Chapter 2
Connie had been waiting for a long time to make a move on Doug. He was big, tall, and handsome. And he had a face which could have come straight out of a casting director's office. Sophisticated. Cultured. Refined.
For ages she had wondered how he would be in the sack. Would he be slow and easy—like a cultured man? Or, would he be fast and hard—like a San Francisco blueboy? These were questions which she would soon know the answer to, for now with Beverly gone to Hawaii for a week she could finally attempt to seduce him.
On the afternoon that Beverly headed to the airport, Connie walked around in her backyard wearing a very provocative outfit. Short-shorts which were several inches too short, and a halter top which was several sizes too small. The shorts were so tight through the crotch that her vulva was clearly discernible, and the halter was so tight that her nipples stood out like prominent little beacons of male-pleasing pinkness and sexual suckability.
When she saw Doug step outside to sit in the sun, she waved at him and said, "Hi!"
He looked across the hedge and replied, "Oh hi, Connie."
She stepped around the bushes into his backyard and asked, "Are you feeling lonely since Beverly took off to Hawaii?"
"I suppose so. I haven't been alone in this house before. Ever since I moved in I've had Bev on the premises." For the first time since he stepped outside he took a good look at Connie.
Holy shit! he thought. The woman is practically naked!
He had known the lovely blonde for nearly seven years, but he had never seen her in any outfit that matched this one. Hell! She wasn't wearing a bra! Her titties stood out like ripe cantaloupes! And those hot pants of hers were so tight that he could see the outline of her slit.
He didn't know where to look: at her face, at her nipples, or at her crotch. Of course, being a man he wanted to stare at her tits and cunt, but he didn't think that was a gentlemanly and neighborly thing to do. At least, not overtly.
"What's that you're making?" she asked with a winning smile which could have come straight out of a Madison Avenue toothpaste ad.
"Oh just a salad. I thought I'd chop up this cucumber and mix it with some lettuce and a little salad dressing."
She stepped close and said, "That cucumber reminds me of a great big throbbing penis. Doesn't it you?" she asked as she lightly stroked it.
Doug was momentarily taken aback. He had never heard her use such language, nor speak in such graphic terms. "Pardon me?"
"Doesn't this cucumber remind you of a great big green penis?"
He held it in his hand and looked at it for a few seconds. He watched her hand gently caress it—as if it were alive. Finally he laughed and said, "I've never thought of it before, but it does at that. I was a bit thrown by your comment because that's the kind of a thing that a man would say."
She playfully poked him in the ribs with her elbow and asked, "Aren't women allowed to have sexy thoughts and to say naughty things?"
"Oh sure. I guess that I'm not used to it."
As he began to slice the cucumber, Connie moved to the other side of the table, sat down, and watched him. She grabbed a piece of lettuce, nibbled on it, and asked, "Doesn't Bev ever say sexy things?"
"Not really. She's very reserved in her speech. I've never heard her curse—not once. Even when she hits her thumb with a hammer, the worst thing that she's likely to say is 'Ouch' or 'Darn'. She's very Midwestern in her upbringing—almost like a choir girl."
"Don't you find that rather dull?" Connie asked with a slight wink.
He looked at her as he sliced. "I suppose. But that's just the way she is. Conservative. Small town America all the way. No nasty vocabulary."
"That's not for me. I like to talk nasty."
"I've never noticed."
"That's because I usually don't do it in front of men." She grabbed another piece of lettuce and continued to nibble. "I reserve my sexy talk and naughty observations for when I'm alone at social gatherings with the girls." Doug looked at her and smiled. "What exactly do you girls discuss when you're by yourselves?"
"Oh, the usual sorts of things."
"Such as?"
"Such as how often a husband makes love to the wife."
He nearly cut himself. "Say what?" he asked incredulously.
"We're very interested in sexual frequency. Don't you ever read Cosmopolitan?"
"Er ...it's not on my reading list. I stick more to magazines like Fortune and Field and Stream."
"That's not very stimulating reading."
"I'm not a very stimulating kind of guy."
"That depends on who's doing the evaluating."
He looked at her for a second and wondered what she meant by that. He continued to slice the cucumber, but had become curious about what Connie had to say. "So, what else do you women discuss at these so-called 'social gatherings'?"
"All kinds of things, such as the length of a man's cock, the size of his balls, the number of times the wife has orgasmed during the course of a week. You know—girl talk."
