Chapter 1

It was nine o'clock of an abnormally warm April night. Wisconsin had been gifted with a swift thaw in the early part of April. The days that had followed were rainless and clear and the spring heat had swiftly built up. So that tonight, as remarkable evidence, the living room windows were ajar and the pane in the front door was open to full width.

Nobody was knocking it. Used to severe weather almost into June, Wisconsinites instead gave thanks for small blessings. And talk about your spring fever.. .

It was especially prevalent in the modest three-bedroom bungalow, number 1147 on Jason Drive. A cozily snug structure set back from the street, it sported a spacious and well manicured lawn. A love nest occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Ken Baylor, 32 and 30 respectively, and their two children Carol and Randy, five and three, it was located in what was commonly thought of as one of Glendon Falls' most respectable neighborhoods. A neighborhood seemingly reserved for "comers" among the city's citizenry.

The children were already asleep, and Diane Baylor, alone at the moment, expecting her husband home within the hour, was busy with certain conniving arrangements. Strictly legal arrangements, but conniving just the same.

Emerging from the bath, luxuriously toweling herself dry as she arched and swiveled her body in obvious self-delight, she hummed a monotonous off-key tune. Her mind, all the while, rushed ahead of her preparations, her thoughts determined and very purposeful indeed.

Naked, actually enjoying her nudity, she set the bathroom to rights wiped the steaming mirror, toweled the tub to glistening dryness. Her soiled clothing went down the clothes chute, she wiped up spatters on the floor.

Diane Baylor was a textbook wife. Her house was always immaculate, despite her interminable round of outside activities. No visitor had ever caught her with beds unmade or dishes undone.

The bathroom tidied, Diane Baylor ran down the hall in playful nakedness and entered her bedroom.

Drawing the blinds, she turned on the lamps then wheeled to face the double paneled mirror doors that fronted their clothes closets. And there, full-length, in living color, reflected from three angles at once, was the ravishing Diane Baylor, the toast of Hollywood, Cannes and New York. The goddess of the age.

She smirked sarcastically, then forced a smile while she examined her body from all directions. By moving the doors she could almost imagine she was in one of the downtown women's shops. Wouldn't Mr. Quillan at The Bon Ton flip over a customer in a creation like this?

It was a game Diane, at her age, should have outgrown by now. She enjoyed it however, would abandon it only when she'd turned into a disgusting, flabby hulk when it would be a painful rather than a pleasurable rite. After all, she mused, a woman's beauty is all she's got. When that's gone who's gonna come knocking at your bedroom door?

It was fun to imagine herself a famous movie star, chanteuse, or some other fabulous public figure, to get a subtly wicked charge out of posing and parading before her mirrors like this.

Now she grimaced. It was time to come down to earth. She ran her hands along her waist, angry at the way they caught small folds of fat there, perturbed at her very whiteness, the way the veins seemed so startlingly blue. Get thee to thy calorie counter. Importune thy sun lamp.

All those luncheons, that blasted kick-off banquet the other night. Why can't I ever learn to shake off the nose bag in time? You're getting fat, baby. Big fat.

But in actuality it was only so much nit-picking. Diane Baylor at thirty was still a gorgeous specimen of voluptuous, swinging womanhood. Standing now as she was, the dim light of her boudoir lamps giving her body enchanting shadows, she was an exquisite, pulse-accelerating female.

Her middle was trim and flat, her legs long and lean. Only small inroads of flabbiness in an unnoticable place, only a mere ripple of flesh at her hip bones. The small excess blended excitingly into her pert, ebullient buttocks, gave them a pulsing, hoyden life of their own. Especially now as she turned, waggled them playfully at her reflection, wrinkling her nose in gamin annoyance.

Diane Baylor was a lovely woman. She was, from all outward appearances, almost as much woman physically as any man could want. She did have failings, but these were concerned with character, not sexual allure. Now she faced the mirror full face again, shook her hair into tomboy disarray and let her eyes turn sultry. Then she let her hands form pedestals for each lush, bursting breast. She even went so far as to tease the nipples with her fingers in the way that drove poor Ken right out of his head. Her mouth became a willful, pagan slash.

