Chapter 4
Familiar Perversion
We passed from humor to elation. It was as if we were all tremendously relieved to be together again, and as if all stigma were magically removed by openly facing up to our desires. John and I quickly undressed and, just as quickly, the four of us banded together in a fraternity of the flesh that was as spontaneous and diverse as a four-ringed circus (and just as filled with thrilling acts!).
The one fly in my ointment dissolved when, embracing Charles, I whisperingly asked him why he'd never treated me as I'd caught him treating Janet.
"I thought you'd object to such a thing, Doris," he replied. "I've wanted to all these years, believe me. But you made a statement when we were first married that I must've misunderstood. Something about the French being nasty and...."
"Yes, I remember," I cut him off. "But I was referring to their community toilets ... the idea has always revolted me."
And so right then and there Charles began to make up for lost time! And for the second time in perhaps thirty minutes I was knelt before and treated in that royal fashion! No queen ever had it better. Nor before such avid-eyed, admiring subjects!
Janet and John stood over us, watching. And I, looking up at them through slitted eyes, found myself gazing at Janet's mouth. It was tristed grotesquely, so that she appeared to be sneering and smiling at the same time. I could see her front teeth, and just the very tip of her tongue. Her eyes were glued to mine and I felt the desiderate beginnings of that impulse I've mentioned, to touch her lips with my Own. It was delicious, af first. Charles was surpassing even John in his artful manipulations (lawyers have such gifted tongues) and I was blissfully enjoying those energetic first innings. And then to look up at Janet's full red lips ... and to sort of dwell on their mobility and the sensual implications of that grotesque leer ... was sheer pleasure; more, I felt the perverse delights that an unfulfilled wish can engender. To be reveling in my husband's first sweet nether-kiss, and to be dreamily gazing at the salacious mouth of an approving onlooker ... was really unbearably provocative. Without quite realizing what I was doing I sort of imprecated Janet's mouth to come down to my own by whispering (almost soundlessly): "Kiss me, Janet, Kiss me."
I saw the flicker of a shadow cross her face. She blinked several times. Then, nearly as imperceptibly as my request had been, she nodded. A moment later she withdrew from John's arms. "Excuse me, darling. Doris wants me," she said. And then, kneeling slowly, her eyes boring into mine with a smoldering intensity, she bent forward and glued her lips to mine.
I nearly swooned! Our tongues collided and then lolled one another like mating serpents! I moaned and closed my eyes and bit and sucked and puckered and made of my mouth a living loving symbol of the erotic raptures that were threatening to tumble me off into limbo. I felt hands at my breasts and I knew by their tenderness and by the strange foreign feel of them that they were Janet's. I closed my mouth tightly on her tongue then and I drew on it and sucked on it in an ardent and devouring frenzy. I heard John's harsh, surprised laugh above us. I heard Charles' snort and felt him suddenly become almost vicious in his lucubrations. I felt Janet's fingers on my nipples and then turn them like dials. I opened my eyes for a brief second and the distant drums of consummation began to pound-then I closed them tightly and waited. And then: VEROOM!! !
It was sublime. That's all I can say. I could cover pages describing all the ecstatic nuances of that tremulous peak ... but I'd fall miserably short in the process. How does one describe the ineffable? How does one tie mere words together and come up with the total sublimity encompassed by realizing two primal urges at once? But what happened next I can describe!
When Charles drew away ... all panting and wet-mouthed and grinning proudly ... Janet stayed. Sort of nibbling her way down from my mouth to my breasts, she stopped there ... for a while. Encircling my nipples with the tip of that lascivious red tongue, she kept moaning softly, even painfully. With my chin down on my chest I watched her. There was a slow deliberateness to the movements of her head that reminded you of a person in acute pain. She dropped one finger to my navel then and began running it in and out suggestively; that maddened me! Almost roughly I put both hands on her head and shoved down. She resisted for a moment; then, after a sobbing gasp, she sort of glided there. And for the third time in perhaps an hour I was given that selfsame tantalizing treatment.
"Well I'll be damned!" I heard John's astonished expletive, shortly followed by my husband's more eloquent: "At the right time, under the right circumstances, I've heard any woman will. But I've never believed it before this very moment. Those are our wives, John!"
My mind was in a whirl. I didn't dare open my eyes. I didn't want to face Charles. And Janet was so good, so consummate, so tender, so patient, so soft-lipped and eager-tongued, that I wouldn't've stopped her for anything right then. A feeling of yielding consideration and gratitude came over me, a feeling I'd never before associated with sex. I relaxed. I felt incomparably soothed. Have you ever lain in the sun until you sort of throbbed all over and it felt as if the heat were penetrating your very bones and melting every bit of strain and tension away? If you have, you'll know something of how Janet's attentions affected me. There was no anxious urge for the titillating trauma of climax; indeed, the idea of so poignant a finale never even entered my head. I was content to float, to bask in that ethereal warmth, to feel that consideration and rapport flowing from me like the juices of love themselves. I'm not exaggerating when I say that that feeling was more "in-depth" than the overtly erotic convolutions and tweakings afforded by Charles and John. Not that I'm claiming superiority on either side. I'm not. I couldn't. Not only would it be indelicate to do so, but to objectively compare them would be quite impossible. (There is pleasure and beauty in both sunshine and rain; one is as needed as the other; both are "best" at the time they are happening.)
