attractive man was being very attentive.
"You're a fine dancer," she said.
"It's only because of my partner," he said. He had a nice way of talking. Flattery which would have sounded corny from someone else sounded natural on Paul's lips.
It was, she discovered, after midnight. There had been several trips to the bar. They had stopped dancing and were sitting in the living area.
"See," Gil told her in a whisper, while Paul and Una were doing something somewhere else, "I told you it would be all right."
Paul came back and began talking about hobbies. It seemed that he was very hip on photography.
"Lately," he said, "I've been shooting color movies. I know it sounds immodest, but some of them are damned good."
"Well, they are, darling," Una said. "You don't have to be modest."
"Too bad we can't see some of them," said Gil.
Paul chuckled. "I just happen to have brought my projector and screen and a few choice samples." He turned to Susan. "I don't want to bore you. If you'd rather not...."
"Please show them." Susan was being polite. She expected typical home movies. "I'd like to see them."
"Remember," Paul laughed. "You insisted." Paul set up a large screen and the projector. He directed Susan to sit beside him on a couch behind the projector, which was set on a low table. Gil and Una were on a matching couch a few feet away and to one side.
"Lights out!" Radford said, throwing a switch to plunge the room into total darkness. As he made his way back to the couch, he put his hand on Susan's leg.
"Excuse me," he said. "Can't see a thing."
The projector lights came on, but the machine was well shielded. Only the beam of light to the screen was visible. The rest of the room was in darkness. An image jumped onto the screen. Susan recognized the expensive swimming pool in front of which Paul had been standing when the picture he had sent them was made. The color was beautiful. The camera panned the area, showing that the pool was enclosed completely. Una Radford walked into the scene, very much at ease.
Una said, "I didn't know Paul was within a hundred miles when this was taken. I thought he'd gone out."
"You're not going to be modest, are you?" Paul asked her.
"Nice picture," Gil said. His voice was muddy. Susan could tell that he was pretty well smashed.
"Very nice picture," she heard Gil say as Una Radford, in the movie, quickly stripped off her clothing. It was skillfully done. The full-color image was almost life-size. She dropped her neat skirt, unbuttoned and slipped out of her blouse. She stretched, clad in panties and bra.
She rubbed her breasts, as most women do when they first remove a bra, to ease the irritation of straps. She stepped out of her panties quickly and gracefully. She kicked them to one side and lay down on a lounge. She sat up after a moment, took sun lotion and, in a slow, sensuous caress, applied it to her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, her legs.
"All I was doing was taking a sun-bath," said Una, "and that sneak was hidden in the bushes with his little camera."
Una, the image, lay back. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of her breasts. The camera came slowly down past her indrawn stomach, paused for a moment, then went a bit lower. Una slowly raised one leg to cock her knee. The picture faded out at Una's ankle.
"Now isn't that pretty good for a beginner?" Paul asked. It was as if he were discussing a snapshot of the Grand Canyon or something.
"I'm impressed," said Gil from the darkness across the room. "The audience wants more."
"More of what, darling?" Una asked in a low voice.
"I'm afraid I didn't bring any more of my own pictures," Paul said. "However, I do have a reel or two of some very interesting stuff."
"Run it," said Gil.
"It's a bit-unusual," said Paul.
"Stop being shy, darling," Una said. "We're all adults."
"Everyone get decent," Paul said. "I'll have to have some light."
Una's lipstick was smeared, Susan saw. She also noted how close Gil was sitting to Una. Dammit, he'd said nothing was going to happen! Either he was making the moves, or he had been wrong about Una.
How had she ever allowed herself to be put in such a position? All Gil was thinking about was getting into Una Radford's well filled lingerie. He was forgetting that this was not like the time with Lucia. This time, things could be very different, because there was another man around.
Darkness-the hum of the projector-a woman, nude, attractive, not as pretty as Una Radford. She was well formed and lay on her back on a bed reading a book. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
The camera moved from the woman to a window to show the face of a man. He pushed open the french window and stepped into the room and grabbed the nude woman. There was a struggle, and the pair fell heavily across the bed.
Soon the struggle stopped. There was a kiss, closeup. A warm smile of pleasure was on the woman's face when the kiss broke, and the camera moved to show why.
Susan could hear her own breathing.
The man stripped quickly. Closeup camera work showed vivid details of what followed. There was silence in the living room of the luxurious apartment and she could sense Paul Radford's presence close to her although he was not touching her.