Then she caught herself. Hey, she challenged, aren't you putting on your act too soon? This's supposed to be for Ken, remember? Get moving, he'll be home from that faculty meeting any minute now. You wouldn't want him to catch you like this, would you? Or would you?

Quickly she turned away from the mirrors and went to her dresser where her perfumes stood in formidable array. Purposely choosing one of her heavier scents, a musky, arousing perfume Ken particularly liked, she began applying it to her throat and behind her ears. Finally, as daring clincher in case the bull should shy at the last gate she touched the inflaming fragrance to the pouty under swell of each breast, even streaked it sparingly in the glistening valley.

Now the woman went to her dresser drawer and removed a very frilly, very seductive negligee and nightgown. Pale, wispy pink, the garments complimented her fair blondeness perfectly, made her look like a soft, furry little bunny. Innocent, desirable, cuddly.

Wow, Diane mused, taking a last look at herself in the mirror. If I was a man, honey, I'd rape you on the spot.

Now she returned to the bathroom where the light was brighter. She spend the next five minutes redoing her lips and eyes, dusting her face lightly with powder.

Now Diane Baylor went to the kitchen, labored tto build an incendiary pitcher of martinis, her mind busily envisioning the mad, way-out passion the cocktails, would trigger for Ken. And since she'd gone so far as to become instigator, temptress and wanton all in one-how could any of it backfire?

Her husband had definitely been restless lately, make no mistake about that. She could always tell when one of his dissatisfied spells was a building. He hibernated, hid in his work, retreated behind his books, barely said ten words in an evening. Lines of communication all but broke down between them. They might as well have been total strangers, living together, but not really knowing each other, sharing no part of their lives with each other.

She tried to be more receptive to his loving advances, but somehow Ken immediately sensed when she was merely shamming, surrendering not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to please Ken. This was worse than if they hadn't tried at all.

Yet Diane didn't think of herself as a basically cold woman. It was just that ... well ... they'd been married for eight years now, and shouldn't Ken, by now, be getting tired of her? After all, love was the same thing over and over. Sometimes, when those special fires never got ignited within her, his lovemaking was so tedious that she could have screamed.

Also, something Ken rarely took into consideration, she was tired many of those nights. Just plain dead. After all, she was president of the Glendon Falls League of Woman Voters, she was president of St. Claudia's Guild at Church, she was active in Community Concerts. All those things took time. And what with Carol and Randy to chase around ... with their small, restrictive social life ... Then there was Faculty Wives, P.T.A., she'd volunteered as Kindergarten assistant one afternoon a week. Why couldn't Ken see that those things were important too?

Just as important as...

But tonight was going to be different, she resolved, purposely pouring herself a martini and beginning to drink it determinedly. When she was tipsy she could bring authentic passion to the love act. She firmly intended to make this one a night to remember.

And tomorrow Ken would be his happy-go-lucky, whistling self again. He'd be cracking his stupid riddles a mile a minute.

And that-she sighed deeply, feeling the gin go to work on her with eager-beaver glee was what wives are for. To keep their daddies happy. And if that's what daddies liked ... She smiled. I'll give him all I got.

She came into the living room and looked at the clock on the mantel of their colonial-style fireplace. Ten minutes. She giggled. And, Geronimo! The poor sap'll never know what hit him. She drew the drapes, closed the door. Now she arranged herself in a seductive pose on the davenport, sipped her drink, studied her tiny feet, twinkling and pretty in silver bedroom slippers.

After all, she reflected, she was looking out after her own interests. It was a matter of investment in her own future. God knows when Ken'll get the itch to roam. He certainly has opportunity enough. What with all those man hungry old maids at the high school. And from what she heard about teen-age girls nowadays, Ken wasn't safe there either.

She'd heard Melissa Cortland, in one of her vulgar moods, comment once: "The best way to keep your man from wandering is to keep him happy. And, honey, you know there's only one good way, one person qualified to take care of that. Don't let some other floozie beat you out of that chore. Or she'll beat you out of something else besides."

Diane caught herself angrily. There you go again, she charged, putting everything on such a practical, cut and dried basis. Can't you, just for once, do this because you actually want to? Because you actually desire Ken? Do you have to act like a mercenary tramp?

