Chapter 4
Gwen swiveled her hips through the crowded Los Angeles International Airport. Eyes followed, glued to the short mini and tawny legs that flashed out like golden shafts of wheat in a warm summer breeze.
Behind the egg-shaped Foster Grant's, Gwen Stillman felt very galvanic. Harry had injected an electrical storm into her otherwise doldrum wifehood. She hadn't seen him since that night on the course-not because she was afraid to, rather she had found herself too busy. She had gone to a girl friend's in Los Angeles because of a need to feel free. They had gone to a party where she had flirted with the men and enjoyed it.
One, an attractive young stockbroker with thick, sandy hair and sparkling brown eyes, had offered her his bed. But she had refused, not so much because the idea disturbed her, but rather that it excited her. She was clearly gazing through a new looking glass and wondering whether to leap in the rabbit hole or not.
She saw Doug's plane lumbering up to the docking tramway. Its long, delicate wings looked awkward as they swayed to the drum of the jet engines. The tramway escalated out to the cabin, swallowing from view any sight of her husband. She was sorry they hid passengers from view. As a child, she had enjoyed watching them climb down the steep steps and then run to the waiting arms of friends and lovers. But these days, all the drama was stolen from airports. Huge plastic hallways telescoped out to attach themselves like leeches to the skeleton of the plane. The travelers then casually walked out into the corridor where there was no romance, no drama, no intrigue. Only the noisy scramble for telephones and luggage.
She waited, impatiently rolling her wedding band from one side to the other. Her heart beat quickly as she wondered what her reaction would be the moment she saw him. Would she be ashamed? Guilty? Moralistic?
She had purchased the low-cut, high-hemmed dress on purpose. She wanted to look young, to tell her husband without words that she was still a frisky foal with a yen to run and kick and roll in the thick clover. She wasn't ready for the stable. She wasn't ready for the barn.
When he turned the corner, eyes searching for her, overcoat slung on his forearm, her heart leapt. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around his neck. She wanted to feel him squeeze and kiss her, then feel his arm slip around her waist as he babbled like a Boy Scout about his recent adventure into Indian territory.
But she didn't His face was a light shade of pink as he moved toward her. She thought it was the dress, or the sunglasses. Her eyes held his as he paced off the distance between them. She was disappointed that he wasn't smiling; that he wasn't waving his hat in the air and calling her name.
"Hi. How's my girl?"
Gwen smiled. "All right. How's my lawyer?"
He took her by the elbow and led her toward the baggage claim. He seemed so cold and distant, as though he were returning from a Wall Street funeral.
"Everything all right at the house?"
She stopped and stared at him. "You mean, did any bogeymen try to sneak in? No."
He laughed, but she was sure it was a false laugh. The same one he turned on at boring cocktail parties to impress the hostess or host.
"I bought a new dress," she said as they came to a halt by the baggage claim. "I thought maybe you could drop out for a couple of days and we could turn Hollywood inside out."
Doug felt his collar stiffen around his neck. He didn't want to say no, but he couldn't say yes. His firm wanted the reports ASAP. Two days might collapse the already precarious terms he had won. Yet he owed her something. He had been afraid when he saw her he would feel guilty. And he had. He thought she knew by the way she looked at him. But he thought something else, too. When he saw the dress-which he had noticed-and the lacquered nails, the iridescent lipstick painted so carefully on her mouth, he thought how beautiful she was in her own way, and how nice it would be if she were more like Val.
She was never as free as he thought she could be. She always seemed to be holding back. Nothing he could put his finger on exactly, just something in the back of his mind that nagged at him.
Now she was offering herself to him. He sensed that. He sensed she was telling him that she would try it his way. Try to let her body climb out of its shell. Instinctively, he knew that if he took her right this minute to a motel, she just might screw him better than Val ever could or would. Not because she was better practiced, but because among other things, she loved him. He was sure of that. Even in her deepest, gloomiest moods, he always knew she loved him.
But he couldn't say yes. He had to work for another day and a half without interruption. He had to. There was no way he could put it off.
His eyes fell down to the fleshy cleavage popping up from the scooped neckline. "Honey, I can't. I'd like to, believe me. But I need a day and a half. Afterward we can..."
"You always need another day or two. Why can't you let your business go to hell for once?" Her eyes smoked. He could see the little veins start to harden along her delicate throat.
"Look, Gwen, It's not selfish. It's for us. It's always been for us."
"Well, I'm not enjoying the us's," she said, hissing. "I haven't seen you in three nights, and now you tell me to wait one more night. Well, I'm getting tired of waiting!"
She was raising her voice. Heads turned toward them.
"For God's sake, quiet down," Doug snarled, grabbing her arm forcefully.
She turned, head lifted, nose testing the air in glum silence. He barely heard her whisper the threat.