"WowI" Susan said when the film ended.
"Wild, isn't it?" Paul asked. "It's one of the better ones, I think. You'd almost believe they were enjoying it, not just acting."
"I've never seen anything like it," Susan said. She felt strangely excited. The film had aroused familiar stirrings within her that she recognized as danger signals. A little more of that kind of stimulation and-
"Would you like to see another?" Paul asked.
"I don't know," Susan said, torn between her curiosity to see what else Paul had in his photographic bag of tricks and the common-sense desire to get the hell out of there. "Gil, what about you. Want to see another?"
Silence.
"Now where the heck are they?" she asked. "My guess would be-in bed!" Paul's voice was quiet.
Susan's heart leaped. She rose from the couch hurriedly and bumped into the table.
"You'd better let me turn on a light," Paul said. He found the switch for a small table lamp. The couch was empty. There were only Susan and Paul in the room.
"Shall we do a little spying?" Radford asked with a laugh.
Susan, unable to find her voice, nodded. Radford led the way toward the bedrooms.
The door was open. Una Radford was perched astride Gil. They were both nude. As Susan watched just outside the door, in the light of a bed lamp she saw Una raise herself high, lower herself, heard her moan with pleasure. They were already hard at it!
She was frozen to the spot. It was so damned sudden, so unexpected. Gil had told her nothing would happen unless one of them made the first move. Well, Mr. Gil Emory must have done some serious moving while the movies were being shown.
She felt the touch of Paul's hand on her arm. His arm went around her waist. She couldn't move. She could only watch the slow movements of the two on the bed. Her husband! And a beautiful woman who was giving herself to him, giving herself with evident enthusiasm. She saw Una, impaled, lifting, lowering, Gil moving up, down.
Then suddenly, Una disengaged herself, went into a crouch to do something to Gil Susan had never done. She watched Gil's face and gasped as he put his hands behind Una's blonde head and locked his fingers in her tousled hair. His body arched, and he sighed.
Radford pulled her away. If he had tried to pull her into the bedroom, she might have screamed.
He drew her back into the living area.
"I didn't expect that," he said. "I wasn't sure we were ready for that."
Susan couldn't speak.
"Don't be upset," he pleaded.
Emotions battled within her. Repulsion-guilt-feeling of wrongness. Yet, riding over it all, there was lust, crying out with its inexorable voice. Una was having Gil. Gil was venting his passion in that soft, blonde body.
And here was her partner, standing beside her, a man, an attractive man who wanted her. It was wrong, but its very wrongness added zest to the singing passion that engulfed her in a flood.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached behind her. She found the zipper and undid it. She shrugged out of the dress and let it fall to the floor. She posed for a moment for Paul, because his eyes were admiring her, seemed to penetrate the flimsy covering of her white panties, her lacy bra.
"How very beautiful!" Paul breathed. He didn't touch her then. He waited as she dropped her bra, stepped out of her panties. Then he lifted her into his arms. She let her head rest against his shoulder, felt the strength of his body as he carried her.
The bed was huge and firm. She lay on her back and watched as Paul removed his clothes. He was a very big man, bigger than Gil.
He walked slowly to the bed and stood for a moment, looking down at her.
"Lovely Susan!" he murmured.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She didn't know what to expect. That was a part of the excitement flowing through her. She didn't know whether Paul would come roaring down on her like a maddened bull, brutalizing her, punishing her selfishly, or whether he would be velvet and fire-ice in his approach. For a moment, looking up at him, she hoped he would be violent. She almost wanted him to hurt her, to churn into her with massiveness and strength and take her forcefully.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. He smiled at her. She extended a hand to touch him on the leg. She wanted him. She wanted to be ravished, used, used hard. Perhaps she felt that by having him use her brutally, she would be absolved of guilt. What she was about to do was in direct contradiction to everything she had ever believed.
Susan Emory was basically a moral girl. She had flouted convention before. She had had her almost forgotten affair with Lucia Moreland. She had enjoyed premarital sex with Gil. At that time her craving had been so strong that she flouted her conscience, went against her training, opened her soft body to sinful bliss.
That, however, was vastly different. She had done it, true, against her better judgment. She had given her body to a man without the legal blessing of the law or the moral sacrament of the church. But she was in love then, hopelessly and completely in love with Gil. At that time she knew, deep in her heart, that her sin would be erased by marriage.