Ken, darling. What a pig in a poke you bought.

But at that moment her angry self-appraisal was interrupted as she heard Ken drive in. Quickly she rose, filled her glass anew, filled one for Ken and set them in a neat line on the cocktail table. Then? propping the pillows behind her back, arranging her legs before her, opening the negligee to the waist so that nothing was concealed through her sheer nightie, she sat back to wait.

"Well," Ken's voice caught, surprise and adoration dominant in it, as he came in through the back door, and entered the living room, "what have we here?"

She opened her arms to him and felt love flower as he came to her side, knelt before her, kissed her. "Welcome home, baby," she said, thinking at the same time, This is how I should always be. I should always feel like this. I should be all excited from wanting and preparing for him.

They kissed again. Now Ken sat back on his haunches, his hands lightly sliding on her legs, his eyes wide with wonder. "Hey, Diane? What's up? What's happening?"

She grinned mischievously. "Nothin yet, Ken. But later, maybe. I can think of a couple things."

"You're lovely," he said. "You don't know how happy you make me when you're like this. But how come?"

"Yours not to reason why," she put a fragrant finger to his lips. "Party night, that's all. Do you like parties?"

"I'm wild about them. Especially with you. Especially this kind of party."

She smiled sultrily. "And how do you know it's going to be that sort of party?"

"This is how I know." Swiftly he was opening the tie of her negligee, he was caressing her breasts, holding them for his trembling lips, alternately as he nibbled them through the silky, gossamer nightgown.

Diane fingered his ears playfully, an attention she knew Ken loved, holding his face to her bosom, recognizing the wild, happy pressure growing for her. Oh, this is going to be one of the good ones, she thought.

Finally, as his lips wet the nylon, she pushed him away. "I made you a drink, dear. You could at least do me the courtesy of...

"Drink," she said with mock severity. "like a good boy. How was the faculty meeting?"

"Meeting, schmeeting. Who cares? The same old jazz. The child oriented curriculum. The child oriented toilet."

"Ken," she wheeled, "you're being vulgar. Don't spoil the mood."

"Sorry." The burning resentment faded slowly. "I didn't mean to. You shouldn't have brought the meeting up. You know how I get every time I think of that dastardly Prather."

"Ke-en. Now stop it. I'm sorry now too."

Ken drained half his martini in one swallow. He arranged himself on the floor beside his wife and made himself comfortable, still looking at her with bright anticipation in his eyes. Now, to supplement his visual adoration, he brought up his free hand to slide in slow circles on Diane's waist. The sensuality of nylon sliding on nylon, nylon sliding on silky flesh sending tremors through him.

"How come, baby?" he said in a choked, lost voice. "You usually act like this's something nasty or something."

"Don't spoil things, Ken. Let's just say today was a nice day and I got spring fever. That I got to missing you." She shivered. "Oooh, Ken, that feels so nice. I love you when you're gentle like this, not impatient..

"I can't exactly say I'm averse to you. either." He rose to refill his glass and give Diane a splash. Then he came to her, rearranged her, sat beside her, took her into his arms. They kissed again. The martini and her burgeoning need made Diane feel very evil all at once. As evidence, she let her tongue snake at Ken's lips. She became aggressor, pushing him back on the davenport, her lips drilling, her small mouth all but submerged at his larger one, an insatiable fever possessing her.

"Baby, baby...." he breathed, his voice passion charged. "I love you, I love you. Especially when you're like this. Mmmmm. I can't get enough of you."

For long minutes the passionate kissing and flood of endearments went on, the need in each of them irrevocably growing to becoming a grinding, cauterizing thing. At first they stopped often to sip the cocktails, but as their urgency rose, threatened to break them, they had less and less time for drinking.

Now they were both trembling uncontrollably. Diane experienced an excitement made all the more glorious for her initiation of and self-sacrifice to this. Ken's hands were everywhere. The negligee was thrown aside, the nightgown had been pulled up around her waist, its bodice geehawed so that Ken's lips could find the raspberries of her breasts.

Diane thrashed and clutched him, whimpering, "Turn out the lights, Ken. Get undressed. Please. Don't torture me like this."

