Chapter 2

Once the door was shut to my own bedroom, and I leaned against the wall for support, I could give in to the multitude of emotions flooding through me, upsetting and unnerving me. I was still having difficulty updating the impression I had of my own son. How could I have ever missed the fact that he had grown into a man somewhere along the way? How long had he been using his prick like a man used it?

I wondered what Justin would do when I told him about what I had seen, then wondered if I should tell him at all. He would probably blame me for what had happened in the playroom. That was his way. When he had caught me in bed with William, do you think he had any kind words for me? Do you think he would assume some of the blame for the fact I would spread my legs for his business associate? He had looked as if he could have killed the two of us. even though we were still connected, William's prick into my cunt. It had not been my intent for him to find us together. I thought he would still be in Tahoe screwing his latest mistress, the one with the youthful looks and the long blonde hair. How was I to know they would return from their trip early, because her insides were threatening to explode with a burst appendix? He had come right home after dropping her off at the hospital, slipping noiselessly inside the front door and tiptoeing up the stairs so he would not awaken me.

In a way, I identified with Mark's young girlfriend. They had both been so engrossed in what they were doing that their sense perceptions were not open to the receipt of any data other than what their sex organs were providing them. Just as they had not known someone else was in the room, neither had William and I, when my husband had returned, unannounced, so early in the morning to hear the sweet nothings the Vice President of his bank had whispered to me while he so delicately split my vagina with his penis, rocking and rolling it to our mutual pleasure.

The expletives my husband unleashed at the two of us that night were enough to wake up all the households on the street.

"But it just seems to me, Justin, that what's good for the goose is good for the gander," I had told him later after William left under threat of being shot if he didn't. Justin could not see the justice inherent in my statement. He left me that night, and filed for a divorce the next Monday. He fired his right-hand man, William, whom he had just appointed to a Vice Presidency the month before and who had been our guest for dinner for a number of Friday nights so he and Justin could discuss their plans for the expansion of the bank. Why he got so upset that William continued coming to dinner after he had left town with his sweet Miss was more than I could fathom. Why shouldn't his wife have some pleasure, too?

"Men are different," he had told me that night. "They have a right to whatever pleasures they can take because they're the ones who make the money. All you do is take care of the house and spend the money I give you."

It was the first time I realized how little my own husband had thought of me. To be able to say that after I had stuck with him, been true to him for over twenty years, even though I knew he was getting sexual pleasures elsewhere, was a definite insult.

In many ways, I blamed him for the lack of communication in the family. He was such a perfectionist, no one could do anything that would please him totally. If Mark got three touchdowns to his credit in one night, Justin wondered why he didn't get four? If Billie got one of her articles printed in the Herald Express, he wondered aloud why she couldn't get it in the Los Angeles Times. It was necessary for both children to get straight A's in school. Anything less he took as a personal affront.

And when it came to sex? I shuddered to recall him telling Mark he would kill him if he ever caught him in bed with a girl. That was

Mark's sex education. And the paranoia he had implanted into Billie about men every chance he got apparently took hold. In all the time Billie had gone to high school and the three years she had spent at U.C.L.A., she had never once brought her boyfriends to the house; only her girlfriends.

"What's the matter with her? Is she gay?" Justin had asked me one morning at breakfast. I had watched him for the longest time before I had answered, wondering how such a handsome man whose short-cropped gray hair made him look so distinguished, could be so cold and unfeeling.

"No," I answered after a long pause. "She just respects you and took what you told her to heart. She'll probably never want to marry any man."

After all those years of being with Justin, I had come to the conclusion that perhaps it would have been better if we hadn't gotten married. Rarely had he given me any attention or affection. In bed, he was on and off me in minutes, leaving his white load in me while he either turned over and went to sleep or got up immediately to watch television. For some reason, he could not stand to see his own wife enjoy sex. Was that also a pleasure reserved only for a man, in his eyes?

Nevertheless, he expected me to be perfect, too. I had to be the perfect wife, the perfect housewife, the perfect mother, the perfect socialite, a perfect conversationalist (not too much talk but not too little, either), the perfect everything. What had attracted him to me was my perfect looks and my perfect body. He liked my figure, my long, lean lines, the way I looked like a model no matter what clothes I wore. He liked the fact my hair always looked as if I had just gotten out of the beauty parlor, although I always did it myself, and he liked my perfect features. I was a cross between the Ail-American girl and a China doll. Without a tan my skin was milky-white, my large dark eyes effectively penetrating, my nose delicate enough to be feminine, but strong enough to be aristocratic. My cheekbones were high, and he had once called them majestic And both my mouth and chin were small and petite.

