Chapter 10
When she left the Compton's place to return home, Ginger had new confidence in herself. She saw everything in a different light.
She'd enjoyed Jean, but she had enjoyed Joe even more.
That was an epic discovery. It gave her new hope for winning Mark back and for living a more normal life. If she could respond to Joe as strongly as she had, she could do as well with Mark. The log jam in her mind had been broken, and that was all it took.
But the problem still remained of how to get through to Mark.
This was a thorny question. She couldn't just phone him-not after the way she'd talked to him yesterday, when he left the house. Anyway, if she were to swallow her pride and make the call, that would simply give him an opening to strike back. He certainly wouldn't respond in the way she wanted.
Still, she had to reach him. How?
It was axiomatic that when a person sought to persuade someone else, he first considered the other person's viewpoint and asked, what is that person looking for?
Mark was now living as a bachelor, and bachelors were constantly on the prowl for nookey, since they had none at home. But how did that help Ginger? She couldn't offer her tail to him directly. And if she got some other woman to approach him, how could that woman lure him home to her?
It seemed like an impossible proposition.
But she kept mulling over it. It was almost as if the solution were lurking in her subconscious, waiting to be plucked out if she could only grasp it.
Fate lent a hand. The following morning, Jean dropped in for a visit. She was on vacation from her job for the next two weeks. She had planned this, so she could devote her time to getting settled in her new home.
As soon as Ginger saw her, something clicked, and the swinging redhead knew she had the answer to her problem.
"Come in, honey," she said cheerfully to Jean.
The colored woman strolled into the kitchen. She was wearing shorts and blouse again, and she looked very cute.
"Oh, I like the way you have your place fixed up!" she said to Ginger.
"Thanks. Care to see the rest of the house?"
"Mmm-hmm. I'd enjoy it."
Ginger started the tour, chattering about the furnishings and other decorative touches. But in the back of her brain, she was trying to decide how to broach her scheme to Jean.
Before she had shown the other woman the entire house, she decided that the only thing to do was to come right out with it. First, she would have to admit that she and Mark had split up.
When she and Jean were seated in the living room, having coffee, she steeled herself and launched into the subject boldly.
"Jean, I feel I know you well enough to speak frankly."
"Well, I hope so!" Jean gave her a smile which acknowledged secrets already shared.
"I'm going to be bold enough to ask a favor of you."
"Go ahead, Ginger."
"I told you that my husband had gone away for a few days. Well, the truth is that we had a terrible quarrel and he moved out."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Her sympathy seemed genuine. "Wait until I tell you what we fought about-he found out I was having an affair with a girl."
"Oh-oh."
"But I want him back, Jean. And I have new confidence now. I really made it with Joe yesterday. I could be a good wife to Mark, if he'd just give me another chance."
"How can I help?"
"You and Joe obviously are swingers. You must have some swinging friends, don't you? ' "Do we!" Jean chuckled. "Both black and white?"
"Mmm-hm."
"If I were to tell you where my husband works in town, and give you the name of the restaurant where he has his lunch ... do you suppose you could get acquainted with him and invite him to a party at a friend's place? I'll pay for everything. I'll be there, too. When he sees me make it with Joe or one of the other men, hell know I'm on the right track. I hope hell decide then to come home."
Jean appeared pensive. "I don't know, Ginger."
"What's the matter? You don't like the idea of making a play for him?"
"Partly that. It seems kind of underhanded. Also, I'd have to get some other people involved in it. And we don't really know if it would work. Maybe your husband isn't as ... well, tolerant as you are."
"He is! There's no racial prejudice in him. In fact, I think he'd be flattered and excited if a beautiful black girl like you were to give him the eye."
"Mmm."
"What do you say, Jean? Try it. Please."
Jean found it difficult to refuse her new friend. Also, the challenge of the situation stimulated her. But she was filled with doubt about the probable success of the project.
