Chapter 4
For John, it was something wild. Everything about it fell into place naturally and perfectly. The Scotch had helped him up to the barrier, he knew, but from there, Terry Anson had taken him into her complete possession and moved him past it into another world. Her reaction to his kisses and caresses stimulated him to redoubled effort and he was only dimly aware of her hands, plucking away his clothing. He couldn't bear to not be touching her, holding her, kissing her every instant. For the frenzied moments in which his clothing was stripped off, he missed her, madly....
And then, they were close again, the warm, firmness of her swelling breasts pushing against his chest, hotly but affectionately as her arms captured him in their soft prison and that innocent, soft, ripe mouth stung him again with its thrilling charge....
He became conscious of her hands, then, moving, seeking, caressing, teasing, exciting him and his own reactions began to seem wild and unrestrained. Terry laughed aloud, in excited, joyous abandon as she knew his response to her and he retaliated with mouth and hands and arms, exploring her delicious, maddening figure until she arched and drummed her pink heels against the leather of the sofa. How long he was lost in the delirium of her delight, John had no way of measuring. He only knew it was to him like swimming in billows of sensation which touched him and penetrated him through and through. His muscles strove and tensed and he concentrated on holding Terry tight and not letting her slip away from him as the rollers heaved them together. He dimly heard his own broken, unintelligible words of delight and over them Terry's little cries and gasps and moans and exclamations of enjoyment.
And then the dam burst, flinging them into semiconscious, spasmodic ecstasy and their emotions beat against each other like huge-pinioned birds until the tumult died away and they sprawled in each other's arms, bodies shining with the perspiration of their amorous efforts together. John could dimly feel the thrust of Terry's tight-swollen breasts as they rose and fell beneath him, her breathing deep and hungry....
When their eyes came back to clear focus, Terry rose unsteadily from the couch, pushing her hair into a semblance of order, a satisfied smile on the full, innocent lips. John watched, fascinated, the tight movements of her breasts as they danced, enticingly, above the delightful contours of her waist and torso. John knew he had never seen bosoms to compare with them. Stepping unsteadily into her heels, Terry replaced next her bra and John suffered a momentary pang as the delights, half-masked, still seemed to look at him with alluring eyes. Involuntarily, he moved to her, taking the tiny waist in his hands and pulling her close, hard against him.
"You were wonderful!" he blurted, kissing her lips, cheeks and eyes.
"I wish we had time for more," she said, breathlessly, slipping the rounded arms about his neck. "I go on, pretty soon now, Johnny."
He relased her, reluctantly, to smile down into the sparkling eyes as she swiftly got into the rest of her clothing.
"You're a real trouper," he chuckled, teasing her chin with the pad of his forefinger, "the show must go on, hm?"
Terry laughed. "Or is it, 'the customer is always right' maybe?"
"Whatever's right," he sighed, his eyes regretting it was over.
"You know something, Johnny?" she said, still fussing with her hair, "you're very, very good. I enjoyed every bit of you and every second of it. Why don't you, the next time you feel you'd like to, make an evening of it with me ... say, at my apartment? We could take all the time we want...."
Her matter-of-fact words deflated John a bit, but she lifted his spirits as she went on.
"You know, I really liked it the way it happened. Sort of like a surprise package I didn't expect-I like that. It makes it all the more enjoyable." John's eyes were fascinated with the play of the tiny dimples at the corners of her mouth. She slipped close to him and slipped her arms around his neck again, kissing him warmly. "Don't forget how good it was with us, will you? I wouldn't like it if we never did it again. You know how to get to me, Johnny-and that's good for a girl. Not all men know-but you do. I like a man who does a good job!"
Then she was moving toward the door, but just before she opened it, she turned, halfway, to look over her shoulder and blow him a kiss. "Anytime, Johnny-anytime you want. You were great-and, thanks!"
Then the door closed behind her as she slipped gracefully out and closed it without making a sound. John Carrol stood, slightly dazed. Everything which had happened to him from the time Terry sat down with her drink had been almost totally unexpected. Terry, he reflected, was an unusual, an uninhibited girl who, at first glance, would appear to be shy, very feminine and somewhat timid of life. Yet, for all her scoffing at the 'female mystique,' there was that subtle something about Terry that reached inside and took hold of him. Her frankness was part of it, but it failed to dispel the essential female aura of her, despite her masculine bluntness....