He had been so impressed with my appearance, he thought he had gotten a real buy when he married me. My wealthy ranch-owner parents had given him a dowry of twenty acres of prime Kentucky blue-grass land, along with three prize steers and twenty head of Kentucky walkers. Thus, he was totally adoring during the first years of our marriage. Then, I knew he had not strayed from me in any way.

But everything had changed when the children had reached their teens. Perhaps he began to compare my skin to Billie's. Perhaps the aging my body had undergone no longer made it perfect. He then sought other "perfect" specimens of womanhood and he found plenty of them willing to please him sexually and in every other way in exchange for the money he would give them.

Strangely, not much had changed since he had been taking mistresses. The only difference was, instead of going to business meetings, he would be meeting with call girls. At home, he was still a stiff, rigid, man, handsome as hell, but cold as a fish.

If Billie was a lesbian, I couldn't blame her.

I had really enjoyed being in the house without Justin's beady black eyes scanning each and every cranny for some evidence of a mistake I had made, tfhe only thing that made our separation unbearable was the total lack of company I had. The women in our social set who were still happily-married, did not want me around, at least when their husbands were there. And William?

He had acted like a boy caught with his finger in the jam when Justin had confronted him that night. Justin had tried to ruin him by making it impossible for William to find work elsewhere in the banking industry. It had become necessary for William to go to Alaska to restart his banking career. But at least, he could have called me to see how I was, or could have sent me a letter from time to time. Perhaps he was fearful that my husband's influence had spread to the 50th state, and he just didn't want Justin to know where he was until he was firmly established. As far as I knew, I was the only one who knew his whereabouts. But even if I went to Anchorage, it would take me some time to find out what bank he had finally landed a job with. The one bright light in the entire situation was the fact he had left his family behind. Perhaps one day, he would send for me.

But what would I do in-between? And what was I going to tomorrow morning, when I talked with Mark?

Thinking about Mark made me think about that young girl he had tried to screw and I could not remove from my mind the memory of the tight little muscles on her curvaceous body. I walked into the dressing room and began taking off my clothes. Each time I removed an item, I could not help but compare my body to hers through my mirror reflection.

I had had a busy life, even though it wasn't hard. Justin had always provided me with money. But the many years of tension and frustration showed. The many nights I lay in bed waiting for Justin to return, wringing my hands, had taken their toll. That, and the natural aging factor. I had to admit, I no longer looked fresh and young, but then, at age 45, who does? Nevertheless, the fact that my skin was no longer resilient disturbed me. The wrinkles about my eyes were heavy and the lines from my nose dipping down toward my lips made my nose look much longer. The skin on my cheeks had begun to shrivel slightly, but that was only apparent in the sunlight. In the soft lights of my home, no one could notice.

But there were evidences of flab. My breasts, once my proudest features, were no longer like two jutting twin mountain peaks. Yet, watching them, I never put myself down for that. They had been stretched out of shape by the pulls and tugs of my two children's tiny hands and mouth when I suckled them after they were born. Even my friends were shocked that I didn't put them on the bottle immediately. I did not dare tell them why. I did not dare confess to the great amount of sexual pleasure I had gained when their tiny bodies lay in the bed beside me and their tiny mouths sucked my nipples into a high erectile state. The feeling of the milk flowing through my nipples into their mouth had evoked in me a sexual feeling of greater magnitude than I had ever felt with Justin even fucking me. I recalled the many days and nights I had held my babies close to me and had given them my breast which they took so greedily in their desire for nourishment. Each suck they gave me made me feel sexual, desirous and wanting. Many times, as my milk flowed so sweetly into their mouths and they gulped it so readily, I had gotten sexually stimulated and the gentle touches to their tiny bodies were not just those of a loving mother, but of a woman about to experience orgasm, if only she were primed in that way.