The nudging warmth of a loving mouth was, I learned, as pleasurable psychologically as physically (or perhaps even more so). The condescending devotion implied is really almost spiritual. You feel lordly in your offering, and the soft surges of joy that emanate are largely the result of mental accord or rhythm. During Janet's visit, especially, I was pleasantly aware that there was no real selfishness or driving lustfulness involved. And with John and Charles it was give and take; there was an urgency with them that was absent in Janet-but all the while you felt you were being extended some specially human empathy and kindness. You didn't feel used. You were grateful. You were loved.
But, as I've said, my mind was all awhirl. After all ... it was a woman who was nesting in my husband's game reserve. What would he think? What would he do? Our bargain had been for a heterosexual swap, not for perversion! Not that I had any doubts about myself. No. My impulses regarding Janet had long before hinted strongly to me that I might enjoy an occasional foray over the ever changing topography of bisexualism. Intellectually, I'd always envied the bisexual. He led a fuller life in every way-simply because his perspective was dual. And then ... I opened my eyes ... and all my doubts were removed.
Janet was still ... there. But over one of her shoulders I spied a pair of feet ... and they looked suspiciously like my husband's. They were sticking out from behind a divan on the other side of the room.
"Janet," I whispered, pushing very lightly against her shoulders.
"Yes?" she looked up at me; her face was wet and shiny and even her nose looked a mess. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and she smiled vaguely.
"Our husbands," I motioned behind her with my head. "Let's go take a peek. They're behind your divan."
She nodded and rose; reaching down for me, grinning like a hoyden, she pulled me up. Holding hands, tip-toeing, we crept across to the divan and peered over its back.
We didn't speak. We didn't even make a sound. The only effect the sight had on us was a sudden tightening of our grips on each other's hands. And that, in view of the shock we both sustained, was quite remarkable. For there they were. Our husbands. Our virile "better-halfs". Embraced. And Charles was getting-though I suppose it's a matter of point of view-the worst of it. John was, as they say, riding high. And Charles, his face red with strain, was taking the assault gamely.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry ... or just keep watching. So I chose the latter. (Though let me quickly explain that my shock at seeing Charles so accosted was not due to chagrin or revulsion or disgust. It was the surprise! The astonishment! Charles had always been so devoutly masculine, so profoundly proud of his gentler and his sense of virile propriety, that to see him writhing in red-faced carnality beneath his good pal and buddy was ... well. . just a bit shattering.)
We watched silently. So engrossed were they that I'm sure we could've sneezed without them noticing us. Bending against the back of the divan, looking down at them with eyes that were still wide in after-shock, I heard the desperate panting their action was evoking and I caught the mephitic waftings of the most noisome stench imaginable. I glanced at Janet; she nodded, made a wry face and rolled her eyes.
John, as I've said, was propped rather high. His arms were nearly straight and his fingers were buried in the hirsute flesh of my husband's arms. Suddenly he began moving much faster; the muscles in his back corded sharply and you could hear him struggling with his breath to keep from panting noisily. Then, like an athlete exhausted from countless pushups, he suddenly dropped limply against Charles, and with swallowed snorts and subdued moans he writhed in the convulsions of completion.
"Having fun boys?" Janet's tone was both derisive and smug; she was, it was plain, quite pleased at having caught her husband in such a dingy dalliance.
John flushed to the ears and stammered, "Oh! Yeah! Well ... we ... , " then he gave up with a resigned shrug. Charles, at the same time, flashed me a bewildered and sheepish grin; then he turned away with an embarrassed snort. Looking at Janet, I smiled, shrugged, winked, and said, "And to think, Janet, how it was only the other day that Charles was telling me how he'd become such a successful lawyer. He told me how he'd started at the very bottom and how he'd been pinned down by lots of men before he finally made it to the top. I see what he meant now. But John! I'm surprised to see such an up and coming top man like you involving himself in such a dirty deal. Aren't you afraid you'll stain your fine ... uh ... reputation? Yes, sir, Janet! We have before us a couple of polished legal minds ... and both self-made men."
Janet began to titter; John's crooked grin turned into an honest smile; I laughed merrily; then, after much throat clearing and disgruntled mumbling and inhibited shifting about, Charles broke down and joined us. Soon we were all laughing uproariously, and when it finally died down we discreetly decided to call it a night. Charles and I went home. And truth to tell, it seemed awfully good to snuggle up against my own husband.