John shook his head, bewildered. He thought, then, about Alice and about her soft, hesitant, romantic approach to love-making. He could not have found a more direct opposite to Alice than the forthright, yet mysterious Terry.
Then, he felt a pang, remembering Alice liked sex but always had insisted that she must feel something, romantically, for the man to arouse her. Knowing that, John could only feel his marriage was done because Alice would have to feel much more than just sexual desire before she could go into the arms of another man. What would it have been like had Alice been like Terry? John knew a moment of regret for the times when, with Alice, he'd had what was so much more than sex alone-it was the feeling of completeness which came from being in love with another. The pang grew when John remembered that Alice had known Carl Denver long before she had known him....
Going to the desk, John poured himself another drink. Turning out the lights in the office, he pushed the latch on his doorknob and sat down on the sofa, opening the slats of the Venetian blind to look out over the busy avenue. His mind still like a squirrel cage, he felt a great weariness closing in on him as the events of the day fought their way back into the forefront of his thoughts. He downed the Scotch in three pulls and then, the cumulative effect of the liquor he'd consumed all through the afternoon and night, caught up with him and the room tried to spin out from under him. Dropping his glass onto the carpet, he lay back on the cool leather of the sofa and closed his eyes against the exhaustion which pulled him away from the lurching, swerving effects of his drunkenness and dropped him, almost instantly, into a deep slumber....
John's dream began while he was running on a sandy beach, the sky purplish-red in a blazing sunset. From the distance, he could hear Alice's voice calling: "Johnny-John where are you?" Her voice was pleading and John slowed his flight to turn toward the voice. Then, from the greenish mists a feminine figure appeared and he cried: "Alice-Alice, I love you!" but when his arms felt the body in them, it was Terry Ansons, her tight breasts lifting for him to kiss them. With a sudden feeling of fright, John turned to run in the opposite direction, tripped and fell, his face smacking into the packed sand with stunning force. As he turned over, slowly, trying to get his bearings, he looked up to see the tall form of Frankie Robbins, legs wide apart, standing naked over him. Her huge breasts swaying slightly, fascinated him as she opened her red lips to ask: "Ya wanna lay me, buddy?" She leaned slowly forward, the huge breasts descending until he was smothered in the soft, cushiony swell of them, choking him. He fought to get free of them, to breathe but still they surrounded him, covered him, heavier and heavier, choking, smothering him as he began to feel a huge faintness, a sickness which slowly squeezed the life out of him....
John suddenly jerked upright on the sofa, his body wet with sweat and his head pounding as though a hammer were operating with untiring vigor inside his skull.
The light from the parted slats of the Venetian blind above him blinded him and shot bolts of pain into the throbbing already going on in his head. With a groan, he turned away from the light and tried to bury his head in the sofa.
He lay there for some time, trying to find the strength to rise, hoping the hammering would stop but it went on until he thought he couldn't stand it a moment longer. With a tremendous effort, he sat up holding his head and, staggering, went to the desk for headache pills....
A half-hour later, the agony of his headache somewhat abated, he sat with dry mouth and turbulent thoughts, trying to think of what his future offered. He could fill it with women like Terry Anson, Frankie Robbins-or he could hold out for love, for a wife and the kind of marriage he wanted. Maybe, just maybe, it could be with Alice.
He knew one thing for sure: he couldn't face life until things were settled between Alice and himself-one way or another. As of that moment, John realized that he still hoped there might be some way he could salvage his marriage from the wreckage in which he seemed to be tangled. Heaving himself to his feet, he started getting into his clothes. He needed food, he needed to get rid of his horrible hangover, and he needed to think, clearly; not to be driven by the roiling, unceasing confusion which had filled his mind since yesterday.
Going through the silence of the club, following a path through the forest of upturned chair legs on the tables, John again felt the pangs of regret for five years he'd devoted to a marriage which now seemed lost beyond the possibility of succor. The club had been built during their marriage-had been built because of their marriage. His future had been tied to the future and the success of the club because it was the means of his and Alice's livelihood. It wouldn't be the same, without her....
He had another thought, then-the place wouldn't be the same without Norma Blake, either. She was a part of his life-a part, which, without his knowing it, had become indispensable. John wondered how much Norma loved him-if she could ever become a part of his private life...?
And then the confusion and the depression of loss hit him again and it seemed as if his whole life were turned upside down and there was no pattern, no logic, no direction to it....