Chapter 6
Days Of Self Gratification
"Rebecca! Rebecca!" I repeated her name aloud to myself in bed that night. Charles stirred and mumbled: "What, dear?" I didn't answer him; he soon fell fast asleep again. "Rebecca, Rebecca," I whispered. I liked the exotic sound of it; the way my lips came firmly together on the B, then parted on the A. What a wonderful name: Rebecca! like a flower, a star, the scent of lilac!
I rose early the next morning. I showered, shaved my legs, creamed them, daubed perfume in the right places and deodorant in the right places, made Charles and myself a really magnificent breakfast, kissed Charles off to work afterwards, then brushed my teeth very energetically, gargled thoroughly, did my face artfully, my hair fastidiously, slipped into my darkest sheerest nylons, my darkest sheerest panties, my most provocative (according to Charles) garter belt, put on my highest heels, and then donned a black Riviera lace sheath, lined with opaque nylon tricot-and lastly a chic little jacket of the same material. Standing before my mirror I decided I looked svelte, felt svelte, was svelte. Then I went next door and rang Janet's doorbell. Janet answered, still in her robe, still sleepy-eyed and disheveled-she looked a bit done in.
"Oh, hi, doll. Come in. My! Don't you look ravishing for eight thirty in the morning! Lady Astor herself."
I walked in, feeling pleasantly distingue beneath her admiring gaze. (I am never so composed as when I feel well dressed and groomed to the hilt.) But just as I was turning to face Janet, Rebecca walked quickly through the front room and, tossing me a brief smile and a nod, disappeared into the hall that led to Janet's bedroom. And instantly my composure suffered a severe set-back. Rebecca had been as naked as a jay-bird!
"Don't mind her, Doris," Janet shrugged and flashed me a queer little grin. "John says she's always hated clothes. He says she runs around the house like that all the time at home. Even runs out for the morning paper without a stitch on."
"But here ... in front of John?" I said, hating myself in the role of behavior critic.
"Oh, yes. This morning she even came in and flopped in his lap."
"No! And you didn't say or do anything?" I felt my throat tightening.
Janet shrugged, and gave me one of those long slow looks that are somehow supposed to convey a whole world of hidden meaning. Then she smiled and shook her head.
My own head was reeling! That one flashing glimpse of Rebecca had revealed an amber tinted dazzlement of limbs and breasts and rounded bottom that was indescribably lovely and tantalizing. Little, taut, vital, she'd literally bounced across my line of vision like a firm rubber ball! Her hair had been down and it had framed her beauty like a moonless night sky frames a glittering star. And though I could hear her opening and closing drawers now in the bedroom, that front room was still vibrating with some essence of her presence. I could still catch faint traces of her scent: sweet, pungent, the odor of sexual excitement and slavering pubic hair.
"I wasn't really in any position to object, Doris," Janet's voice was low and level. "You see she ... she slept with John and I last night. No. I mean she spent the night in bed with us. We got precious little sleep."
"Oh ... I see," I nodded. And I was shocked and abashed to feel the unmistakable pangs of envy and jealousy:
"No, you don't see, Doris. She didn't do anything ... none of us did. She merely barged into our bedroom, mumbled something about being lonely and cold, and then crawled into bed with us. Between us, no less. First she'd turn on one side and cuddle up to me, then she'd turn and cuddle against John. Believe me, Doris, it was the most frustrating night of my life! Her body's like a moist kitten. I laid there like a hot wet towel and just oozed. Damn I wanted to ... you know. And from the mess on John's side of the bed this morning I'd say she had him pretty worked up too. He didn't touch her, though. She just kept snuggling up against us and sort of wiggling and she'd sigh now and then as if in some quiet way she was ... you know ... making it."
"She sounds like a damned little tease!" I snapped.
"Either that or she's a sadist!"
"I'm really both. And much, much more, Doris."
"Oh! Rebecca!" I gasped and one hand flew up to my mouth. "I'm sorry. I ... I didn't know you were standing there ... I...."
"Don't be sorry, Doris. I don't feel the slightest bit insulted, lam a tease. . I am sadistic. Every woman's a tease and a sadist. It's part of our charm. You look stunning this morning, Doris. You look dressed to tease. And if you don't come over here and give me a good morning kiss ... I'll think you're terribly sadistic."
I swear it-I simply do not remember walking across that room to Rebecca. But I must've, because, the next thing I knew, I was standing there before her and looking down at that sweet petulant mouth of hers.
"Kiss me now," she murmured. I bent, like a scolded child, and tenderly touched her lips with my own. She reached up quickly, caught the lobes of my ears and pulled down on them. It hurt. I started to reach for her hands to relieve the pain, but suddenly a strange thrill pervaded me and I jammed my mouth against hers savagely and tried to ram my tongue down her throat. She began to laugh. With my lips bruising hers and my tongue wallowing around in her mouth she began to laugh. I pulled away, flushed with anger and indignation.
"What's so funny, Rebecca?" I stepped back a pace and wiped my mouth hard with the back of my hand.
"N-nothing," she tittered. "I was laughing at myself, Doris. Yesterday, when I met you, I had you figured for falsies. But now, of course, I know they're real."
