Chapter 15
Weakness Of The Strong
The nightmarish aspects of my obsession (infatuation?) for Rebecca seemed to disappear after that weird experience. It was clear to me now that I had gradually built her into some sort of sex-goddess in my mind, and that my talking to her in the shower had been an hallucination my imagination had conjured up as a form of self-defense or escape. I had been exaggerating her desirability and my need for her to the point of near madness, and to escape that very madness I had imagined her as telling me to ease off and...." love her with my body ... but leave the other alone". It was clear to me now that-"that other"-referred to my addiction to her.
My sense of relief was exhilarating! I would still see her, we'd have sex, but now it would be simply "an act of lust". And that would be the extent of my involvement. Seven years ago I had been saved from an obsession (a fetish) by my husband; this time I had had the maturity to save myself. (One thing was obvious, though. Where "fetishes" were concerned, I was terribly susceptible; my sordid little interludes with
Rebecca's hair and shoes were evidence of that. I would have to watch myself carefully from now on.)
Charles and I went to bed early that night. I wanted more than anything to prove to him that I was still very much a responsive loving wife-and I'm sure I succeeded famously. It was after two in the morning when we finally gave up and turned out the lights-but before I did, I had the immense satisfaction of seeing Charles smile like a happy worn out little boy. I snuggled against him with a sigh, and soon drifted off in the dreamless sleep of assuaged guilt and satiation.
I knew Charles had forgiven me everything when I began to get up to make his breakfast the next morning. He insisted I stay in bed. He said he'd stop someplace and eat. I didn't argue with him. Our late, late romping had drained me and the prospect of a few more hours sleep was delicious. I drifted back almost immediately, and it was after eleven when the phone roused me with a start.
It was Janet.
"Come on over, Doris. Rebecca and I are entertaining a guest and we want you to join us."
"Oh," I said sleepily, "what sort of a guest? Man, woman or child?"
"Well ... I'd say he's a bit of the first and a bit of the last, Doris. A male ... but rather a child. You've seen him. The kid that does our lawn. He says he's eighteen ... but I'm sure he's closer to fifteen or sixteen. Really tender, Doris. He's having coffee with us ... and Rebecca's got him all hot and flustered. Hurry over."
"Okay, sounds like fun. I'll be there in a few minutes, Janet."
I took a quick hot shower, tapering the water off to cold. I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, put on black-lace panties and a matching brassiere, put on my highest heels, and then a very flimsy robe. (I had "dressed for action", so to speak, because I'd somehow sensed that this might be a turning-point in my relationship with Rebecca. It would be a test. I would know, once and for all, whether I had indeed saved myself from apotheosizing Rebecca.) I crossed my fingers as I went next door.
He was young; He did look tender! Janet introduced him to me and he stood up awkwardly and blushed, red to the ears. Jerry Bergen was his name, and he somehow looked like a Jerry. Tow-headed, freckle-faced, his face was an adorable composite of urchin and dreamy-eyed poet. He was tall, a little underweight (but not too thin), and his hands were as long-fingered and supple as a musician's. His voice surprised me. It was full and rich and quite mature; it suggested a precocious virility. He was a pretty kid.
"We've been teasing Jerry a little, Doris," Janet told me as I sat down with them.
"Oh, what about?" I asked, glancing covertly at Rebecca. She was looking at the boy with faint amusement, but I thought I detected a hint of anxiety there too (around her mouth).
"About his love life. He insists he's never had a girl friend. Rebecca and I think he's kidding us. We've told him he's too good looking not to've had at least a dozen girls chasing him."
I looked at him and nodded. "I think they're right, Jerry. If I were your age I'd be chasing you." (And I meant it.)
He looked down at his hands and turned a deeper crimson. "Naw, girls'er nothing but trouble," he intoned. I
Rebecca's ironic chuckle had an impatient note in it; I sensed she was going to do something or say something right then that would either shatter the boy's defenses or strengthen them. Nor was I wrong.
"What d'you do for sex, Jerry? D'you play with yourself?" Her tone wasn't nearly as harsh as her words, and her expression denoted sober interest. I held my breath for his reaction.
He looked at her, blinked a few times, managed a sick smile, and murmured, "Sure, all the guys do, I guess. It's the safest."
