Chapter 3
A Roman Holiday
As Charles had suggested, John and I went next door, he and Janet remained where we'd played bridge (at the Evans' house).
John, as we walked into my front room and I was fumbling for the light-switch, sort of chuckled and patted my behind.
"Don't, dammit!" I snapped angrily (purely through reflex).
"What's wrong, Doris?" John's voice was barely a whisper. My silly outburst had frightened him.
"Oh, nothing, John. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to that and ....."
"Of course you're not. It was stupid of me," he was red-faced and his eyes were somewhat glassy. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he regretted the whole idea. John was more openly flirtatious than Charles, but he loved Janet very much and it was more than possible that he actually was quite jealous of her. I noticed his mouth was quivering and, almost instantly, I wanted to kiss him. So I did. A quick, bruising kiss. And before I drew back I flicked my tongue over and around his lips.
"Well! Do that again!" he said.
I did. Hard. Long. Putting my hands behind his head. Running my tongue in and out of his mouth. Pushing my breasts against his chest. And before we parted I felt the rising badge of his masculinity prodding me between the thighs. Drawing back, my eyes on his wet lips, I said, "I love your mouth, John. And your tongue."
"You're ... you're beautiful, Doris," he put his hands on each of my shoulders and, holding me at arm's length, letting his eyes run boldly up and down my length, he added: "If only you knew how that body of yours can drive a man out of his mind! Your legs, your breasts, that bewildered expression of yours ... I feel like eating you up, Doris."
"I'd like that, John," I replied. Then, reaching out, I ran the tips of my fingers lightly over the bulge he'd built. His eyes opened wide; he drew in his breath sharply; he reached for the light-switch and flicked it off; he exhaled jerkily, then said, "We'll undress later. Right now ... lead us over to that couch."
I led him there; my knees were trembling; an exultant thrill kept flushing through my chest; I felt like I'd felt once as a kid-when I'd stood on a high diving-board, deliberating whether or not to dive. (But I knew that this time someone else was about to dive.)
"Lift your dress, Doris ... I'll pull'em down for you."
I did as he said. His fingers, as he drew down my panties, sent gooseflesh rippling up and down my thighs. I began to tremble violently.
"There! Now sit down, Doris. I want to sort of ... mess you up a little."
I sat. Leaned back. I felt his hands on my thighs. Heard him breathing heavily. Heard him sniffing. Heard him moan. Saw the dark shadow of his head lowering. Felt his hot breath. Closed my eyes and waited. Then:
"Oh, John! How sweet! How wonderful!" I hissed between clenched teeth as the wet warmth of his lips made first contact. And seconds later I was throbbing and palpitating and arching frantically as he increased the pressure with artful little stabs.
There was a wild sweet savagery to that first lip to lip merging that I'll never forget. My mind's-eye kept flashing me erotic images of John's mobile mouth, and the sounds that rose to my ears provided a salacious background reminder that I was finally realizing a long yearned-for ambition. Nor was I the least bit disappointed. I felt in full the strange, perhaps sadistic, delight that a woman feels when a man is subjugating himself before her. Not only were the physical aspects titillating beyond even my wildest vicarious dreams, but the knowledge that a handsome man (and another woman's husband) was debasing himself gave me the keenest possible pleasure. I entwined my fingers in his hair and chanted a lewd command over and over and over.
"That's it, John darling! You're home! You're home at last."
He moaned in agreement and picked up speed. I felt the soft explosions of distant satisfaction, and I began to reach for it with the same care and urgency with which an aroused sleeper reaches for an alarm-clock. Suddenly it was there! I loosed one loud filthy oath after another as a set of snare-drums began beating erratically within me, and John pushed a naughty finger in an unexpected place, shocking me pleasurably and adding to the complexity of that first mouth-made event. The waves were deliciously interminable. I felt like a squeezed sponge as the spasms drained me, and John's surprised whimperings sounded like the last straw-drawn drop of an ice-cream soda. As the last faint spasm jerked my shanks and John drew away with a sigh, I felt downright thirsty-actually dehydrated!
"Water!" I gasped, trying to laugh. I was panting hard.
"Yeah, I guess!" John exclaimed. "I didn't think you were ever going to stop."
"Neither did I. I've never had that before, John. I'll bet you're a mess and a half."
