Chapter 3
Janie leaned against the door of her motel room for a few moments after she bid Dave Chalmers good-bye. For some reason, she was suddenly swamped with tiredness. She knew that the pressure of the envelope that she carried had caused it. She was very tired. She wished that she was in the city and within the security of her job and the people with whom she was familiar. Everything else seemed ominous. Scary. Threatening.
When she pushed away from the door, she switched on the lamp at the side of her bed and dropped the manila envelope in the middle of the bedspread. She looked at it as if it were an enemy. Then she thought how silly that was, that actually the envelope with its conditions was the way to wealth and the leisure she needed for her work.
Very deliberately, Janie sat down on the edge of the bed. She picked up the envelope. She opened the sealed top and withdrew several typed pages that were stapled together. Then she breathed deeply and started to read.
Amos Kent had been quite thorough. He was candid, too. In terms that left no doubt as to their meaning he laid down the rules that were necessary for the acquisition of his estate. Janie was to conduct a survey of the sexual habits of the people of
Port Harris. She was to investigate these habits, see them at work, even become a willing pawn to them. Somewhat humorously, Amos Kent wrote that Janie need not inquire of the sexuality of all the people of the town. A representative group would be enough. He had made a study with a representative group and he was extremely interested that Janie should see that her report, written as a sociologist, compared rather favorably to his own, a report that was written by a layman. There were a few things that Amos did insist upon, however. Janie should be certain to include the sex habits of the poorer class of Port Harris, of the upper class, and of the few people he had listed on the next page.
Janie almost held her breath as she turned the page. Then she gasped for the names included there were those of the very people she had met that night, with the single exception of David Chalmers. There it was in unbelievable distinction; Adam Longfellow, Tracey Steel, Mona Andrews, and Jack Prescott. The reason for this selection was made very clear by Amos Kent. He had made a more detailed analysis of the sex habits of these people-he had had them present as witnesses at the will's reading for Janie to see them at first hand. And, this had been the reason for his bequest of money to each of them for "services still to be rendered."
Janie dropped the envelope and the papers back on the bed. She wondered why her uncle had not included David Chalmers on the list. Then she rationalized that this was probably because Jack Prescott was represented. Jack Prescott. Her first love, long absent, and now returned to her. And returned to her while she had the very definite charge of learning something about his sex life, learning about it first-hand, if need be. It was too ridiculous. Utterly mad! She wouldn't do it-couldn't do it! But then Janie thought of the money that awaited her and how it could be used for the work of her life, how it could enrich the poor and help the needy, and she knew that she could not do other than comply with the terms of her uncle's will.
With a sigh, she stretched full length on her bed. She felt tight and restricted and heavy with worry-worries that were caused by her kinsman who was surely mad before his death. Janie pushed up to the edge of the bed again. Then she rose to her feet. She unzipped her skirt, wiggled out of it, then discharged her blouse and jacket, half-slip, stockings, shoes and bra from her body.
She stretched on her toes. There was a rumble of sexuality that raced through her body. She knew its cause. The will and the promiscuity that it encouraged, the satisfaction that she could find under the guise of sociological research. That was it. It was disturbing. She didn't like it a bit. But she could not deny the feeling.
Janie plopped back on the bed. She twisted from her back to her stomach. She burrowed her cheek into the pillow and wiggled her body a little deeper into the bed. Heat cascaded over her. She recognized it. She knew that it was made up of sexual desire and she cursed herself for its presence in her body. And then she felt the longing at her thighs and she deliberately snuggled them deeper, raised her hips then snuggled again. She did it again and again, much as if she were in a position of dominance over an unseen lover. But she stopped the action suddenly, stopped it when she felt the swell of herself that told of pending explosion. Then she curled on her side. She drew her knees up high to her heavy breasts much as if she sought to contain the feeling, keep it a prisoner within her body. But she could not imprison her mind. It raced. She wondered about what lay ahead. She made up schemes of things that cast her in a sexual role with many people. And then she thought of the one she already knew. Jack Prescott. And then she dismissed him from her mind and considered the image of the lawyer, David Chalmers. She wondered why her uncle had not included him on the list. She even felt a little regret that he was not one of her subjects for sexual investigation. And then, because she had no precedent with which to consider Dave Chalmers, her mind turned again to the one she knew.