"You're right, it is," Rebecca added, very matter-of-factly. "And it's perfectly normal too. I enjoy it myself. It's such a personal outlet. And so individual. It's becoming a lost art, though ... what with everyone's permissiveness with sex. A shame, really." The kid nodded, shrugged, and began fidgeting with his fingers. I was amazed at the way Rebecca'd broken the ice-so suddenly, so brutally, and then she'd followed through and made the break seem perfectly harmonious and even desirable. She was a wizard. I was curious to see what her next move would be. And I didn't have long to wait.
"You look as if you have strong hands, Jerry. Are they?"
"Yeah, I guess so," he held them up, looked at them and nodded. "I play a lot of basketball, and you have to grip the ball pretty hard sometimes. Makes 'em strong."
"Mm-m, I'll bet," Rebecca's tone and expression were ridiculously solemn. Then, looking at Janet, she added: "You know, Janet, I'll bet Jerry could rub out that Charlie-horse I've had all week.
"D'you think maybe you could, Jerry?" Janet furrowed her brow in a look of intense concern.
"Well ... maybe," he nodded slowly and then took a quick gulp of coffee. "I'll try, if you want," he added, putting his cup down and looking at Rebecca.
"Would you please, Jerry? I'll really appreciate it. The darn thing is a nuisance. I'm usually so active and all."
"Sure," he rose, "Where does it hurt?"
"Well, it's ... rather high on my thigh. We'd better go into the ... ah ... bedroom. I'll have to lay down so that you can ... get at it better," she rose with a small smile.
Rebecca led him to a front bedroom; she put on a limp as she walked and Janet and I, following them, were red-faced with the strain of holding back our laughter. Once there, Rebecca turned to Jerry and, smiling wanly, said, "It'll be easier if I take off my skirt. That is ... if you don't mind, Jerry," her eyes were wide and innocent.
The boy shrugged. He was trying to appear indifferent, but there were certain rising signs that the prospect of rubbing a beautiful girl's thigh was beginning to stimulate him. Janet saw the signs, too, and nudged me excitedly. I nodded back at her and winked.
I was relieved to see, as Rebecca stepped out of her skirt, that she had panties on. (It's more than possible that the boy would've bolted if she hadn't had.) With a sigh and a groan she reclined on the edge of the bed-on her back.
"It's here, Jerry. Right at the top of my leg ... on the inside," she drew up her knees and parted her thighs accommodatingly. Then she encouraged him with a pained smile.
The boy swallowed a couple of times and nodded, and a look of pious appreciation transformed his urchin features while he stared down at Rebecca's fleshy thighs. I couldn't blame him. I had never seen her look more enticing. Her panties were pink and there was a delicate lace around the legs and waist. She'd thrown her arms back over her head and her hair looked midnight black against the pillow that Janet had propped beneath her. I envied the boy.
He bent over slightly and, with both hands, encircled Rebecca's thigh and squeezed.
"Ah! Yes, Jerry! That feels good!" Rebecca sighed and closed her eyes-but at the same time she undulated her hips in a sort of slow upward thrust, a movement that was about as subtle as an earthquake.
The kid began to tremble visibly. His mouth was open and he kept licking his lips and swallowing. And those certain signs were no longer rising ... they'd risen! With one hand gripping the succulent flesh at the inside top of her thigh and the other wrapped around the flare at the outside, he was kneading and squeezing like a loving potter molds his clay.
"Oh, that feels so good, Jerry! Your hands are strong. But could you rub. . just a little higher? There. Right there! Ah! That's marvelous, Jerry," and so saying she began to agitate her hips in an up and down wiggle that was so pronounced it made the bed-springs squeak.
Jerry was actually beginning to pant! (And so was I.) Beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead and his cheeks were so flushed they looked as if they had rouge on them.
Then Rebecca opened her eyes and said, "That's still not quite high enough, Jerry. Maybe if you ... slipped my panties off ....." she raised her hips obligingly and gave him a wistful half-smile.
He reached for them without the slightest hesitation and, catching hold of their waist-band, slipped them down; she lowered her bottom then and raised her legs and he pulled them completely off.
"Gosh! I ... I ... I ... mean you're sure nice'n ... nice'n white'n everything," he blinked rapidly and he was breathing so hard now that his mouth was nearly wide open. He looked foolish-but adorably so.
"But I'm not white everywhere, Jerry," Rebecca's lips formed a teasing pout.
He nodded, licked his lips and murmured, "You sure aren't. Shall I ... rub some more now?" he was fairly drooling.