"No way! I never heard Beverly mention any of this."
"Of course not. She's naturally reticent. She wouldn't relay anything which is contrary to her small town Midwestern character."
Doug suddenly became quite worried. He looked at Connie and asked, "She hasn't ever discussed me ...has she?"
Connie smiled. She wanted to pat herself on the back. She knew that every man feared that his wife would discuss the size and dimensions of his sexual equipment behind his back. It was akin to being the universal theme of man.
She sighed and said, "Beverly says that you're okay, but that she's had better."
This news hit him like a thunderbolt. The knife slipped from his hand. He was stunned. "What did you just say?"
"She told me that you're okay, but she's had better."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a mixture of anger and trepidation.
Connie looked him directly in the eyes and replied, "I don't know exactly. I suppose that sometime in her past she must have had a dynamite lover. One who could really fill her up. One who could make her come dozens of times without stopping. One who could send her into a heaven of sexual delirium."
With each passing suggestion, Doug became increasingly angry. "That's preposterous. That's absurd. That's utterly impossible. She was a virgin on our wedding night. I know, because I broke her hymen."
Connie feigned a worried look and pretended to be thinking. She bit her lower lip in a petulant manner as she had seen Beverly do dozens of times. "Goodness!" she exclaimed with mock distress. "Then she must have had an affair since you've been married."
Doug was caught off guard by that suggestion. "That's ridiculous! We've been married for over seven years ..." He quickly stopped himself. He remembered the syndrome which marriage counselors referred to as the Seven Year Itch, where married couples got a yearning in their groins for something new.
He shook his head, looked at Connie, and said, "That's crazy. She would never do something like that. She's too shy and introverted."
"It's the shy ones that always surprise their husbands," Connie said as she nibbled on a slice of cucumber.
"It's ludicrous that she would cheat on me ... isn't it? I mean, we have a nice house, we live in an affluent neighborhood, we get along. She wouldn't have an affair ...would she?"
Connie remained silent. She knew that silence was more powerful than words at a time like this. She would let him stew and allow his imagination to conjure up a worst case scenario.
He was getting nervous. He was becoming anxious. He set the bowl of salad down and turned to her. "Look! You're her best friend, Connie. She tells you everything. Has she ever mentioned anything about having a ...a ...another man?" He nearly choked on the words.
The blonde beauty found it difficult to refrain from smiling. "Hmm! Let me think for a minute." Again, she waited to reply. Finally she said, "I don't recall her ever mentioning anyone specifically, although she did seem rather anxious to get to Hawaii, didn't she?"
That statement nearly caused him to shit the proverbial brick. When he agreed to let her take a separate vacation he hadn't thought about that possibility The idea of her having another man on the side in Oahu had never occurred to him. "You don't ...suppose ..." he said as he stared blankly into space.
"I don't know what to think," said Connie matter-of-factly as she nibbled on another slice of cucumber. "I just thought that it was rather strange that she would want to leave town in such a hurry ... without her hubby."
He leaned back on his heels and nearly fell over. Everything suddenly made sense to him: her dashing off to Hawaii; her insistence that she needed to do this on her own; her talk about needing a new experience to add some zip, zest, and zowie to her life.
"Oh my god!" he exclaimed. "She's having an affair! Right at this very minute! Right under my very nose! And I paid for the plane ticket. Goddamn! That puritanical bitch is spreading her thighs for some other guy besides me. I'll kill her—and him!"
Connie saw that the time had come to calm Doug down. After all, there wasn't any point in getting a guy so steamed that he couldn't obtain an erection. "Now, now. Don't be so hasty in your judgment. You don't know if she's having an affair or not. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, what's the big deal if she is?"
A look of disbelief washed over his face. He smashed his fist against the table top and exclaimed, "What's the big deal! What's the big deal! You know damn well what the big deal is. We're married. She's supposed to be faithful to me—that's what the big deal is!"
"Oh Doug. So what if she is being unfaithful? There's no harm being done."
His mouth dropped open. "I don't believe you said that. You surely can't be serious."
"Yes, I'm serious. I mean, maybe she is spreading her pretty little thighs, and perhaps she is allowing another man to slip his penis into her tight little vagina—but that's nothing to be concerned about."