Jack Prescott was still handsome, Janie decided. And he was still very definitely interested in her. But, Jack was interested in all women. He was without morals. He lived for the pleasure of the flesh alone.
Jane turned her face to the other side. like turning the other cheek, she decided. And that's what she would be doing if she had anything to do with Jack Prescott, she thought. Turning the other cheek in order to receive new humiliation and hurt. But Jack was one of the subjects for her investigation. Her uncle had included him on the list. He, as much as the others, would have to be sexually investigated.
With a sharp twist, Janie rolled to her back. She was horror stricken with herself. Here she was thinking of sex and her participation in it with any number of people, and she was thinking of it boldly as if it were just a matter of course. What had happened to her? Had money changed her already? In the city and on her job she was conservative and aloof, keeping herself free of sexual or love involvements. But now!
Janie again rolled to her side and raised her knees a little higher. Their tops touched her breast-ends and the contact made the nipples harden in immediate reaction. There was a stir at her thighs again and it carried all the way up her body to her breasts. Even her naked shoulders flushed pink in reaction. Janie lowered her right hand and touched at her stomach. The skin was hot. She lowered it and touched at her thighs. Greater heat greeted her touch. And then she brought her hand away and stuffed it beneath her hip much as if she sought to keep it from temptation. Her breathing increased. She reacted much as if she were already involved in sex with one of her subjects and Janie wondered if she was perhaps using the sex query as an excuse to let her own emotions run wild. It was possible, she admitted. She had lived an almost frigid life for the last several years. And why had she done that, she asked herself, then immediately answered with the name, Jack Prescott.
Once again, Janie rolled to her back. The light glowed on her naked body and Janie, looking at her feet, saw the rise and fall of her breasts. It made her think of other parts of her body, of her hips and the way they had once risen and fallen to the rhythm that Jack Prescott had created within her.
It had been a very long time ago. She had been seventeen. She remembered it all very clearly.
"Come on, Janie, let's head for the beach," Jack Prescott had said, pulling his motorbike to a halt where she stood in the doorway of her house.
"I've got homework," she said, hedging, because Jack still frightened her a little.
"Homework! Nuts, you're graduating. They never flunk seniors."
"They might start," she said, smiling.
"Ah, come on. Bring your swimsuit. The water should be great."
"Well--. "
"Come on. Please," he urged.
"Well, all right. But just for an hour or so. I have to get back home."
"Hurry," Jack said.
She looked at him with a quick sweep of her eyes. He seemed taut and hard and there was an urgency to his manner that Janie had not seen before. His crew-cut bristled with perspiration. His tee-shirt strained against his hard chest, and his tight jeans quivered along the legs as if he were trembling.
As she clung to his back on the rear of his motorbike, Janie noticed that she, too, had experienced some change within her body. She felt excited and anxious. They were the qualities she had known all during the past few weeks. Graduation, the final dances, and preparation for college in the fall, had caused Janie to feel a constant excitement. And Jack Prescott had caused it too. His kisses as they parked in his car stirred her greatly, made her want to know more and more of him.
The beach was deserted when Jack brought his motorbike to a halt at the edge of the giant lake. The sun was setting. It was a red ball of fire and as Janie looked at it she thought how much it represented her feelings, the heat that burned for expression.
Jack parked the bike above the beach within a wooded circle. Then he took towels and their swim-suits from the saddlebag. He handed Janie hers.
"Beat you into the water," he said.
She smiled into his eyes. Jack grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt and whipped it over his head. The quick exposure of his bare chest with its hard, strong lines made Janie feel a pinch of desire at her stomach.
"Now it's your turn," Jack said, looking at the thin schoolgirl blouse Janie wore.
"Jack! You're terrible," she laughed. "Maybe," he replied.
He bent and pulled off his socks and loafers. Janie, pretending to be as bold as he was, did the same. When she straightened, she even raised her hand to the top button of her blouse. But there it stayed, unmoving, frozen by sudden embarrassment.