"Then I'll stay in town and enjoy it on my own."
He was going to speak when he saw his bag slide into view and the crowd pulse forward. "Wait here," he said, wedging in between some bodies for his bag. The hassle took a minute or so, and when he turned around, he caught a glimpse of Gwen's buttocks swinging out the door. When he reached the street, he saw the taxis taking off like drag racers. Gwen was nowhere in sight.
Gwen didn't know whether to have the driver stop or keep going. She felt the tears stinging in her eyes, and the cold chill of anger coursing through her Irish veins. Suddenly, she felt confident. If he was going to ply her with excuses, then she was going to ply him with absences. Wasn't that what the old adage meant: "Absence makes the cock grow longer?"
"Where you wantta go, lady?"
"I don't care."
"That's what you said when you got in. I gotta go somewhere, lady. North. South. East...."
"Take me to Sunset Boulevard."
"What address?"
"Where the action is."
"What kind of action you want, lady?"
Gwen felt the slicing words. She glanced into the mirror and saw the old man's eyes staring at her with lewd invitation. She cringed inside. If it was going to be like this, she didn't want to risk it. If she was going to have a good time, she had better do it carefully.
"Take me to the Hollywood Hilton," she said calmly, then added, "and keep your greasy eyes on the road if you want a tip." He grumbled something, and drove the rest of the way in silence.
That evening, when Val reached their large home a few miles from Golden Hills, she saw the not Harry had scribbled. After reading it, she laughed and changed quickly. Things were working better than either of them had suspected.
Dressed in a see-through tunic that made her nipples appear a deep purple, she padded to the telephone. The note Harry had written was folded neatly next to it with Doug's number etched beside the postscript. She read it again.
Dear Twat, The little fawn called me from Hollywood. Said she needed my body. Told me to come for the night. Naturally, I went. Sounds like domestic problems. Going to work her over good, then invite her to the party. Do the same with Clarence Darrow.
Love, Your Big Dick. P.S. If you parred out with Doug, move in quick. Petey called about the next meeting. Anxious for our new twosome. Doug's number is...
Doug scratched his head. He looked at the papers angrily. The words wouldn't flow. They stumbled out like drunken rhetoric, tripping and running into one another. Gwen was at none of her friends' apartments. He'd cleaned out the phone directory. Then came Val's call, which bothered him even more. Her voice had been as wet and sticky as an orgasm against his ear. Just talking to her made his penis grow hard and lewd thoughts fill his mind. He wanted to tell her about Gwen, but decided against it. He had learned from his father to keep business and family two separate corporations. Each were rife with their own problems, and mixing them was as potent as drugs and booze.
Val's invitation had been simple and candid. "Come over if you want to relax. I'll be alone all night. Harry's out of town. Won't be back until late tomorrow."
Then she hung up. He didn't have time to say no. The best way to say yes is to never say no. Pushing away from his desk, he made his way to the bar and fixed a Scotch on the rocks. It slid down easily. He built another, thinking of Gwen's actions.
It fit and it didn't. She knew how important his work was. She had complained before, but never acted irrationally. Now, he wondered, which was acting irrationally. She had her case, and a good one. He wasn't a very good husband. Not right now. But he had told her there would be rough times. She knew that before they were married. He told her the importance of establishing himself.
Yet, the guilt he had felt upon seeing her at the airport, the anger she tossed at him for rejecting her simple request, yes, he was doing something drastically wrong.
Now Val.
Could he afford the complication? He didn't know. He wasn't sure. She was a helluva woman. She left him feeling refreshed and revitalized when the sex was gone and the aromatic euphoria of her naked body next to his took over. Yes, she was a relaxing ploy.
He had another Scotch. The liquor gnawed at his brain, fuzzing the need to return to work, increasing the desire to see Val. After pacing the house three times, going in and out of all the rooms, he made the decision to go see Val.
The drive took less than ten minutes. He was surprised that the house was as large and expensive-looking as it was. It was set off the road a good five hundred yards. Harry had invited him over for cocktails once, but he had never made it. Business or something, he thought. Now he wished he had, for he was sure he was at the wrong home.
Opening the glove compartment, he double-checked the small map Harry had scrawled a few weeks ago. According to the map, this was the right house and address. Tall hedges looming ten feet around the front yard protected it from view until he passed through a large arch. He saw the oval putting green in the middle of the bright-green yard.
The house was split-level, of geodesic design. Instantly calculating the cost of the property and home, Doug put it around a cool hundred grand. Just thinking of the taxes made him wince. The property was lush with trees on either side. While the house was distinct, it wasn't pretentious as so many homes were these days. The upper level jutted out at sharp angles, overhanging the driveway with a long, rectangular picture window spanning the entire front. He could see a pale red glow from behind the glass.