But he, in a primitive trance, ignored her. Instead he further arranged her on the davenport, flat on her back. He leaned over her, his lips attending her in one place, his hands ministering in another, until Diane was demanding nonstop, her breasts heaving from her frantic panting, her lips spewing prolonged wails of delight.

She froze as Ken's lips went to her breast, began to trace tickly, maddening circles there. "Ken, Ken," she chanted. "You're wonderful. You're driving me crazy. Please, in the bedroom. Undress and take care of me."

"Not yet, not yet," he pleaded. "Let me enjoy you a little longer. It's so seldom I get you like this...."

A searing thunderbolt whipped her spine, left her totally helpless, delirious to have the worshipful love-making go on and on. Forever and ever ij Ken wanted. Her head thrashed on the cushions. "Enjoy them, damn you," she seethed. "Enjoy, enjoy..."

His lips moved faster, his hands became bolder, more inquisitive. She felt his fingers touch her. She brought her hands up and twisted them in his hair. Frenzied, she wanted her nightie off in the worst way. "Please, please," she begged, "take off this rag. Before I rip it off myself. Oh, darling, take me to bed."

But he was stubborn. "No, Diane. Not yet, not yet."

She fell back, surrendered to the sensations that invaded her, dripped like molten lead. The things his fingers were doing now! The way his lips were nipping her, the way his hands swirled and pressed!

Suddenly Diane could stand no more. Beside herself with frenzy, the alcohol delivering her to new heights of rapture, she fought Ken away and struggled from the davenport. She teetered in the middle of the room, wrenched the nightie over her head. "If you won't help...."

Now the libertine fires raged more savagely. Wanting to make good her vow to make this a night to remember, she backed away from Ken as he was coming toward her on his knees. Arching her body in a wanton pose, she fell against the rough fireplace. Her hands bracketing her bosom, her fingers flicking her hard nipples, she watched the exhibition take effect on Ken.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and glazed. "You witch," he rasped, "you teasing witch. You do want me, don't you? Hell, this is going to be our wedding night all over." He reached for his martini, drained it in a single swallow and poured the remaining mixture into his glass. This went down too. "Might as well go out in a blaze of glory."

He was approaching her again. "Let me, Diane," he grated. "Let me do that for you."

When he reached her, still on his knees, Diane smiled dreamily. She leaned forward and unloaded her breasts into his waiting hands. He straightened, stretched his neck, insane longing in his eyes. And Diane couldn't resist him. Her knees felt rubbery! She leaned and fed her burning, pained nipples to his waiting lips each in turn. Gasped hollowly at the magnificent fire ignited in each.

Until finally, unable to stand a single second more of that, she broke from Ken, wheeled, went to turn out the lamps. "Hurry, Ken," her voice called from the blackness, going away, "in the bedroom. I can't wait any more."

The man floundered up from the floor and kicked off his shoes. He tore at his buttons as he ran. Diane was on the already opened bed. A triumphant giggle escaped her.

"No!" she protested as Ken moved to kiss her breasts again. "There isn't time. I only want one thing. I ... want ... you. Now, nowl"

He chuckled in the darkness, touched his knee to hers. Diane wanted to scream from the anticipation. He was taking so long, so long ... Her hands brazenly went in search of him, closed and tore.

"I want you," she moaned. "I want you...."

Again he chuckled, moved his body.

"Oh!" she cried.

"Hold me," he sighed. "like that. Just lie still, hold me. Damn, I can't describe how good you are. You're just marvelous, that's all."

"Love me, love me. I've been waiting for this all night."

And momentarily Diane was frozen by the impact of her words. That's the truth, she realized. For once, for the first time in such a long, long time ... I actually desire my husband. I want him so bad I'll go out of my head if he doesn't start soon. Her hands clawed his back.

"Please, darling," she choked. "Don't just lay there. Love me. Give, give . .

Her exhortations were effective for now he was launching her into a dark infinity of sensation. "Oh, oh ... Ken, you sweet lover."

Diane caught herself, couldn't decide whether to laugh or shriek at his onslaught. He was so right, so right. Who, she goaded herself, was supposed to get the benefit of all this? Who was I worried about getting spring fever, acquiring a roving eye?

She forgot her acid questions then, in juggernaut search of infinity.