"Nice, though," he mused, running his hands up and down my parted thighs.
"Shall we go to bed. I'd like to return your favor and ... well ... everything."
"If you want," I saw his shadow loom above me as he rose. "I ... uh ... wonder what they're up to next door?" I was sure I discerned a certain wheedling note of regret in his voice. That irritated me. Men are always so anxious for off-key experience and adventure ... but they're usually insecure and desultory when their own wives are involved.
"I imagine they're in bed sort of having at one another, John," I retorted cruelly.
"Yeah, I suppose so. I'll tell you what, Doris. Let's sneak over and see. I'm curious. Aren't you?"
"Not the least bit, John. But if you are, let's go," I answered him, trying not to sound as disgusted as I felt.
We crept in the back way, and before we'd closed the door behind us we heard Janet's singsong whine of carnal agony. The back hall light was on. I looked at John to say something but his expression stopped me. His mouth was awry, and he was swallowing fast and repeatedly-he actually looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. I put my hand on his arm and whispered:
"Let's go back, John. It isn't fair for us to be sneaking in on them like this."
"No. C'mon," he shook my hand off his arm and then motioned for me to follow him. Embarrassed, not knowing what else to do, I did follow him. By the sounds they were in the front room. And-by the sounds-Janet was getting the thrill of her life! I, too, began to feel the prod of rising curiosity. What was happening that Janet should be carrying on in such a wanton fashion? Charles was good. But he'd never aroused me to the pitch that Janet sounded as if she'd reached. Not quite at least.
Stopping in the hall we could see that they'd left a light on. (Which didn't surprise me-Charles liked to watch my face when we made love.) Very slowly, very carefully, John eased the door open. He was in front of me; for a second or two I couldn't make out what was going on. The commotion, though, was wild and rabid.
"Doris, look at them!" John whispered, and then moved aside so that I could see.
I sucked in a breath as if I'd been hit; then, grabbing John's arm for support, I swore softly and bitterly. There was my husband, in front of my eyes, kneeling, one hand on each of Janet's long flaring thighs, doing to her what, for five long married years, I'd yearned in vain to have him do to me. I bit my lower lip and choked back a sob. And I watched. They were both bare as newborn babes; from our position we could see Charles' works sort of swaying in the breeze as it were. The scar on Janet's cheek was afire, and her eyes were batting like two captive butterflies. She kept up this continual siren-like wail and her hands were fluttering over my husband's head and shoulders as if they were palsied. Charles was silent, except for an occasional grunt, and his head bobbed with the lugubrious regularity of a rutting pig. In spite of myself I felt a congesting flush below, and I eased against John to communicate it to both him and myself.
Never have I felt such desolate loneliness and regret and remorse. I was sorry about everything; I was especially sorry I'd given in to John's compunctions to "see what was happening". But John, I noticed, with a great deal of surprise and some chagrin, wasn't at all shook-up at actually seeing his wife in the throes of carnal ecstasy. Quite the contrary! He had my skirt up in no time and, without removing his eyes from his wife's anguished face for even an instant, he managed to supply me with a good bit of himself. I rammed back against him hard, wanting pain as much as pleasure, wanting to somehow punish myself for being where I was and doing what I was ... and yet ... and yet I was really aware of a terribly new feeling ... a new sensation ... born of self-pity and sexual need and anger and selfish desire. Suddenly a savage joy welled up inside me! I cried out: "Hey! Let's make it a foursome!" and I threw the door open so hard that it knocked a lamp from a table.
Charles leaped to his feet and whirled to face us. "What the...." he began; then, seeing John and myself standing there (glued together in togethernesses only real reward), his astonished features relaxed in a relieved grin. Janet, too, seemed relatively unconcerned about our sudden intrusion-she hadn't even bothered to close her thighs. We all began to laugh, then-even myself. Somehow it suddenly seemed better, more honest maybe, that we were together. But had we known, then, that the interest accumulating in group-dalliance compounds as fast and inexorably ad delinquent taxes ... we might've carried out a strategic retreat (though I doubt it). But we didn't. Blinded by the exigencies of the moment we plunged ahead. And if that first encounter with John had been so terribly memorable ... that first madcap episode with my husband, Janet and John together was a Roman holiday! A veritable sexual feast! So pay attention!