Doug turned beet red. He didn't like the use of the adjectives, 'pretty little' and 'tight little'. They didn't seem inappropriate in the context of this very serious discussion. He shouted, "I don't believe my ears! I thought that type of laissez-faire attitude about sex and marriage and fidelity went out of vogue in the 1960's."
"It's a very healthy attitude," Connie said in a soothing tone of voice, trying to calm him down so that the neighbors wouldn't become curious. "I don't think that it will ever go away. And don't forget that it's you she has remained married to."
"Ha! I ain't nothing other than a sugar daddy. To think, she's been cheating on me all of these years and I didn't even know it. Damn! It's just like they say: the husband is always the last one to know. I'm a fool. I'm an idiot. I should have seen right through her phony shyness. Hmph! I have a mind to cheat on her while she's gone."
Those were the words that Connie had been waiting to hear. She batted her lashes and looked him straight in the eyes before saying, "Now there's an idea. A little tit for tat. You could screw your brains out while she's gone. That would fix her."
She paused for a second so that her words could sink in. When his face seemed to register their significance she added, "Or, you could screw my brains out and that would fix me."
He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and arousal. "What do you mean?"
"Well, whenever I feel horny I go looking for some man to lay me. I might pick up a guy in a bar, or at a dance, or in a church. Right now I'm feeling rather horny. All of this talk about screwing around has given me ideas." She lowered her voice and added, "I figured that since you want to get even with Bev, you ought to kill two birds with one stone and fuck me."
He looked at her in disbelief. "But you're her best friend!"
She smiled. "That's all the more reason. After all, you already know me. That means that you don't have to worry about getting AIDS or catching herpes. All you have to do is get an erection, put it in the joy slot, and slam away."
Finally he smiled. He allowed his eyes to travel over her body, taking stock of her bountiful assets. Her tits. Her ass. Her legs. He was no longer worried about being gentlemanly and neighborly. Now he wanted to act like a regular all-American, beer-drinking, ever-ready, ever-horny, ever-randy stud. "You know, you are a very good-looking woman."
"Oh come on," she said with a salacious wink. "Talk dirty. Be descriptive. Call me a good-looking piece of ass."
He laughed. "Yes, you're a good-looking piece of ass."
She got up and walked over to his side of the table. She looked down at him and asked, "Would you like to feel my tits?"
At that moment he stared directly at their rounded and succulent magnificence. He could tell that they were full and firm—just like Beverly's. He could see that they were uptilted and symmetrical—just like Beverly's. He could tell that they would be a handful just like Beverly's.
But they weren't Beverly's. And that's what made the idea of playing with them that much more appealing. His eyes fixed on the hard little points of her nipples. They were poking out through the thin material of her halter top. They seemed to be begging to be touched. They seemed to be beckoning him. They seemed to be calling his name. They seemed to be saying, Touch me! Fondle me! Play with me!
Connie saw that he was fantasizing. To assist him, she reached for his hands and placed them over her breasts. "Squeeze please," she said with a sexy whisper.
He looked up at her to see if she really meant it. When he saw that she did he gently pressed his fingers together, felt her warm flesh in his palms, and exclaimed, "Wow! Wow!"
"Nice, huh?"
"I'll say."
"Squeeze all that you want. The more that you handle them, the hornier I get."
He was like a small boy with a batch of Play Dough. He squeezed—over and over and over again. "I have to confess that I've had fantasies of doing this."
"Then you like my body, huh?"
"Like it! I love it. In fact, I've loved it for a long time," he said between squeezes. "Whenever I saw you sunbathing in the backyard with Bev, I wondered what you would look like in the nude. Or, whenever I saw you bending over to turn on the sprinkler, I wondered what you would look like in a sheer nightie. Or, whenever I saw you step outside in the morning to retrieve the newspaper, I wondered what you looked like underneath that bathrobe."
"Poor man. Did you get a hard-on from all of that naughty wondering?"
"Of course I did."
"You mean to tell me that you got an erection when you looked at me, and you wouldn't come over and ask for a fuck? That's positively unfriendly!" she said with a teasing tone of voice.
He caught the gist of her humor and replied, "I'm sorry. I guess I come from the old school of social mores."
"Forget them," she said as she reached down and lifted him to his feet. "You've graduated and you've entered a new grade." She stood face-to-face with him and pressed her body against his.
"Oh boy!" he sighed as he felt her full breasts mash against his hard chest. "It looks like it's time for Show-and-Tell."