"Please do, Jerry. But high. Right at the top. Yes. That's a boy. Now you're there! Oh, yes, yes! Ooops! Just my leg, Jerry, you naughty boy! Yes, there. Oh, yes! Oh, Jerry, yes ... go ahead then. I'll let you. Yes, like that. Oh, Jerry! Oh, that's lovely! Marvelous! What wonderful fingers! Oh, Jerry ... you naughty, naughty boy!"
Suddenly he stopped, straightened up, looked at me, looked at Janet. His eyes had the soft pleading look that one sees in the eyes of a cocker spaniel when faced with bewildering human authority. It was a tacit plea for help. It was a look of temptation bridled by fear of punishment or refusal ... or at least censure. And it was a look (last but not least) that invited both Janet and myself to become participants. And that, as you've no doubt guessed, was what we were eagerly waiting for.
"Go ahead, Jerry! She wants you to!" Janet suddenly cried, her voice brittle with desire. And she began to undress.
"Yes, and if you don't mind, Jerry, we'll sort of get with you. Three heads are better than one," I had my robe off before I'd finished talking.
Jerry gaped at us-from me (standing there waiting), to Janet (wriggling out of her panties), to Rebecca (undulating her fanny and leering like a wanton).
"Gosh! D'you mean...?" he swallowed and then rolled his eyes suggestively.
"Yes! Get with it, Jerry! Come down here to mama!" Rebecca's arms were outstretched toward him.
"Gosh! Okay!" he nodded, and began, rather ineffectively, to remove his clothes.
We helped him. Janet and I. And let me state briefly in passing that my feelings about the precocious tone of virility in his voice proved to be the most accurate pre-judgment I have ever made. He might've been only a boy in years ... but he was a man and a half where it counted to us right then! And Janet, who evidently placed higher value on such attributes than either Rebecca or myself, was ecstatic. She took him in hand immediately, fondling him with long drawn out ohs! and ahs! and other expressions of keen appreciation and delight.
Rebecca, though, had boiled his young blood, and so naturally she had him first. He crawled astride with the awkward eagerness of a toddler climbing aboard for his first merry-go-round ride. But once there he proved an adept equistrian; the muscles in his back-reassuringly enough-stood out boldly, giving him an indefatigable look that belied his slimness when dressed. ( A very pretty boy indeed!)
I wanted him. But truth to tell I wanted Rebecca more. Much more! I egged him on with nasty words of encouragement, the sooner to have at Rebecca myself. (I knew that Janet wouldn't stand in my way-she was wild to try the kid herself.) But I didn't have to egg him on long. In a matter of perhaps thirty seconds he was snorting and rearing-and those back muscles resembled the sharp curve of a bow just before it looses an arrow. He dismounted slowly, wearing one of those silly post-coital grins that one sees so often nowadays on TV during the laxative advertisements or some such. He was still timid as a toad, though, and I nodded at Janet to go ahead and help herself.
I dropped to the edge of the bed beside Rebecca, who had manifestly not had time to achieve the same relief as the overheated boy. I bent and kissed her on the mouth; she responded, but not as ardently as usual, and I sensed that something was wrong. I dropped to her breasts and was about to kiss them when she caught hold of my chin and sort of pushed me away. And rather roughly.
"We can't Doris," she said. "Look at them ... on the floor over there."
I looked. The kid was on his back and Janet was bent over him. The boy's eyes were rolling wildly; it was obvious that Janet was treating him in a fashion he'd never expected. Janet was moaning softly. She was getting what she'd wanted.
"What about them?" I said, looking back at Rebecca.
"They're enjoying an act of simple lust. A pagan pleasure. No emotional complications. I know now that it can't be that way with us, Doris. I thought differently yesterday ... when I talked to you ... from the shower. No, don't be frightened, Doris. There is much in this world that's beyond the understanding of all of us. I don't understand you. You're too much for me. Too possessive. Go home now and wait for your husband. He's good for you. You're weak, Doris ... but you have the selfish strength of weakness ... the weakness of too much strength. A riddle? Maybe. But there are greater ones. Perhaps in a day or two ... you'll know what I mean. Goodbye, Doris. And remember ... love your husband. He loves you."
I put on my robe to go home. I had to step over the woman and boy on the floor, and as I left the room I refused to look back at Rebecca. I had a terrible fear in the back of my of my head that if I did look back she'd chuckle ... and that would've driven me stark raving mad!