Chapter 2
Trial Arrangements
Once a week, sometimes oftener, Charles and I would join Janet and John for a quiet evening of bridge and a few martinis. And as luck would have it we got together the very next night after that wife and husband-swapping discussion.
Charles and John, both corporation lawyers, were sort of friendly rivals when it came to bridge; they both played a hard domineering game, and it was only during martini-lulls that we could get them to really let down and talk. It was during one such a lull that Janet, very discreetly, broached the subject of swapping:
"I was reading today that this marital-swapping business is becoming quite a thing. The psychologist who wrote the article seems to think that it's rather a favorable symptom ... he says that it's mostly highly intelligent people who are doing it and that it'll be an accepted practice in another five or ten years."
"Oh, really?" I nodded, looking properly impressed. "I doubt that it'll ever be an accepted practice, though. What do you think, John?" I asked Janet's husband.
John Evans wasn't what you would call an attractive man; his features were a bit coarse and his eyes too keeply set. But he had that warm masculine charm that seems to advertise a sort of jocular permissiveness, and you felt that he was extraordinarily passionate because of the way his eyes continually devoured you when you were talking to him. (And because of Janet's "under the table" confession, he'd caught me twice staring at his mouth as we played cards that night).
"Hmmmmm. What do I actually think about marital-swapping? Well, at the risk of shocking all of you, I think it's a good idea. Provided of course that the couples involved are advanced enough and mature enough for it. It wouldn't be everybody's game. There'd be too much jealousy for the average couple to contend with."
"Oh," Janet nodded, very soberly. "I take it then that you think you 're advanced enough for such a thing? You could carry it off without being jealous? Baloney, John! You'd back out of a deal like that so fast it'd make my head spin! Why, Charlie, there, for all his quietness and reserve, would be less jealous than you. I love you, dear. But let's face it. You simply are not mature enough to swap me for even one little night without calling the thing to a halt before it even started."
John was boiling that was obvious. He was holding the cards in one hand; he began to shuffle them and reshuffle them; then, after a deep breath, he said, "That's where you're wrong, Janet. I'm a reasonably intelligent man. I know just about what I can and cannot do. And I'm telling you right here and now that, given the right partner (and here he glanced quickly at me), I'd swap wives in an instant. I agree with that psychologist. As long as all parties are resolved and agreeable, I can see nothing immoral or evil about an occasional sexual holiday. It's a situation where both the goose and the gander have their outings. It's a fifty-fifty proposition. Everybody wins."
"I agree," Charles' laconic remark nearly stupefied me; I looked at him and blinked in utter amazement. (I hadn't dreamt he'd agree.)
"There! There's two of us who agree!" John exclaimed triumphantly. "How about you, Doris?" he looked at me hopefully. "Don't you agree that for some couples it might be a good thing to swap around?"
I shrugged noncommittally and said, "I suppose so. For some couples. But they'd have to pretty modern ... pretty broadminded."
"Well, aren't we modern and broadminded?" John lifted both hands as if to say "I rest my case".
"Yes. Certainly we are," Charles surprised me again by his rather careless admittance.
My husband was usually a very careful man; he'd risen fairly high in his profession by being cautious, and it was both his weakness and his strength. A good looking, well-built man of thirty one, Charles had provided me with nearly everything a wife could want. He was a terribly intent person; whatever he did he did with zest and determination. But he had his lighter moods, too. He could laugh as heartily at his own mistakes as anyone, and three martinis could turn him into a conversational clown.
"What are you people suggesting?" Janet gave us all a sort of nonplussed stare (what an actress!). "That we swap around? Why, I don't know what to say. Really! I'm surprised at you all! Fix me another martini, John. I really need a drink."
"See how it is?" John looked at us like a poor misunderstood husband. "She tells me I'd be jealous. She tells me I'm not advanced enough for such an experiment. Then ... when I convince her I'd really be willing to try it ... she's the one who acts shocked and disgusted."
"I'm not shocked or disgusted, dear. I just know you. You're trying to bluff me. If I acted enthused ... said I'd like to swap around, too ... you'd change your tune. Right now you're talking with your emotions, not your head. How often have you told me that, dear? That a good lawyer never lets his emotions control his thinking?"
"Oh, please, Janet. I'm not being emotional. I'm telling you ... once and for all ... and from my head ... that I'd really and truly like to give the swapping routine a fair try. Now I rest my case."
"Let's, then," Janet replied a little too swiftly perhaps.
"You mean ... really?" I looked at her as if I were slightly horrified at the suggestion.
"I wouldn't mind," Charles spoke up, adding an emphatic nod to his statement.
"But when?" I tried to sound blase, though my heart was thumping like a trip-hammer.
"Tonight? After our game?" John sounded a bit uncertain.