"What makes you think your husband will be convinced so easily? When he sees you at the party, I mean. Maybe he'll think you're just putting on an act. And anyway, how's he gonna like the idea of you screwing around with other men? That isn't gonna help get him back is it?"
"We've been swapping with another couple in the neighborhood for some time."
"Yeah? Well, hot damn!" Jean laughed. "Looks like you suburbanites aren't as square as I thought."
"We're anything but square," Ginger said. "Didn't I prove that yesterday?"
"You kinda did. Yeah."
"Mark's the same. That's why I'm sure you won't have any trouble with him. Convincing him that I dig men may be difficult, as you said, but I believe hell be able to tell when he sees me at the party. At least, that seems to be my only hope."
"Okay, Ginger. I'll try it. But don't blame me if the whole thing bombs."
"I'll be very grateful to you for trying, regardless of how it turns out." She took Jean's hand in hers.
The timing of the plot was flawless. Mark had had a bad experience with Candy the day before, and he'd spent a restless night. That morning he'd tried to make some time with Shirley, but she gave him the cold shoulder. She evidently was pissed off because he'd acted indifferent toward her lately.
When he went out to lunch, he felt forlorn and lonely.
Then he saw Jean. She had entered the restaurant shortly after he did and was seated at a table nearby. She kept watching him. When their eyes met, she smiled.
She was one of the prettiest black girls he'd ever seen. But she was more than pretty. There was a truly exotic quality about her.
He got up and walked over to her table.
"This is such a lonely world," he said with a smile. "Why shouldn't two people who are alone defy convention and just get together?"
"I see no reason at all." She smiled at him sweetly. "Won't you sit down?"
He was even handsomer than his photos, Jean decided. She understood why Ginger wanted him back, leaving questions of material security strictly aside.
They began to chat and, surprisingly, they found that they shared common interests. Lunchtime sped past. Soon they were leaving the restaurant together.
Jean had already decided she would go to a motel with him, if he were to ask. This wasn't part of her deal with Ginger, true, but she didn't see how it would hurt Ginger in any way. At the proposed party, Mark would be screwing other females. And as things were now, Ginger had no hold on him.
Mark's pecker was itching in his clothes. It wanted to get into this cute black babe so badly that it was threatening to stand up right now. But they had just met. Did he dare suggest they end this brief date with a roil in the hay?
Shit. What did he stand to lose in trying? And look what he might gain!
"You know," he said, as they walked along the sidewalk toward the lot where his car was parked, "I don't have to go back to the office today if I don't want to. I can call my secretary and say I'm out on business."
"Mmm." Jean smiled. "Sounds like you have a pretty good setup."
"It's good, as jobs go. But what's a job? What's work? Pleasure is what counts in this world, don't you think? And what greater pleasure than for two people, a man and a woman, to spend an afternoon together-where they can be alone and relax, with nobody else around?"
Jean lowered her lashes suggestively. "Did you have any special place in mind?"
"Of course. My apartment."
Well! Jean thought. Apparently he isn't prejudiced, after all. He's willing to walk me right into his apartment house, which is probably lily white.
"Will you go?" Mark asked urgently, taking hold of her arm.
"It'll be a pleasure," Jean said. His pecker twitched.
They hurried to his car.
"You're so beautiful!" he exclaimed passionately, as he lifted his face from her chocolate-colored breasts. He chuckled a little as he added, "And besides that, you taste very good."
She laughed softly. "You prick seems to think so. Look at how stiff he is."
"My prick knows what's good for him. Don't you, boy?" he asked it.
He made the pecker nod in response.
Jean laughed again, and suddenly she bowed her head to his belly. He lay back, shut his eyes, and knotted his fists.
The Negro girl's moist, caressing tongue set his flesh on fire and made his nerves jump. She scraped his skin with her teeth, and this inflamed him further. His cock had swollen so that it almost pained him. But that was an exquisite hurt.