Now, as she lay supine, waiting with pounding heart for Paul Radford to make love to her, there was no justification for the thrills that ran up and down the long, smooth columns of her legs. What she craved was sex, what she felt was lust. Not for a moment did she tell herself she loved Paul.
She was fully aware that she was nude and willing purely because the hunger of her body was so overpoweringly strong. Nor would she try to justify her actions by telling herself, later, that she had been too drunk to know what she was doing. She was not drunk. Tipsy, yes-stimulated, yes. She knew what she was doing. She knew what she wanted to do.
Paul Radford, leaning over her, was not love. He was sheer lust, and she was going to accept him and match his lust. She was going to like it! She knew that. She burned, quivered, gasped for him, and he had yet to touch her. Throbs of anticipation swept through her. Come on, boy! she thought. Get with it!
His hand touched her loin. It was fire and ice. She almost screamed at the thrill of his touch. When his hand moved, when his fingers teased, touched, she felt her buttocks muscles tense, felt herself lift herself to reach for him. It was as if that part of her were a living thing with hungers of its own.
She put up her arms and embraced him. Her lips parted. He came to her, his body hard and hot against her waiting softness. He lowered himself gently onto her, their torsos pressed together, her breasts flattening. She thrust her lower body against him, wanting him all the way. He didn't respond.
Unable to endure it, she contorted herself to make the contact that mattered. Her whole body shivered as if from vast cold. She thrilled with a passion, with an intensity she hadn't felt in years.
He kissed her at last. She couldn't breathe for long moments. Her insides seemed to melt, to run down in molten ecstasy to concentrate in that throbbing, living center of her awareness. His kiss was soft. She felt her heart pumping from the sweetness of it. Then she opened her mouth wide and used her tongue to spur him on. She mouthed him with wet lips, with extended tongue.
"I have to ask you one thing," he whispered. "Don't talk," she breathed, lost in the wonder of her fire.
"I must know this, now. Will it be just once for you or more than once?"
"More than once," she whispered, enraptured by the idea. More than once. Much-much-much more than once. Three times. Four. AU night.
"In that case," he said.
He was there. He had asked her the question because, she realized, he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Now that he knew, he was going to take her quickly.
He was, she realized with a burst of passion, going to take her hard and fast the first time. Then there would be more.
She let her legs cooperate, to give him that which had, till then, been Gil's. He was there, and love's portals slid aside under his gentle but firm pressure. There was no need for guidance. They united as if from long habit.
She gasped, arched herself. The long slide began. It went on and on until she felt herself gloriously expanded. She had never felt anything like him.
She wanted more. She couldn't get enough.
She moaned with bliss. Her legs lifted high. Her breathing became a lusty anthem to lust.
"Oh-it's good?' She heard herself and didn't recognize it. It was a stranger's voice, a hoarse croak of desire.
His lips met hers. He tried to devour her with his kiss as the moment stretched on and on, and then the movement began, rhythmic, wonderful, heaven, with quick beats of contact and pressings and his never varied penetration.
She smothered him with her softness.
She actually felt him climax, moved rapidly, using him to make the best possible ending for herself. Then she was weak, moving feebly to retain him in her flesh.
"I may not let you go," she whispered. "I may hold you here forever."
She felt wonderfully carnal. She relished the memory of their perfect climax, lost herself in lascivious yearning for the next. She wanted nothing more than to start it all over again. She wanted to pile thrill on thrill until he did it to her again.
"Don't go!" Her voice was panicky as he tried to pull away.
"I won't."
Everything had been planned well. Paul had a miniature bar in the bedroom. He didn't even have to get off the bed to mix a drink. Susan gulped hers greedily and watched him with hungry eyes as she fondled his thigh.
Paul put down his empty glass and smiled at her. "Now, my little sex-machine...."
"Yes?"
There was no prelude, just an immediate quick thrill of his kiss, and she was squirming. She thought of Lucia. Lucia had done it to her that way. It was better with Paul, because she knew what was to follow.
It went on and on and she was screaming inside, and then, when she couldn't stand it another second, she pushed him onto his back and mounted him, pushing herself down, missing him, moving desperately until she was right there over him and squirming down, down. She did it the way Una had been doing Gil. "Oh God, Paul!"
She used her weight to impale herself. His hands toyed with her.