I looked at her, nodded, and my anger melted. She looked like some wood-nymph standing there. She'd put on a robe, but she'd left it unbuttoned. Her breasts seemed to be reaching out for me, and her nipples, I noticed, were exceedingly large and a purplish red. They were erect. I reached out with one hand, carefully (like a child places blocks one on top of the other), and drew a circle around one of them with my forefinger. She took a deep jerky breath; then, exhaling hard, she caught my hand and pulled it down. There! My heart gave one lurching bound. I felt faint. Giddy. I moved my hand around with the chary hesitancy of an electrician working near high voltage. It was like touching the tender blades of young grass after a heavy dew. Then: A low peal of laughter. And she stepped back, closed her robe.
"You are a tease," I said, and my voice sounded weird to my ears. Harsh and gritty.
"Sometimes, yes," she replied, and I had the somewhat dubious satisfaction of hearing her voice break with obvious excitement (that lawn hadn't been dewy without reason). "How come you're all dressed up, Doris?" she added, giving me an approving survey.
I smiled and shook my head. "That's a good question. But I suppose ... to be perfectly honest ... that I wanted to look my best to impress you. I don't know why, really. Except that you made a terribly strong impression on me yesterday."
"I'm glad, Doris. And Janet's told me about you already. That you love to love. So do I. And we will. The three of us. It's going to be a month we'll all remember. And, oh, yes! Janet's told me that your husband-likes to party too, Doris. That's wonderful. We'll have balls and balls! And don't worry, either of you. Men never fall in unreal-the way you feel when you're coming down with the flu or a bad cold or something. To say that Rebecca had made quite an impression on me would be a gross distortion of the truth! She'd more than impressed me! She'd given me a radically new criterion upon which to measure my ideas and ideals of sexuality! She'd given me (quite point-blankly) a taste of the hydra-headed sex that you and I have read about and thought about and dreamed about and viewed (rather dubiously) in avant-garde movies, but that we've never really even microscopically realized as flesh-in-blood human beings, qua individuals.
I had watched her as, arm in arm with Janet, she'd swayed up the front cobblestones to the house. My temples throbbing I'd watched that superb little bottom-to-end-all-bottoms kind of gyrate and ripple and undulate like two small plastic bags filled with Jello. Her waist had bent with each step like a steamed noodle, and the soft, pliant muscles in her calves had taunted and teased me like the succulent odor of one of my husband's prime-roasts during Passover.
My memory of her kiss was as sharp and poignant and real and tantalizing as the memory of my acute embarrassment; both blended as a schizophrenic fairy-tale that ended like after-the-fireworks on a memorable Fourth-of-July afternoon. I felt sucked dry. Gone. Burnt out. It was as if I'd been through some critical operation ... and I was waiting in semi-coma in the recovery-room for enough sense of direction and ego to pull the threadbare pieces of myself together for one really worthwhile last act of living. I felt as besmirched and discarded as a dirty hanky-but, as sometimes happens when one feels that lost, I knew just where I was headed and what I needed love with me. Nor I with them. I love only three things: life, myself, sex. And I hate only three things: flies, hard work, shallow people. There is only one sin. Shallowness. Well, I'll see you later. I hate like the devil to leave such stimulating company ... and I mean that ... but I didn't sleep very well last night. You know. Strange house. Strange bed. I've simply got to go and take a nap. Then, also, there's always this ... uh ... pressure that builds up in me every few hours. So I relieve it. It's really marvelous for removing tensions and pressures and making you feel calm again. Oh, but you girls know that. I can always tell by looking at a woman's eyes. They're like a snake's. like you two. Especially you, Doris. You're a chronic one, aren't you? That's wonderful. Well, see you later."
Janet and I just sort of stood there staring at one another. We heard Rebecca close the bedroom door. Heard the springs shriek as she laid down. Heard the sudden rippling thrill of her laughter. Then silence.
"What a gal, eh?" Janet finally spoke up.
"No kidding! D'you suppose she's really in there ... you know?"
"I'm sure she is," Janet nodded.
"Hmm," I hummed, looking as meaningfully as I could at Janet. She caught on. Her face lit up. She grinned and said, "You mean ... us ... together ... right now?"
"Let's! We've both got snakes' eyes. Especially me. And if I don't do something pretty soon ... well...."
"Okay. It might be fun. We can sit opposite one another and watch. Let's do."
I slipped out of my panties, lifted my dress, sat. Janet opened her robe and sat across from me. We were both blushing. We were both trying to act rather careless and nonchalant, as if we were about to indulge in a game of charades or the like. Janet's mouth was hanging slack and rather lopsided, giving her a fatuous, stupid look. Staring at her mouth I began; her eyes were glued to my calves and thighs as she began. It felt good. Deliciously good. And I found presence of mind enough to wonder how Rebecca has been clever enough to guess that I was indeed a chronic self-reliever. I didn't give a second's credence to that "snake's eyes" thing. Who would?
But then, as we both reached the fervid reward we were searching for, I was both startled and horrified to hear a low rich peal of laughter coming from the hall door. I twisted to look and-with my face contorted in pleasure-saw Rebecca standing there watching us. She pursed her lips and blew me a kiss and said:
"How charming! like two spitting cobras!"
But before I turned away I saw that she'd been scratching the same itch ... and that she'd spilled a bit of venom of her own. "Takes one to know one," passed swiftly through my mind; then, for many satisfying moments, I ceased to think. I acted. And Janet was hissing like a snake.