Jean reached down to his thighs and stroked upward along one of their inner slopes. He stirred voluptuously, parting his legs wider. He dared to hope she would continue the caress right to his balls and cock.
She did.
Her hand gently surrounded his hairy testicles, which were drawn up tightly at the base of his upthrust prick. She rubbed those balls and worked her hand deeper into his crotch, until the long nail of her middle finger tickled his tingling asshole.
"Oh, baby...!" he groaned.
"Like that?" she purred.
"Love it!"
"Want me to do more?"
"Yesss!"
She worked her entire finger into his ass-crack. He pushed his feet against the bed, elevating his rump to make it more accessible to her. She rubbed her finger back and forth across his anus.
As she did this, she bent and caught his cockhead in her mouth. Magnificent thrills rocketed through him as she sucked and laved his pecker with her tongue. She kept caressing his asshole all the time, rubbing her finger up and down across it and finally centering on the very sensitive spot and moving her finger in rotation against it.
He was afraid he was going to come. He summoned every bit of resolution he could muster and yelled harshly for her to stop.
She obeyed immediately.
He grasped her and threw her onto her back with such force that her titties lurched crazily. She squealed with delight. He grasped her brown, smooth legs and yanked them wide apart.
He gazed at her fuzz-covered pussy, which was dark red in its center and dribbling with liquid love.
He worked his hands underneath her, between her bottom and the bed, and clutched her springy, satin-skinned buttocks. He lifted her rump.
Now he dived.
Jean gasped, then mewed delightedly as his mouth achieved hot, moist contact with her pussy. His tongue immediately sank into her lathered slit. He began to lap her honey with lustful abandon.
It was now her turn to quietly go mad. Oh, this guy was something else! No wonder Ginger didn't want to lose him.
Jean wrapped her dark legs around his twisting, tousled head. She wiggled her cunt gently against his moist, penetrating kisses.
He finished by licking her clitty thoroughly and making it tingle so that she finally squealed, "Come on and screw me! Hurry! I'm about to pop!"
He clambered forward, on top of her, and his cock slickly entered her open hole, sinking to its full depth. Her cunt muscles started working on him right away, contracting and releasing rhythmically as he stroked. It was great action!
He grunted happily and gripped one of her tits.
He screwed her harder and, as he approached his climax, he let out a harsh victory cry. She moaned and came with his first twitching spurt. She kept coming. He kept ejaculating. They heaved and groaned together.
It was blissful.
After they had disengaged and recovered a certain degree of equanimity, Jean said, "A friend of mine is giving a party-a real swinging bash. Both black and white are gonna be there. Do you wanta come?"
"If you're going to be there, I do," he said. He reached over and stroked her tits.
She chuckled and patted his soft cock. "You're sweet. I'd better tell you right now, though, that I'm married."
He sat up and looked down at her. "Where's your ring?"
"I slipped it off in the restaurant," she lied. "I was afraid you wouldn't approach me if you saw I had a ring on." (Actually she'd carried it in her purse ever since leaving home.)
"You foxy little cunt," he murmured. He bent down and kissed her.
"The only reason I mentioned I was married," she said, when they were lying side-by-side again, "is because I don't want you to get any serious ideas about me. I love my husband and I want to stay with him."
"Is he black?"
"Is he!" She laughed gently again.
"What would he think if he knew you were with a white man today?"
"The same as if he knew I were with a black man. He'd say, 'More power to you, baby!' We're like that-completely free and open with each other."
"My wife and I used to be that way, too."
"Oh! So you're married, also."
"Yes. But Ginger and I are separated. We're going to get a divorce."
"I see."
"I discovered she was a Lesbian." Jean laughed.
He pushed himself up on an elbow and gazed at her. "What's so goddamned funny?"
"The way you said that, you might just as well have said, T discovered she was a leper.' "
"Well, it's pretty much the same thing, from a man's standpoint."
"Bullshit."