"Go ahead," Jack encouraged. "What are you? Chicken."
"I guess so," she laughed. "But I'll still beat you into the water." She grabbed her suit and towel and disappeared with them behind a clump of bushes.
When Janie had stripped all of her clothing from her young body, she stood very quietly behind the bushes. She enjoyed the feeling of nakedness and the knowledge that it was close to Jack as she was undressing-undressing without the benefit of concealment. She felt her breasts bloat outward and she was amazed at the size they had attained. And at the largeness of her nipples-never had they been so strained and hard and outreaching. A tremble ignited at her thighs. She closed her legs more tightly as if to contain the feeling that took her. But it was impossible. She heard movement just outside the bushes and she knew that it was Jack in the motion of undressing. Then, she could not resist the impulse to peek through the bushes and watch. She nearly gasped when she saw that he was already naked and pulling his tight trunks over his ankles. She was shocked by the strength of him. It was her first such experience and it frightened her a little. But not enough to make her give up her view of the naked Jack until he had pulled his trunks high to the waist and secured them there. Only then did she turn from the opening in the bushes and attend to the business of donning her own swimsuit.
"Took you long enough," Jack said when she stepped out of the bushes. "Took you so darn long I didn't take advantage of you by dashing into the water."
"Good of you," she told him.
Holding hands, they walked to the shoreline. Then they stepped into the water. It was cold, but it did nothing to subdue the heat in Janie's body. She even looked at the water, wondering if it would bubble from the heat she had brought to it.
When they were waist high in the water, Janie felt a chill. It was different than any she had ever experienced. It was like a thrust from within her body, one that kicked outward, urging her closer to Jack Prescott.
Jack raised his hands over his head. Janie looked at the ripple of his muscles as they responded to the action. Again, she felt a gasp from within her body.
"Ready-set-go," Jack said. He dived forward into the water.
Janie waited a second, then duplicated his dive. The slice of the water as she moved beneath it tickled at her breasts and loins, at all of her as she opened her eyes and followed the flash of Jack's body through the water. It was a delicious feeling and Janie was sorry when she had to break the surface of the water to gasp for breath.
They played in the water for an hour; kidding, swimming a bit, doing the child things in the water that they had not outgrown. There were a few sensually tense moments for Janie. Several times Jack dived between her outstretched legs. There was the contact of his body with hers as he passed between the parentheses she made of her legs. That was exciting. So exciting that Janie felt some sensation grow within her as if it would burst. And it compelled her to find an excuse to continue the game. She urged Jack again and again between her legs. Each time, he seemed to rise a little higher, causing a greater, harder contact with her body. And once his head bumped against her before slicing the water. That had been almost unbearably exciting for Janie. She knew the contact had been deliberate, and she had responded with deliberateness of her own. For a moment, she closed her legs around his head, pinching tightly at his ears for a moment before releasing him.
Soon, Janie took a turn at submarining her body between Jack's legs. That was exciting for her, too. Often, she felt the contact of his thighs at either side of her as she glided through the water. And several times she had risen a bit and struck higher on him. It fascinated her. It thrilled her. It filled her with the greatest curiosity about love and the sex that expressed it.
While they played, Jack's hands sought and found delightful parts of her body. He touched her breasts and squeezed them. Their legs wound around each other's and they felt the intimacy of thighs and wiggling toes. And Janie's hips rose and fell to the water and her buttocks jutted backwards upon occasion to come into contact with the hunger of Jack's open legs. Several times they kissed, but this action was subdued in the presence of these greater thrills of bodily contact.
Finally, they left the water. The sun had fallen deeper behind the earth and gray shadows began to descend upon the beach and the area. The beach remained deserted. They were alone, the only beings in the world, it seemed to Janie.
Jack laid their two towels side by side on the sand. Janie reclined on one, he on the other. They stretched on their backs and were very quiet. Janie could feel Jack's breathing next to her. She was sure that he was aware of hers, too. But she looked into the sky and tried not to think of these sexual things that tempted her.
"It's nice here," Jack said.
"Yes," she agreed.
"You're nice," he added.
"Thank you," she said.