With my daughter, I noticed it immediately and, of course never revealed any of my feelings to my husband, yet I think he somehow sensed, especially when I prolonged the time I breast fed her, that I was gaining sexual satisfaction during the process. Often, he was so irritated at the enthusiasm with which I bedded down with Billie, that he would snap at me, insist I start treating her like a young girl instead of a baby. He tried to bring pressure to bear in the company of our friends, who became shocked at hearing I was still nursing Billie after one year, then two years, then three years. Only when she went to nursery school did I stop.

But I never forgot the feeling of sexuality she had generated in me.

That's one reason why I was still upset with Justin. When he came home from the bank during the initial years of our marriage, after I had nursed Billie, I was in such a high state of incredible sexual tension that I wanted to have sex right before dinner. But Justin always insisted the home be run efficiently, like he ran the bank. Late at night, when he was finally ready, I wasn't. But even if I had been, I doubted if his fast-on, fast-come and fast-off technique would have satisfied the quiver in my vagina and cunt.

I was so happy my second child was a son. For some reason, having a male, however tiny, suckle my breasts made it seem all right that I was driven to such sexual heights. Many nights, while he went at my breast, I would touch his tiny prick with extreme pleasure, and wish it were large enough to take care of me. And I had loved to tantalize him, when he was older and could crawl on the bed toward me. I would take my breast out of my nightgown and show him what he would get when he got close to me. His scramble was a fast one and the pleasure of his warm mouth on my nipple occurred almost immediately.

Sometimes, when he sucked on me that way, he would get an erection in his tiny penis when I patted it ever so gently, and it was not just once that I wanted to put my mouth over it and to suck on him, too. Even more than Billie, I was upset when I had to stop breast feeding him. Even Justin was aware I was upset, and I think he somehow sensed that my own son had turned me on. It was during this time that my husband began to become more distant.

So even though my breasts were not what they could be, I never chastised myself for how they looked.

My hips were another matter. I had not really done much exercise, as Justin felt athletics were unfeminine. To please him, I tried to keep myself as soft possible. My many years of inactivity showed. The skin sagged and neither hips nor buttocks looked firm. Stretch marks still remained on my abdomen and the top of my thighs spread wide. Still, however, my legs were shapely, and if one did not look too closely, they might give the appearance they belonged to a woman in her twenties.

All in all, I was not so bad off. I still looked like a model and the trim sports outfits I wore made many men look at me twice, at least until they saw I was an older woman.

Once or twice, I had even caught Mark looking at me with more on his face than just casual interest of a son in a mother. Had he wondered what it would be like to screw his own mother? And did my great concern about him have anything to do with my own sexual feelings for my own son? Was that a part of the reason why I got so upset when I saw him with Barbara?

The thought sent a chill right up my spine and as if I was afraid to confront it head-on, I quickly took off the rest of my clothes and put on the nightgown. The resolute steps I took to my bed should have given me an inkling that there was more going on than would meet the surface. Perhaps my own feelings were significant in my decision not to call Barbara's parents. Perhaps I feared they would perceive there was more to my concern than that of a mother.

The smooth feel of the tan satin sheets of the king size bed that had not been warmed by anyone other than me for ten months was a welcome feeling. I noted from the digital clock on the bedside table that it was nearly two p.m.... Good god, had I been lost in my thoughts all that time?

I rolled over in bed, thinking I could fall into a restful slumber, but it was not possible. Still, the thoughts came fast and furiously. If I did have sexual feelings for my own son, would he sense this? What was I really going to say when we talked in the morning? Wasn't this really a job for a man? Shouldn't I call Justin?

I watched the clock flick over second after second until ten minutes had passed. After all, Mark was Justin's son, too. He could drop me like a hot potato, but he couldn't drop the responsibilities he had to his son. And even if I did wake him up, so what? Why should I be the only one being kept awake at night?

More than anything, that settled it, and I pulled the phone onto the bed and dialed Justin.

It rang ten times before I heard his sleepy voice.

"Yes?"

"Justin?"

"Yes."

"It's me. Jill."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Do you realize it's nearly two-thirty?"

"I had to call you, Justin. It's about Mark."

"Mark? What's the matter?"

"Just this." I paused, trying to organize my thoughts. "I caught him tonight, with a girl. He was all over her and she was all over him. They did everything, Justin, everything! He undid her bra and then sucked on her breasts, then he took off her panties and got between her legs, then she sucked his cock and then...."

"Where was this, Jill?" He sounded like he was wide-awake now.