True pleasure built within her, that wonderful dramatic storm inside her, the spasmodic pulsing of togetherness again.
And it was to happen once more! There were more drinks.
It happened again after he explained to her that he was at a point where drastic measures were necessary to create renewed desire. She wanted the night to be endless, so when he told her what he wanted, she was willing. She had never done it before, but it was thrilling to feel him respond to her soft mouth's caresses-to feel new life begin and expand. Then she was pulling him atop her again.
Fatigue at last caught up with her. The drinks seemed to hit her all at once. She was almost gone, unable to coordinate her movements. She remembered mumbling that she wanted to sleep with Paul. She remembered that she felt him as she went to sleep, naked, used, with Paul's body heavy atop her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Out of long habit, she reached for Gil when she awoke. The bed was empty. The shades were drawn, but even the dim light caused her to close her eyes quickly.
There was a vile taste in her mouth. Her tongue was furry. Her throat was sore from cigarettes. Her stomach was fluttery, her head a solid furnace of pain.
"I'm dying," she said. "Hey, Gil! I'm dying. Wanta come to my funeral?"
She had had hangovers before, but never like this! This was a beast which seemed bent on destroying her. She moaned and closed her eyes. She hurt all over.
The knowledge of why, the sudden remembering, was worse than the pain in her head.
She moaned in anguish. She had done it all! The good little girl had really torn it! There was her pre-marital roll in the hay with Gil. There was the velvet trap she had fallen into with Lucia. But this!
She wished fervently that she was like some people who claim they don't remember anything when they're drunk. She remembered everything. She remembered vividly and wasn't sure she could endure the thundering remorse which filled her.
She couldn't stand it. She would never be able to face Gil, or Paul, or Una. She wasn't even sure she could face herself.
She staggered out of bed and into the bathroom, still half-drunk. She put her finger down her throat and retched violently. Nothing happened. The huge meal of the evening before, the drinks, had all been processed by her healthy body and she suffered agonizing dry heaves.
She leaned weakly against the wash-basin and ran cold water, sloshed it against her face. She drank greedily from her cupped hands. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw dark circled eyes, messy hair. Slut! She was afraid, then, that she was going to live.
She found the note from Paul on the bedside table.
My lovely playmate, So sorry to leave without seeing you again, but
we must start back for Miami now. I'll be looking forward to the
next time. Take good care of that wonderful body of yours. I'll be
spending my hours thinking of ways to make the next time even
better.
I awoke wanting you, lovely Susan. Too bad you missed the last
performance, but I enjoyed it!
Paul
She gagged, threw the note onto the floor and fell back across the bed. He had taken her that morning! She hadn't even known!
Much later, she gathered enough strength to shower. Cold water made her feel a little better physically. She decided it was time to face Gil. She found him in the kitchen with the Sunday paper. He didn't hear her come in.
He was fully dressed and looked a little the worse for wear. His hand shook when he lifted his coffee.
She braced herself, threw back her shoulders. She ran one hand through her hair and walked in. She felt silly in the sexy, black sheath which was the only cover she had with her.
"Hi, Gil."
He looked up, his face expressionless.
She sat down, holding her neck stiff. Any movement of her head started the waves of sickness and the pain.
"Got plenty of coffee?" she asked.
He poured her a cup. She laced it liberally with cream to cool it and sipped slowly.
"Gil," she said, after a long silence.
"Yeah." He didn't lift his eyes from the paper.
"I went a little ape last night." It was the understatement of the year.
"I guess we both did."
"Oh, Gil!" She wailed all the anguish she felt. She felt the dirt and the evil in her. "I'm sorry, Gil. I'm so very, very sorry."
"So what's to be sorry?" he asked, still unsmiling. "We had a ball. It's over."
"Is it? Is is over?"
"It is unless we start looking under that dead dog's tail to see what made it die," Gil said.
So, he, too, was upset. She hoped he was as sick as she was. She hoped it would haunt him the rest of his life. He had promised her faithfully that nothing would happen, and he had made the first move.
She couldn't stop the sobs. They burst from her. She ran into the bedroom and fell across the mussed bed. She was scared. The intensity of her reaction was frightening. She didn't know what was happening to her.
She didn't realize that her sobs soon became screams. She did realize vaguely that Gil was in the room.
"Susan!"
She could hear her name. His hand touched her, and she screamed again, high and shrill. He was dirt, and she was dirt, and she couldn't bear the thought of his touching her. She didn't want any man to touch her, ever again.