"Too nice, sometimes," Jack said.
"How can anyone be too nice?"
"Easy. They can be so nice that they keep themselves and other people from doing the things they want to do."
"Is that the way I am?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, Jack."
He turned on his side and looked into her face. "You don't have to be that way."
"No, I don't."
"Then don't be," he said softly.
With a boldness that shocked her, she turned on her side and smiled into his face. Then she hooked her fingers behind his head, pressed it forward and brought her lips crashing against his mouth. She opened her mouth at once. Her tongue darted deeply into his mouth, spinning and whirling, nipping and doing crazy things that caused him to moan and thrust his body close to hers as he wrapped her in his arms.
When their kiss ended, as if by some union of thought, they both uttered a little cry, pulled back, 'then tore at their swimming togs, jerking them from their bodies until they were nude and facing each other.
Jack planted new kisses upon her. He kissed her eyes and throat and her neck and breasts. He lingered there, tongue-playing with her nipples until they bloated to a cracking point. Then he kissed lower, and lower still until once again he found himself clutched between her thighs in a position that duplicated the play they had known in the water. But this time Jack issued new kisses and Janie cried out in response to them.
"Oh, Jack!! Darling!"
Janie felt a tiny growth begin within her. It grew and grew and grew and she knew that it would soon burst. But she didn't want it to. It couldn't! Not yet! Not without the thrill of her own lips upon the body of her young love. She gave a mighty twist and then faced his flesh. She kissed him rapturously.
They lavished attention upon each other's body. They were articulate in their giving. But at the end, for Jane, there was disappointment. She felt the growth of sensation reach its boundaries and stretch beyond toward the thrill of completion. It was then that she wanted to delay, to pull back and know her love in a normal manner. And she did pull back; gurgling, crying out her need for Jack's closeness while she tried to shift her body and urge Jack above her.
He wouldn't have it. He groaned his refusal, then locked his fingers into her hair and returned her to the love she had left uncompleted. She complied, but with less enthusiasm for she felt cheated and wanting, sensed that she was not to know love's first thrill of love together. Jack knew it. Mightily. And for Janie, as she wrung him to his finish, there was a certain satisfaction for what she had caused him, even as she was left without that which had been so close-that which the beginning of their love-making had promised.
Janie raised from him immediately. There was a sputtering, a kind of disgust for what had been done. And then there was embarrassment. But from Jack, there were words. Words by the dozen.
"Oh, baby, that was great. You're the greatest," he cried. "To think that you'd do that for me-and, baby, I'm sorry there wasn't anything in it for you, but there will be-next time-I promise. Next time there'll be something for you, next time there'll be us, together, the regular way."
It was not so. There had been a next time. And still another time, too. But each time at that moment when Jack should have responded to her cries to know him fully, he had refused, had locked his fingers tighter in her hair and forced her to the end of their singular love.
And then Janie went away. Marked, scarred, she was sure, because of the abnormality of her love with Jack Prescott.
Janie twisted on her bed, thinking, and now she was back, now she was faced with the new embarrassment of investigating Jack Prescott as a subject of a sexual treatise. It was almost too much to imagine.
She pushed upright, then swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. Her body showed response to the memories upon which she had dwelled. Her breasts were bloated, her nipples hard, and her stomach undulating. Janie looked at the manila envelope, looked at it as if it were some awful evil. For a moment, she considered abandoning the project, but then she thought of the money, all of it that she could use as she wanted. And she thought of the poor among whom she had worked and she knew that she would do anything to help them. Anything at all. Even submit herself to the prostitute role her uncle had set for her. Fleetingly, she thought of cheating. Why not make up a report that would satisfy the will of her uncle and the scrutiny of David Chalmers. Why not? But even as she thought of it, she knew that she could not and would not do it. It was impossible. Something of herself-perhaps something she had received as a young girl from her uncle-demanded honesty. She could not do other than an honest report of the sex habits of her neighbors and friends.
Janie stood up. Her body still felt tense. There was expectancy there, too. She wondered if perhaps she was meant to wallow in the promiscuity that was ahead. She wondered. Then she turned and headed for the shower.