Val met him at the door, her raven hair spilling loosely about her shoulders, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling like an alley cat's.
"Hello," she said, taking his arm and leading him through the narrow, plant-lined foyer to the sunken living room. The room was done in pastels that soothed the nerves and made one want to shed his clothes and busy himself in the deep shaggy carpet flowing up to the base of the fireplace.
"Look, Val, I...."
She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't talk. Talking is a waste of precious time and strength."
Doug took a long look at the woman beside him. The tunic was like wax poured over her body. It revealed every sharp, natural, sexual line she owned. Her breasts rode high, perched like two arrogant peaks on a mountain of creamy smooth flesh. Her waist was cinched tightly by a small chain belt that made a soft, dull clicking noise when she moved. Her hips flared out, rounding in the back to her globular buttocks, tucking then into the crevice formed by her thighs. She smelled intoxicating.
"Val, I want to be serious..."
Again she touched her fingertips to his mouth. "Don't spoil it, Doug. It's just us. No problems. Problems come later. Over coffee and brandy."
With that she led him down another level to the fireplace. It was a gas fire, but very realistic. It even popped occasionally. She felt and drew him down beside her on the white fluffy bearskin rug. He was about to speak when she drew his face toward her and kissed him lightly, just letting her tongue trace its tip over the outline of his lips.
"A woman is to please a man," Val said, slipping her hand up under his shirt. "She's got one purpose. And that's to make you happy. She doesn't have to be your wife to do it, you know. She can just be interested. Mentally and physically."
Doug's following words were abruptly smothered by her lips. He felt himself falling back, felt the soft rug break his descent. Above him she worked smoothly, efficiently disrobing him. As her hands slipped off his shoes and socks, he reached for her warm, tumultuous body.
It was vibrant. The mere touch of her flesh through the webbed tunic made his mind whir. She paused, kneeling and shaking her hair as she reached behind to unzip her tunic. It fell like a cocoon revealing a beautiful butterfly. He saw her breasts spilling out like rising dough. Atop each of the yeasty mounds was perched a ripe, glistening cherry. She stood, kicking the tunic free with one fluid motion.
Doug gaze up at the Venus. She was standing with her hands just below her breasts, fingers splayed apart, mouth parted, eyes half-slitted. Then she moved. She came down, her body undulating every inch of the way. Her mouth licked wet tracks up his chest to his neck and ears. She mated her lips to his and sucked the tongue-tip far into the back of her throat. Hugging him tightly, the toughened tips of her nipples making impressions against his chest, she rolled onto her back, forcing him to mount her from above.
Her thighs flashed like scissors blades along his sides as she wriggled her hips into position, all the time holding his mouth to hers by pressing against the back of his head with her hand.
Finally the kiss ended with her turning her face, letting her wet, alive lips slide along his cheek to his ear.. "Take me," she panted, her fingers ceaselessly playing down his back to his anus. "Take me, Doug. Take me as a woman you like. You don't have to love me. I don't want you to love me. Just like me."
Doug reached for her breast. He squeezed it, giving his reply in foot pounds of pressure rather than in words. She guided his cock toward her hole. He felt the hairy lips yawn open at contact.
Even though he knew her to be a sexual wizard, her muscles contracted so tightly it was like spearing a virgin. He grimaced as he forced the bulging knob of his cock through the tight muscle. She made a moaning noise deep in her throat. He copied it as he started to saw deeper and deeper into her. Each stroke was met with a clenching and unclenching of her muscular vagina.
His mouth sought her nipples, caught them, and rolled them firmly from side to side. He changed from one to the other, purposely making loud slurping noises that rose above the sham pops of the gas-fed fire.
Her face twisted into masks of exotic agonies. He watched them change from pleasure to pain, back to blissful relief. His cock was stuffed to the hilt. The inside of her twat sizzled as he made warm squishy strokes through the spasming tunnel. He thought not of a woman named Gwen or a stack of unfinished papers scattered on his desk five miles away. He was immersed, suspended in the sticky womb of her eroticism. His mind seemed to take on the length and girth of a penis ready to blast out its mystical seed of life.
Sliding his hands down her voluptuous backside, he cradled the cheeks of her ass in his palms. She rose with his urging, pushing her pelvic bone hard against his. He felt the smash, the concussion of her primal strength matching, but not conquering, his own.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
He swiped at her mouth with his tongue, tasting the fresh fruit-flavor of her lipstick. Her neck was arched so that the veins stood out like cords of taut hemp down to her clavicle. He could see the angular lines of her face coming sharply into view as she tensed, her ankles thudding wildly against his spine.
"Come," she hissed, her fingers sinking into the tight brown hole of his ass. He shoved back against the probing digit, letting it burrow deeply into him.
"Come! Fill me with come! Put out the fire! COME!"
