Chapter 3
"That stinkin' shit!" said Jackie. "She promised it to me n'then she went back on her lousy word. I oughta fix her good. I really oughta fix her!"
"I think so, too. But you need her, don't you?"
"I don't need anybody!" Jackie exclaimed thickly. She was very drunk. "I can pick up somebody jus' as good as her any time I want. Don't think I can't."
"I'm sure you can, baby."
The dark-haired girl was gently stroking Jackie's tits. Dolores La Monica was just a friend-a girl who got for free what Ginger and a couple of others paid for. But Dolores gave as well as received, on the physical level. And she gave in another way, also-she listened to Jackie and treated her as a person rather than an appliance.
"I know how t'really fix her," Jackie was saying. A little grin came onto her face. "I can fry that broad's bacon good!"
"How are you gonna do that?" Dorlores asked, as she let her hand slide down Jackie's front. She stroked her satin belly and furry snatch.
"I know where her husband works," Jackie said slyly. "I could call him. I wouldn't even hafta tell him who I am."
"Would he believe what you say?"
"I could make him believe me. Ginger has a little mole-a little, little mole beside her pussy, right in the edge of the hair."
"Oh-oh."
"Yeaaah!"
Jackie laughed.
"You're liable to break up her marriage," Dolores warned.
"Don't y'think I know that?" Jackie snapped. "Don't y'think tha's what I wanta do?"
Dolores shrugged and gestured toward the telephone which stood on an end table next to the sofa-bed. Jackie looked at it. Dolores gently stroked the large lips of Jackie's pussy up and down, but Jackie didn't appear to even feel this now. She was very serious as she gazed at the phone.
She glanced at Dolores. "I'm really gonna do it."
"Go ahead."
Jackie reached for the phone.
Mark was stroking the ass of his secretary as she stood beside his chair. They both were supposed to be reading a letter which lay on his desk, but she was thinking about his hand and he was concentrating on the pert roundness of her buttocks as he stroked them through her skirt and panty hose.
After a while, he could no longer tolerate the skirt, and he dropped his hand to get underneath its hem. He slid his hand up the backs of her legs, onto her nylon-sheathed bottom.
Aaah, that was very nice! He rubbed the girl's pliant ass through the sleek, clinging panty. His rod came up hard in his shorts.
Shirley Wagner wriggled sensuously, and her rounded buttocks moved against his hand.
"What do you say we hit the couch?" he suggested.
She gazed down at him, her lips pouted and gleaming. Her hair was soft and brown, her figure nicely curved.
"You take me too much for granted," she said gently. "Just because I did it a couple of times, you think that all you have to do is crook your finger and I'll fall right onto my back."
He slid his hand to her waist, underneath her dress, and lifted the top of her panty hose. He got inside the all-in-one garment and slipped his hand down onto her ass. He fondled the responsive globes directly.
"Ooh, Mark .'..!"
"Mmmm."
"When you do that, I can't think straight."
"But I can get straight. In fact, I'm straight right now. Wanta check?"
She bent slightly to reach into his lap, and this gave him access to her pussy from the rear. He stroked the soft, bearded bun as she felt his stiff tool in his pants and shorts.
"Oh, God ... well hafta get onto the couch!" she said.
Just then, the phone rang.
"Shit!" said Mark.
He snatched the phone up, while keeping his hand on Shirley's snatch.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Hatcher?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"You don't know me. My name's Jackie."
He thought her voice sounded peculiar, as if she were drunk or something. And he wondered why she was calling him.
He asked, "What can I do for you?" (Shirley was grinding gently against his caressing fingers. His stiff pecker throbbed.)
"It's what I can do for you," Jackie said. "I can give you some important information." She giggled.
"Just who arc. you?" He was becoming very irritated. "What do you want?"
"I'm a friend 'a your wife."
"Oh?"
"A very good friend."
"I don't believe I've ever heard her speak of you," he said carefully. "Let's see, your name is Jackie ... uh...?"
"Jus' Jackie. And I'm sure she wouldn't have talked about me. Not t'you, anyway." She laughed again, slyly and drunkenly.
"What are you getting at?"
"Your wife's a Lesbian, Mr. Hatcher! I bet y'didn't know that, huh?"
"You're lying! You're trying to put me on for some reason. Now what is this?" (He had slipped his hand away from Shirley, and she looked down at him curiously.)
"I'm not lying. Your wife's a Lesbian, and I'm her queer playmate." She laughed again. "N'fact, she's been helping to support me."
"You want money, is that it? This is some stinking blackmail fraud."