"What?"
"Bullshit," Jean repeated. "You show me a woman who can't have a little fun with another woman, once in a while, and I'll show you somebody who doesn't have much sensuality in her."
He gaped at Jean in amazement.
"Mark, listen ... women are feeling creatures. Or, at least, they ought to be. They respond more to the sense of touch than men do. Men are stimulated by ideas, images. Women have to be stroked. And if a woman is responsive, when she's stroked she catches fire. Strangely enough, it doesn't matter a great deal who does the stroking or what sex the other person has."
"How come you know all this?"
She smiled. "I'm a woman, in case you didn't notice."
"Come on, now," he said. "You must've studied the subject."
"Well, I took psychology in college. But probably you did, too."
"Sure. I don't remember anything like that, though."
"Maybe you just weren't paying attention," she suggested. "Also, maybe you're prejudiced. About sexual things, I mean," she was quick to add. "I don't have any sexual hangups. I swing with girls when I feel like it, just like I swing with men."
He recoiled a little. "You're kidding."
"No. Absolutely not. And don't pull away from me like that. Lesbianism, so-called, and leprosy really aren't one and the same, at all. And as for Lesbianism-there's a big, big difference between women who dabble on both sides of the fence and those horrible, masculine bull-dykes you probably are thinking about."
"What's the difference? Tell me."
"All right. The bull-dyke has given up on men completely. Probably she wasn't much of a woman in the first place and found she couldn't attract them. That pushed her way over to the other side. But a genuinely feminine woman can respond to both sexes if she's open-minded enough ... and doesn't develop a hangup."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Well, sometimes when a woman first discovers that she can respond to another broad, she loses her sense of perspective and thinks she's not normal or something. That tends to push her toward women and tends also, if she isn't careful, to turn her off when she's with a man."
"You mean-it's all in her mind? It's something she brings on herself?"
"Of course. Aren't most of our troubles that way?"
He lay down and thought about it. "You could be right," he said finally. "But a man doesn't like to think about his wife playing around with ... girls."
"That's his problem, if he feels that way. He shouldn't care. My husband doesn't."
He sat up again and gazed at her. She was continually surprising him.
"You mean, your husband knows about you screwing other women?" he asked.
"Yes, silly," she smiled. "And I don't screw them. We just pet and kiss and come that way. Screwing is something that only a man can do. And screwing is something every real woman needs."
"The question, I guess," Mark said, more to himself than to Jean, "is whether my wife is a real woman."
Jean decided to change the whole play she and Ginger had mapped out. The original scheme wasn't right any longer. She and Mark had gotten too close, had become too frank and confidential with each other. Also, what she'd told him had sunk in, she believed. Now, if he were to come to the party and find she'd engineered the whole thing merely to get Ginger and him back together, he was apt to be bitter and to discount everything she'd told him so far.
No. That wouldn't work.
"Mark, I'm going to level with you."
"What, I'm going to level with you."
"What do you mean?" Suddenly he broke into a grin. "Have you been putting me on with all this Lesbian talk?"
"No. Everything I said about that is true. The put-on came in the way we met ... and in the party invitation I gave you a little while ago."
"I don't understand," he said.
"Of course you don't. I'll explain. And as I do, remember that I'm saying this of my own accord, because I think you ought to know right now. And hear me out before you draw any conclusions. Okay?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
"I know Ginger."
She watched his eyes change.
"Now, Mark, listen to the rest-she really misses you. She's totally lost. She doesn't know what to do without you. Frankly, darling, she's hurting for your prick, if you want to know the honest-to-Jesus truth."
He squinted. "How come you know her?"
"My husband and I just moved into your neighborhood. We bought the Munsons' house."
"Oh."