"In the playroom."

"What did you do."

"I stopped it, of course, as soon as.. . . "

"Let me get this straight," he broke in. "You went into the playroom, right."

"Right."

"And where were they."

"On the couch."

"And they were doing what."

"He undid her bra and began sucking on her breasts. It was horrible, Justin."

"And then?"

"like I told you. He did that for a while and then he took off her panties and he went at her, right between the legs while she was urging him to do more, then he got to his feet, right between her legs.. . . No, she took his penis out first and pumped it, that was before he went down on her, then he just waved it right in front of her face like it was a piece of sausage, Justin, and she took it right in her mouth, sucking and pumping on it at the same time and the next thing I know, he's starting to put it in her vagina and...."

He sighed and spoke in a supercilious, disgusted manner.

"Did it ever occur to you to stop them when he was starting to undo her bra?"

There was a very long silence while I tried to think of an answer.

"Yes, but.. . . "

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Because, Justin, I just couldn't believe what was happening. Mark's only a boy, Justin, I never thought he'd do that. I was shocked, horrified, it was horrible--"

"You watched the whole thing didn't you, Jill. Didn't you wonder why you didn't stop them immediately?"

Justin, like he always did when he was so self-righteous, made me feel ashamed. My mind provided a number of possible explanations, but none of them seemed to be plausible. I also did not like being placed on the defensive.

"Look," I said, finally. "You left me ten months ago and I've had the full responsibility of the children and it's not easy, Justin, to do it all and...."

"Billie's not there, is she? She's still living at U.C.L.A."

"Yes, of course, but.. . . "

"Then what was the problem?"

I took a deep breath and let it out. "The problem, Justin, is that what I saw was so shocking, I just couldn't do anything at all."

"I think there's another explanation," he said, sure of himself. "I think you were fascinated and that's why you kept watching them. I think you were getting turned on by what you were seeing. I don't even think Mark would have done such a thing if you had been a better mother. What mother would have a man over to sleep in her own bedroom, and not expect the morals of her children to deteriorate?"

"Mark never knew about that, Justin," I said, feeling very shaky. "How do you know."

"I just know."

"So what do you want me to do about the mess you've created, at two-thirty in the morning?"

"I need your advice, Justin. This is a serious matter. I'm supposed to have a talk with him tomorrow morning, first thing. But I think you ought to have that talk with him instead."

"To let him know what a whore his mother is?"

"Justin, that's not right for you to say that."

"Then let me rephrase it, Jill. I'm talking to a woman, the mother of my son and daughter, who is immoral herself, and who really can't advise her son because she's lacking in integrity. She realizes, finally, that she needs some help because she knows her son will laugh right in her face if she tells him he did the wrong thing, so she calls the husband who left her when he caught her in bed with another man, expecting him to clean up the mess. It's out of my hands, Jill. Unless the courts give me the children, they're your responsibility to handle situations as they come up. Besides, I have an early golf game I can't cancel. So I'd say you're on your own."

"But what should I tell him, Justin? You could at least help me out there!"

"I'll tell you how I'm going to help you out and how I'm going to help out the children," he said, his voice level and threatening. "I'm going to ask for custody of them, so I can be in charge of their moral development. I'm going to tell the judge what you told me, at the settlement hearing, and I'm going to emphasize that you are a woman with no morals...."

"Justin!" I exclaimed, shocked. "You wouldn't!"

"I certainly would. Next time, think twice before waking me up in the middle of the night. And when you talk to Mark tomorrow, why don't you just thank him for satisfying your voyeuristic tendencies?"

"You are a real bastard, Justin. I didn't do anything you haven't done or wouldn't do."

"You seem to forget something, Jill. I would have stopped them immediately. Then hardly anything would have happened. You've got a problem that is of your own making. I suggest you remember that when you talk to Mark tomorrow. He can spot phony statements even before they're uttered. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to hang up. I want to get some sleep."

I heard the click of the phone, then silence.

Upset as I was before, I now felt totally apart, as if someone had ripped my stomach right out of my belly. For a long time, I sat on the bed, rocking, as I clutched my arms around my knees for support. Along with all my other upsetting feelings, guilt had entered in. What Justin had said contained an element of truth.

His ugly words had done the trick. I felt unworthy and embarrassed. And I knew my meeting with Mark would not be easy for either of us....