"It's no fraud, Mr. Hatcher. 'N I don't want any've your money. I just want you know the truth. Your wife's a friggin' Lesbian."
He was beginning to think it might be true. But he didn't want to believe it.
"I can prove I'm tellin' the truth," Jackie went on. "She's got a little mole right next to her cunt. Right?"
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Tell me your full name."
"Unh-uh," she refused. "I hafta hang up now. Have a happy evening with Ginger." She laughed, and the phone clicked dead.
He hung up his receiver slowly, then glanced at Shirley. She was watching him closely.
"What was that all about?" she asked. "Nothing. You'd better go back to your desk."
"You don't want to...?"
"No. I don't want to. Get the rest of those letters out."
"Yes, sir," she snapped, and wiggled her ass to the door.
Jackie was still laughing when she snuggled down next to Dolores. The two girls lay nude, face to face, and kissed. Their tongues dallied sensually.
Jackie grasped Dolores' ass and pulled, forcing their mounds tightly together. They kissed more heatedly as they ground their cunts into each other.
Now that Jackie had fulfilled her threat and finked to Ginger's husband, a dull sense of fear had begun to creep into her alcoholic euphoria. She needed reassurance, and what better way was there to reassure herself than to engage in a frenzied, explosive bout of sex with a compatible partner?
Dolores responded to Jackie's lust. The two young women rolled and tossed together, moaning and clutching at each other's titties, hips and thighs. Their tongues flickered openly at each other, then moved down each other's body as the girls gradually reversed positions.
They sucked each other's tits simultaneously. Their hands delved at their partner's pussy.
Soon Dolores' pussy was within range of Jackie's mouth and vice versa. They snuggled into a cozy 69. Eager lips and tongues opened moist, fragrant snatches. The tongues stroked in and out of the slick meat. The girls sucked each other. Their hands clutched their partner's buttocks.
They moaned and murmured amid the wealth of moist, warm pussy flesh. Thighs scissored against twisting, bobbing heads. Fingertips tickled tingling assholes.
Tension rapidly mounted in both young women until Jackie exploded with a rippling series of bumps and quivers. She tongued Dolores' clit more vigorously as she came, and this brought the other girl along. Dolores convulsed, bumping her wet Cunt against Jackie's face. Cunt honey streamed from both girls, into each other's mouth.
Jackie felt blissfully relieved for a few moments, then fear began once more to take possession of her. This time it grabbed hold with a vengeance.
God, what would Ginger do to her? She was going to have to get out of that pad right away.
Well, so what? The rent was going up. It was too expensive for her, anyway.
"Can I move in with you, kid?" she asked Dolores abruptly. "I mean, just until I find another place."
"Well, sure. I guess so."
"You're sweet," Jackie said, and kissed Dolores' cunt again.
Mark considered his situation carefully for the remainder of that afternoon. He had no doubt that the girl named Jackie had told him the truth. He'd never suspected Ginger of Lesbianism before, but the idea was consistent with a lot of little things about her attitude and responses. And of course the matter of the mole was the clincher. Jackie would have had to know Ginger very well to have known about that. It didn't show when his wife wore a bikini, and it wasn't the sort of thing she would have mentioned. Jackie's knowledge of it could only have been gained through close personal inspection of Ginger's nude body.
All right. So his wife was queer.
This was a shock, needless to say, and it hurt him. Beyond that, there was the question of what he should do about it.
What were his choices?
He could stay on with Ginger, pretending he didn't know, and look more and more to swapping and private outside affairs for his satisfaction. Well, the swapping was fine, and an occasional private fling was good, also, but a man needed something to come home to. He and Ginger were supposed to be building a life together. What did they have to build on now?
A second choice was to confront Ginger with the truth and give her an opportunity to rehabilitate herself. She could begin seeing a psychiatrist and perhaps get straightened out in that way. But what if psychiatry couldn't solve her problem? And how would he know for sure? She was a great actress. She might act up a storm and try to convince him she'd become a hundred-per-cent man's girl, and he wouldn't know whether to believe her or not. He would always be full of doubt about her, as a woman, and about his own prowess as a man.
No. Neither of those alternatives would work. Perhaps, if he and Ginger already had children, he would have to settle for one or the other. But, thank God, he was still free to exercise another option.
Leave her.
That was it.
Painful as the prospect was-because it meant uprooting his well-ordered existence-he would have to do it. It was like agreeing to the amputation of a limb afflicted by gangrene. The gangrene was a fact, and amputation was the only cure.