There was a sudden loud sound, a shock, dull pain. He had hit her. Her sobs quieted.
She didn't feel like talking on the drive home. He tried once or twice to get her to speak. She drew into herself, trying to be numb, trying to stop the memories.
'I'll be spending my hours thinking of ways to make the next time better," Paul Radford had written.
What had happened to her? Where were her dreams? Was she to go through life looking forward to the next time, to bigger and better lust? She had proven to herself and to the world what she was. Slut! Whore! Pervert!
She stayed in bed for two days. Gil left her there. He, too, was silent. The house was quiet, devoid of life, empty of meaning.
On the morning of the third day she packed her things. She threw the sexy, breast-exposing black dress into the waste can. She wrote a check for $100 and cashed it at the supermarket.
She rented a one-room efficiency apartment far across town, not using her right name. She spent the days and nights there, numb, making only necessary movements. Her shocked system seemed to allow a great blankness in her mind and it was only occasionally that she revived enough to see, once again, the events of the night in Tampa.
When there was no money left to buy even the small amounts of food she had been taking, she found a job in a department store. The days passed. She worked and sat quietly in the apartment. She began to live again, slowly. She went to the movies alone. She ate her meals alone. She lost five pounds, all from her hips and her waist. Her clothes were loose on her. She spent long evenings taking them in.
When she thought of Gil it was with a dull sense of loss. Where there had been love there was nothing more than numbness. Men tried to make her acquaintance, but it was as if all her interest in life had been burned out of her. She ignored the men. She wouldn't even talk with them.
There came a day when she was recovered enough to know that she had been slightly crazy. The baths, for example. At first, she took long, steaming baths and scrubbed herself until her skin hurt. She was, had been, slightly insane. She realized she was better when she moderated the baths, knowing instinctively that water and soap would not cleanse her, that only time could do the job.
Susan walked the streets on a Sunday afternoon, and felt a stir of renewed interest in things around her. She took her time and studied dresses in store windows. She walked idly, letting her thoughts stray. She basked in the warm sun and enjoyed the fresh smells of a bakery.
There was a man waiting in front of her apartment. He was dressed in a well worn suit and he flicked a cigarette away as she walked slowly toward him.
"Susan Emory?" he asked in a heavy voice as she neared. It was the first time anyone had called her that since she left her home. She was Susan Stevens.
"I'm Baker, Orlando Police. Are you Susan Emory?"
She sighed. She nodded.
"Your husband is very worried about you," the policeman said.
She felt an urge to turn and run, but she knew she couldn't run forever. She let the policeman take her to Gil. They met in a bare little room at the police station.
"Hello, Gil," she said.
"Susan!" he said.
"How have you been, Gil?"
"I've been almost out of my mind," he said.
"How's your mother?"
"She's okay now."
"Now?"
"She broke her hip," Gil said.
"Oh?" She was being polite to a stranger. "How did it happen?"
"She was dusting the stairs. She fell. She lay at the foot of the stairs for hours. It was pretty bad."
"I'm sorry," Susan said.
"She's fine now. She'll be coming home from the hospital soon. She's going to move in with me for a while."
A small spark of bitterness stirred the deadness in her. So Mrs. Emory was going to move in now that it didn't matter?
"I'm going to have to hire a nurse for a while," Gil said.
There was coldness between them. She wondered why he had gone to the trouble to find her. "You can't really afford that, can you?"
"Someone has to be with her. She won't be able to get out of bed for a long time." He coughed. "I'm going to insist that she sell the house. It's too much. After the hospital bills, which the insurance didn't cover, and the nurse-"
"I think that's a wise decision," she said.
"She doesn't like it, but we're going to sell and that's that."
She felt very strange. There was that little feeling of loss. "Why didn't you do it years ago, Gil?"
His mouth formed unspoken words. He swallowed.
"It's nice to have seen you, Gil," she said. "Do you mind if I go now?"
"Susan." It was painful. He swallowed hard. "Don't...."
"You have my address now," she said. "If you want to contact me...." She turned, was halfway out the door before he caught her, his hand on her shoulder.
"You can't do that," he said. "You can't just walk away."
"Why not?"
"It just doesn't make sense." He turned her, held her shoulders. "What's happened to us, Susan?"
"If you don't remember, you're fortunate," she said.
"I want you to come home." He spoke very softly.