The fire popped. A red glow blanketed their naked bodies as Doug lurched into her, feeling the head of his pole whacking insanely against the rear of her vagina.
His semen jerked out. It splattered against her blood-red womb, trickling down the walls like sweat from a damp cave. She jerked. Her hips took on a vibrating motion as she shuddered the climax out of her system. Their mouths were greased together with saliva. They probed and sucked at each other until the last drops of satisfaction oozed from their organs. Then, bodies heaving, mouths and organs relaxing, they slipped apart.
Val lit a cigarette, took a long draw on it, and placed it between Doug's lips. She sat beside his prone body, occasionally reaching out to stroke his tanned chest.
"I want to be honest with you, Doug." She took the cigarette, contemplating what she was going to say next. "I want you to know what I really want from you."
Doug, half-asleep, still reliving snatches of the orgiastic past, blinked groggily. "What are you talking about?"
"I want you to listen to what I'm going to tell you. And I want you to keep an open mind about it."
"All right."
His interest was only half stimulated. He took the cigarette, smoking it slowly as he watched the fire rising and falling around the asbestos log.
"Your wife is with my husband tonight."
Doug didn't move. He let the words sink in without changing his outward expression. He turned, now fully aware and conscious of the conversation's meaning.
"Go on."
Val's eyes were as steady as her voice. She spoke without caution, not attemping to guard her words or to make them sound rehearsed.
"Gwen and Harry are having an affair. Nothing big. This is the second time." She paused, trying to read anger in his face, but unable to. She stood, moving around the small indention forming the sunken nook. Doug followed her with his eyes.
"I want to be honest with you from the beginning. I like you, Doug. I don't want to hurt you. You must believe that. Harry and I are swingers. I suppose you've known that from the beginning. Sex to us is a game. We try to keep it harmless. It's a sporting game, one we play with flexible rules. We have a membership. Not a large one-a very small and selective one. It comprises the most discreet persons you can imagine. And all of them have a penchant for golf. Harry suggested that you and Gwen be assimilated-" she turned toward him, wondering if that word had been poorly chosen, saw that it hadn't been, and continued. "So we became close, as the saying goes. Gwen wanted Harry, not like we wanted each other. Harry is an honest judge of emotions. He didn't take advantage of her. Believe that. It could have been someone else. Frankly, you haven't been fair with your wife. She's much too young and much too attractive to be shut up without a man around. Especially you. But I think you're aware of your domestic problems. That's not one of our intentions being watchdogs over family unity. We offer sexual freedom. A sort of mutual release that buffers the natural boredom of married sexual life. We don't overdo it. We don't have orgies for orgy's sake. We have meetings and games, all thoroughly planned and executed to keep what we have on an intellectual level."
She sank to her knees next to Doug, her hands on her thighs. "Doug, we want you and Gwen to come to our next meeting. This Friday and Saturday. Sunday is optional. There will be no more than ten couples counting yourselves. There's no tricky gimmicks. No blackmail. No skeletons in the closet. If you don't want to come, then nothing will be said. No questions are asked if you want to drop out at any time. No pressure to stay. I can only try to make you believe I'm being honest and frank."
She leaned back against the steps, exhaling as though she had just stepped from a confessional. Doug's expressionless face suddenly broke into a grin. He rolled onto his back laughing. When he finished, tears in his eyes, he spoke.
"All this was a setup, of sorts. You, Harry, Gwen, me. We were all running around screwing each other and feeling guilty. Well, not you and Harry. I suppose you're used to this kind of gambit." There was something cruel in his voice. Val flinched.
"Doug, it wasn't meant that way. We wouldn't have even tried if you were a stable unit. You're not. It's written all over Gwen's face. You should see her stare sometimes at the boys who help the greens-keeper. Look, I don't like throwing darts, but Gwen is headed for trouble unless you do something fast. I don't think you're going to change your life's work even if it means losing her. But, if you want to use us as a babysitter while you're getting up the ladder, then that's what we're offering. Gwen here, any time she wants. Enjoying a different kind of companionship. We're not a group of perverts, so you can get that out of your mind right now." Her voice rang with irritation. "And don't look at me so righteously. All right, I did come, and I did seduce you. But you weren't very hard to convince that my thighs were inviting. Now, I'm not going to say anything more."
Doug's face hardened. He turned to the fire. He saw Gwen's face flickering into view. He saw her with Harry. He saw them screwing, and it didn't really bother him. He felt only twinges of hostility, but not any burning anger or jealousy. Finally, he turned back to Val who was working the tunic over her shapely naked form.
"Don't do that," he said, a smile creaking onto his face. "If I'm going to be a member, then I want to get my money's worth.
Smiling, he grabbed the arm of the tunic and pulled her willing body down next to him.