"Ginger came over, like a good neighbor, and we got acquainted." (One thing Jean wouldn't tell him was what the "getting acquainted" had involved, in physical terms.) "She couldn't keep from crying on my shoulder about the fact that you'd moved out. We cooked up a scheme between us for me to make a play for you and to invite you to a party at my friend's house. Ginger was going to be there. It was to be a swap party, and she was going to be making it with some man when you saw her-to prove to you that she likes men better than girls. Okay. So it was a silly idea. But we couldn't think of any other way to try and convince you."
"You mean, Ginger told you I walked. Just because she's a Lez?"
"Because you thought she was a Lez," Jean corrected. "Actually, she's no more Lez than I am ... or any other woman who's truly hot."
A derisive smile came over his face. "So this whole thing was just a play to get me back. Goddamn!" He started to climb off the bed.
Jean reached and grasped his arm.
"Mark! Please! I could have gone through with the party and never told you anything. I leveled with you here and now because I want you to believe what I said a little while ago. That was the truth-about most women being AC-DC, in a physical sense. If Ginger had any psychological hangups along with it, she's over that by now. She can be all yours when you take her to bed, as much as I was a little while ago. And believe me, mister, I came! Do you doubt that?"
"No." He couldn't doubt it. Jean's climax had been too intense.
"Ginger will come with you, the same way. Give her another chance, okay?"
He stared at the beautiful black woman. Then suddenly he laughed.
He said, "This has gotta be the craziest pitch that one person ever made to another. I don't know what to believe now, I swear!"
"Believe Ginger loves you. I can personally vouch for it. And believe that she's straightened herself out. Your leaving accomplished that. It shocked her into facing the truth about herself. She's a man's girl down inside. There's not the slightest question in the world."
Jean went on, "You don't have anyone else yet-judging by what you said in the restaurant about loneliness. All right. So go back to her on a trial basis. And broaden your own outlook about sex. All Ginger needs is a little of your understanding ... and a lot of your prick!"
Jean grasped it.
It throbbed in her hand, stiffening up.
Mark was too confused at the moment to know what he wanted to do about his future. He'd thought he was falling for Jean, but she had discouraged that. Now he felt that perhaps he had been a little unfair in his condemnation of Ginger. Perhaps she did deserve another chance.
But at the moment, his cock was hard with Jean's hand around it. If he couldn't decide about the future, he sure as hell knew what he wanted to do in the present.
He wanted to take another piece from this exotic, hot creature who was with him. It might be his last chance, he speculated.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately on the lips. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, and his tongue stroked it.
She kept stroking his pecker gently. It was iron-hard now, and the head was big with desire. Her fingertips danced over it.
Oh, shit, he had to screw her!
He rolled on top of her, and her thighs opened wide in welcome. His cock slid smoothly into her cunt, sinking all the way.
He began immediately to hump, and she moved with him in perfect counterpoint.
They screwed vigorously, their hips pumping and churning. The bed creaked. The innerspring mattress wheezed rapidly. The whole apartment seemed to shake as they approached their breathless climax.
When he came, his balls expelled his hot cream in blissful spurts. Jean caught it in her spasming depths. The spasms continued until he was fully drained.
They both sighed deeply, and he lay forward against her.
"Let me know I didn't do the wrong thing by leveling with you," she said, as she was getting dressed. "Tell me you'll call Ginger and say you want to come home for a while. Consider it a test if you want. I'm sure you'll be convinced. Just give her half a break in your mind. That's all she needs, and it's all I ask."
"All right," he said finally. "For you, I'll do it."
That furnished him a convenient "out". It saved his pride.
Jean didn't care. She just wanted Ginger and him to be reunited.
Her interest in that matter wasn't entirely unselfish. If Mark moved back in with his wife, it meant that they more than likely would be partying with the Comptons before too long. This would give Jean another chance to hit the sheets with him.
Mark didn't think about that right now.
His mind was full of Ginger. And, thanks to Jean, he was thinking about his wife in a little different way than before. His marriage, which he'd written off as hopeless, didn't seem quite so hopeless now.