"No!"
"I need you, Susan. The house is empty. It's cold."
"You'll have your mother."
"Susan, listen to me. Come back. We can work it out. Give it a chance."
"We had our chance, and blew it," she said.
"Just try it. Come back for a few days. Let's give ourselves a chance."
"Are you sure you're just not trying to get a free nurse for Mother?"
He scowled. "I'll hire a nurse. Please, come back."
"It won't do any good."
"We can make it work."
She studied him, noted the darkness under his eyes. She wondered if he were working too hard, if he remembered to send out for his lunch. She steeled herself against such thoughts. That was no longer her concern. But she had wasted five years worrying about him.
"Does it mean that much to you?" she asked.
"It means everything to me."
"All right," she said. She would show him. She would show him that there was nothing there any more, and perhaps that would make it easier for him.
She moved into the small bedroom. Mrs. Emory came home from the hospital and was installed in the guest room. Susan spent the first days caring for the invalid. Mrs. Emory tried to question Susan. Susan told her to mind her own business. There was a bit of tension after that, but Mrs. Emory settled into the routine of the days. If the elder woman noticed the coldness which persisted between Susan and Gil she didn't mention it.
It was an unreal situation. To Susan, it seemed as if she were still divorced from reality. She held to herself by falling back into the daily routine of housework. She was efficient. Not even the extra work of caring for Mrs. Emory prevented her from having a spotless house. When Gil came home, his dinner was ready. They would sit at the table, mostly in silence, sometimes talking about neutral things.
Gil could see the deadness was still in Susan. He did not push. He made no attempt to touch her, not after the first night she was at home. Then he had put his hand on her arm.
"Don't," she said, and the deadness in her voice stopped him. He sensed her sickness and was patient.
After Susan had been home just over a week, Gil tried once again to break through her wall of silence. They were at the table. The meal was a good one, pork chops, potatoes, green beans, salad.
"Don't you think it's time we started talking to each other, really talking?" Gil asked carefully.
"If you like," Susan said.
"Well...." He paused. She was not really with him.
"How long are we going to go on like this?" he asked, not unkindly. She looked at him calmly.
"I'm worried about you," he said. "You act as if you're dead or something."
He reached for her hand. She did not break the touch. "I want you back, Susan. I want all of you back with me. I've thought about all this. I've thought about it until I felt sure my brain was going to pop out of my head. I want to say this. If you're blaming yourself for anything that happened, don't. It was my fault, all of it."
Susan shook her head. She didn't like being reminded.
"I've kicked myself, Suze. I've cursed myself as seven kinds of a fool."
She looked at him curiously. It took a long time for her to understand that the shiny things on his cheeks were tears. Tears-real tears! Something moved deep inside her. She took her hand from under his and reached across the table to touch one of the tears with her finger.
"I love you, Susan. I've always loved you and I always will. Can you believe that? I'd like us to forget what's happened. Can you?"
She shook her head slowly. He bit his hp and looked down at his plate. Suddenly he leaped up and started to flee from the kitchen. His face!
She caught his arm as he passed. A man shouldn't cry. She didn't want him to cry.
"Gil," she said. "It's all right, Gil."
He turned to her, his eyes wet.
"It's all right," she repeated.
He took her into his arms. She relaxed against him. He felt warm. The deadness was still in her. She didn't want him, not as a man. She only wanted to help him, to help ease his pain. She would help him, live with him, be a good wife to him, for, after all, he was all she had. There was nothing else for her in the world.
Part of her was dead, killed in Tampa, burned away, destroyed. All the loveliness of a physical relationship with her husband was gone, and it would never return. But she could take care of him.
They sat in the living room. Gil whispered to her. She told him briefly what she had done during the weeks she had been away. Some of it was a blank, but she told him all she could remember.
When, finally, he took her hand and led her to the bedroom, she went. She would endure it, that was all. It was something she would have to accept in exchange for his protection, his companionship, his love. She removed her clothing and got into bed and he touched her tentatively. He lay on his side and pulled her against him. He held her there for a long, quiet time. His lips pressed the throbbing vein in her neck.
"It's been a long time," he whispered.
"Yes, it has."
"Is it all right?" he asked. "I mean...." His hand closed over her breast and squeezed. She gave him her lips. She felt nothing. She went through the motions from memory.
"You're all the woman I'll ever need," he said. He found her, probed deep. "If only I'd realized that long ago."