"Well," I said, "Tomorrow is Saturday. We could ... sleep in late and ... well ... it would be a good time to try it."
"So it's settled, then. Right?" Charles looked at each of us.
"Yes," John nodded, a twinkle in his eye. "Fine with me," Janet said.
I sighed, tried to look doubtful, and said, "Well ... okay. If that's what the rest of you want. Let's give it a try, then."
The next couple of hours passed very slowly. Our husbands kept sneaking looks at their watches; Janet and I kept tittering nervously and playing cards very badly. I caught Janet giving my husband several overt stares; I found my own eyes continually wandering to John's mouth. (His lips were full and sensuous, and when he laughed once at some dumb play I'd made I saw his wet red tongue sort of quiver and palpitate ... and I sort of quivered and palpitated too.)
As the time approached that we normally broke up our game and called it a night, I noticed that Janet was becoming terribly excited. Her face was flushed, and she kept laughing at every statement one of us would make a loud, strident laugh that sounded more like a squeal of carnal delight than anything else.
Janet, somehow, reminded you a successful lawyer's wife. She had a classical face; one that would have been hauntingly beautiful had she not been scarred in a bicycle accident as a girl (the scar ran diagonally across one cheek, and when she became emotional it flared up grotesquely). Her figure was mature (my husband had often said that she looked "rotten-ripe"). Her hips were strikingly contoured. Well rounded, quite deep. Men never failed to notice them. She dressed well. That night, for instance, she was attired in a very provocative hand-knit in two pieces; it was avocado green, and it enhanced the lines of her breast admirably, giving them an almost burgeoning flare and height.
(And I feel that I must explain here-so that what follows will not seem so out of character or confusing-that I had often found myself staring at Janet's breasts. There was something about their size and shape-something flagrant and aggressive-that had made me wonder how firm They were-how large their nipples were-whether she enjoyed having them played with; what she would do if I were to ... touch them? And once or twice I had been tempted to confess these thoughts-but I'd refrained, and had blushed scarlet and stammered some non sequitur, much to Janet's amusement. Her mouth, too, had given me several bad moments. She had a sexual mouth: Large, mobile, soft-lipped. And on several occasions I had been forced to actually exert my will to keep from surrendering to an impulse to kiss her. And I might as well admit right here-if you haven't already suspected it-that I have kind of a thing about mouths. I find myself staring at all sorts of mouths: young boys, young girls, famous men and women's. Watching an attractive man as he sings a song on TV, or watching a girl or woman eating a banana, or a boy licking an ice-cream cone, can plunge me into an intense state of agitation; I become as calescent as a well fed brood-mare.)
"What's wrong, Janet? You're as red as a beet," John's tone was both facetious and accusatory.
"You know very well what's wrong, John Evans," Janet's lip trembled (she appeared on the verge of tears, or possibly hysterics).
"Oh, I do?" John shrugged and smiled. (He was an inveterate tease.)
"Are you ... sorry about our bargain, Janet?" my husband asked her. His eyes were worried; it was obvious he was hoping she wouldn't want to back out.
"No! No, I'm not sorry about it at all. I'm just ... well ... anxious, I guess. I mean ... now that we've made our decision, it seems a little cruel to just keep sitting here playing bridge."
"I agree," Charles added.
"So do I," John said. "We're torturing ourselves. Let's get the show on the road." John's voice was low and level and I felt a warm flushing sensation below when I caught a glimpse of his tongue (it looked so lascivious and full of yeasty crawling life!).
"I'm ready," I put in, my voice breaking huskily.
"Who goes where?" Janet asked, her face twitching and her eyes moving from one of us to the other as if she were watching a tennis-match. We were at their house; we usually alternated for our games.
Charles cleared his throat and said, "I'll stay here with Janet. You can take John to our house, Doris."
We all rose; there was a long, strained silence; then John said, "Shall we all have a night-cap? I'll mix them?"
"Let's," I said.
We went to the kitchen with John and watched him make the drinks. We were all very polite, almost formal. It was almost as if we were four strangers, each trying to impress the other with his reserve and polite attention. I was dreadfully uncomfortable through it all. How it affected the others, I can only guess. But standing there, sipping that night-cap, smiling and nodding at the frivolous banter we were exchanging, I was sorely tempted to back out of the whole deal ... I didn't like our general attitude. If we were about to engage in an act of deliberate infidelity, I would have preferred that we not be so cold and clinical about it. I felt quite ready and resolved to admit that I was anxious for a night of obscene novelty. I was hot to trot. Everyone else acted as if we were about to engage in some benign, rather risque, tete a tete. What finally happened, though, exceeded my fondest expectations ... and plunged the four of us into the capricious varieties of harem life. Soon Charles and John became one to me ... and Janet ... well ... you'll see.