By the time Mark arrived at home, his mind was firmly made up, and the appearance of his wife in the living room, dressed to please and waiting for him with chilled martinis, didn't change it.
He greeted her civilly, sat down, took the preferred drink, and said, "Ginger, a piece of information came to me today."
"Oh? What was that?"
In the kitchen, their housekeeper was putting the finishing touches on dinner.
"A young woman telephoned me," Mark said. "She called herself Jackie."
He watched his wife. The change in her eyes was unmistakable, and it confirmed his conclusion about Jackie's story, if further confirmation were needed.
But Ginger said, "Jackie who?"
"I don't know. She didn't give me her last name. But then, you know it ... don't you?"
There was a lengthy pause, after which Ginger smiled bravely and said, "No. Should I?"
"Definitely you should. She told me all about you two, and to prove she was speaking the truth, she mentioned your little mole."
Ginger's lips parted, and she gazed at her husband, not knowing what to say.
He went on, "Naturally, there's no point in attempting to continue our farce of a marriage under these conditions."
She leaped to her feet and shrilled, "Mark! How can you say that?"
"Shhh. Bessie will hear."
"Screw Bessie! What do I care about her? Mark, listen...."
She sat down beside him again, and bent forward pleadingly. "It was just a lark. A silly thing. I met that stupid girl in a store where I was shopping. We went to a bar and had a couple of drinks. She propositioned me. I should never have fallen for it, but I did-just to find out what that kind of sex was like. Well, let me tell you, it was lousy. And, of course, she demanded money. I refused her. She threatened to get even, and I suppose calling you was her way to do it."
"How did she know where I work?" he asked calmly.
"Well, she ... made some inquiries, I suppose. She got my married name from my driver's license or something. I saw her looking in my purse. Yes! That was it. That was probably where she got your office number, too. It's in my little address book. All she had to do was look up 'Mark'."
"You're lying. You don't have my office number in your book. You know it by heart. You always have."
She didn't say anything. If she were to insist on the truth of the story she'd told, he would simply demand that she produce the address book ... and, true enough, it did not contain Mark's office number.
Shit! Why had she grasped at a flimsy explanation like that? He was too frigging smart for her.
Oh, God! What was she going to do?
"Mark, it was no worse than our swapping. I was just trying something new, that's all. But I didn't enjoy it. I swear I didn't. That was why Jackie called you-because I had broken the affair off."
"Maybe. But it could have been that you just grew tired of her. How many other women have you screwed around with, Ginger? And how long has it been going on? Have you and Candy Patterson been sexing it up while Paul and I were at work?"
"No! I swear I've never touched Candy. I've never given her any inkling that I wanted to."
"But you did want to, didn't you?"
"No. I told you, Mark, this was just an experiment ... and I'm sorry I ever tried it. It was lousy. I'll never do it again-."
"Jackie said you've been giving her money on a regular basis. Show me the canceled checks for her personal account, will you?"
"I will not! You have to trust me. What good is a marriage without trust?"
He tilted back his head and laughed.
Ginger, normally the cool one, reached her flashpoint. Too much had happened today, and now her whole world was coming apart.
She leaped to her feet. "Goddamn you, how can you be so self-righteous? You screw your neighbor's wife, and you've had other women since we've been married. Don't try to tell me you haven't."
"All right. Women. And I'm a man. I've never screwed around with a fairy."
"You never, never have? Even just to see what it was like?"
"I never, never have," he insisted. "I don't want to know what it's like. I have no interest in the subject. I'm normal."
"You hypocritical mate-swapper!"
"You Lesbian queer," he retorted, and got up to head for the bedroom. He intended to pack some clothes.
Ginger seized an ash tray and threw it at him. It crashed into the wall, missing his head by mere inches.
He whirled and rushed her, grasping her by an arm and around the waist. He tossed her onto the sofa, face-down, and held her in that position as he pulled up her cocktail gown with his other hand.
She wore dusky hose, black garters, and fancy, lace-trimmed pants. They were made of sheer, black nylon and clung to her butt like a lover's caress.
She had made quite a racket as he wrestled her onto the couch and held her there. This, plus the sound of the crashing porcelain, caused Bessie, the colored maid, to rush in from the kitchen. She arrived just in time to see Mark pull his wife's pants down and deliver a stinging blow with the flat of his hand to her bare, white ass.
"Mister Hatcher!" Bessie yelled. "Glory me!"
She gaped for another few moments as Mark rained a succession of blows onto Ginger's writhing, quivering buttocks, then turned and fled back to the kitchen. This was something she shouldn't mix up in, obviously.
White folks really could carry on sometimes!