"Hush!" she said. She acted it out for him.
It wasn't bad. She had feared it would rouse bitterness in her, but it was only Gil and he was liking it. He was taking his pleasure from the body of his wife and that was as it should be. She gave of herself unselfishly.
It was when he came driving into her, when it was too late to stop him, when he was making his swift, climactic lunges, that she remembered.
She had not taken her pills with her when she left home. She hadn't had a pill since the Saturday morning, weeks ago, when they went to Tampa. She was completely unprotected. The realization came as a shock, a burst of something she had thought dead.
In one flaming instant she was alive again, knowing a delicious intimacy she had known only once before in her life. Her innermost self was free!
She pulled him close, moved against him, and the feeling completed itself in pulsing throbs from deep within her. She savored the knowledge that she could take from him and build life. It was true fulfillment. She was a woman!
"Good?" Gil asked.
"You'll never know," Susan said, laughing a smug, happy laugh.
"I'm glad."
"Maybe," she said. "But I've got a surprise for you, buster."
Gil smiled to himself. That was his old Susan. "I haven't taken a pill in weeks," Susan said. "Whoops!" Gil said.
Susan lay there, soaking in the pleasant knowledge. "I might be able to do something," she offered. "It might not be too late." She pushed at him, trying to get up. For a moment it seemed that he would let her go, then he clasped her tightly in his arms.
"Hey, Gil?"
"You've always wanted a baby," he said tenderly-
"Oh, yes!" she said.
"Then let's make a baby."
"Do you want a baby?" She began to live again, fully, totally. He was relaxing inside her but he was there and his seed was in her. She might be, at that very moment, completing the first step in the miraculous generating machine within her. She might be making a baby!
She began to live again. His waning virility aroused the slumbering passion in her, and it was good and clean because they were doing what nature wanted. She was thrilled.
"I've always wanted a baby," Gil said.
"Oh, Gil!" She stirred beneath him, wanting to rouse it, wanting it all now, wanting the whole bit. "Let's make sure," she said. "It might take more than once."
"I'm willing!" he said, "but weak."
"Can't you? Please?"
It was lovely. It was more than lovely. It was deep, demanding, as he regained his rhythmic pace and lifted her into the voluptuous exaltation of bliss.
When it was over they lay quietly. "I wonder if mother heard us," Gil said. "She'll think you were beating me or something. I'm a noisy lover, aren't I?"
"The best in the world," Gil said, nuzzling her. "Really?"
"Can I say something about-about Tampa?"
"We're going to have to talk about it sometime."
"Una was lousy," Gil said. "Really. She was too much for herself, grabbing, tearing. Not nearly as nice as you."
"Thank you."
Later she said, "Gil, since we've brought up the subject, I want to say that Tampa wasn't all your fault. I could have stopped it. I could have dragged you out of that apartment. I could have refused to go in the first place. I guess I secretly wanted to go. I think I've discovered something about myself. I've got some slut in me. I guess every woman has."
She was thinking clearly for the first time in a long while.
"It might even be good in the long run, what we did with the Radfords. It showed us what we might have become."
"Yes," Gil said.
"You're going to ask me sooner or later if I enjoyed it with Paul, aren't you?"
"No, I-"
"You will," said Susan. "So let's get it over with. Truthfully. I don't remember too much about that night. But I do remember this-the slut in me was working full time. It was grand. It was exciting. There's no use lying about it. I was a slut, a shameless, wanton slut. And I loved every minute of it."
She had to put her hand over his mouth to keep him from talking. "But that was one particular night and one particular set of circumstances. It showed me that I like bed a little too well."
"I love a sexy woman," Gil said, feeling uncomfortable, wanting to stop her.
"I like bed so well that I'm going to make it rough on you, boy. You've just showed me how wonderful sex can really be when it's complete. I feel like a woman for the first time in my life, darling. You've made me feel that way and, having felt that way once, I know now that what I felt with Paul was nothing in comparison. I'm going to make you the finest baby in the world. If tonight didn't do it, then you can set aside tomorrow night, and the next night, and the night after that to complete the job. Do you understand?"
"I hear and obey." He kissed her. "Are you finished?"
"I'm finished."
"Then shut up and go to sleep. You're going to need your strength."
"I hear and obey," said Susan, closing her eyes, reaching for Gil's hand. He placed it, warm, natural, protective on her stomach.
