Chapter 6
Terry felt desire dart through her like a hot lance as the man reached up and drew her down to him. His initial reaction had been startlingly casual, to Terry. When she walked back into the living room, completely nude, Jerry had simply grinned, stood up and joined her in the center of the room. Then they moved to the sofa.
His hands moved lightly to enjoy the texture of her firm buttocks, his sensitive finger tips pressing and appreciating the resilience of her as they stretched on the sofa.
"You're beautiful, Terry," he murmured against her throat, lips and tongue sending tiny electric shocks through her smooth body. One hand cupped a round breast, making Terry twist more closely against him ... and then his lips found hers, his tongue a darting, daring marauder as her breath stopped in her throat.
A, sudden wildness pounded through her as she began to respond to the intensity of his kisses, and to the stirring touch of his caressing hands as they moved from her buttocks to waist, to stomach and the sensitive, quivering smoothness inside her round thighs. She began to shake, her hands diving desperately beneath his sweater, wanting to get him shucked down to the kernel of him so she could explore the taut muscularity of his body.
"Oh! Jerry, Jerry...!" she cried.
He laughed, softly, pushing her away to stand, looking down at the spectacle of her luscious nudity for a long moment. Then slowly his hands began to work at the fastenings of his clothing. His shirt followed the sweater, then his slacks....
"Oh-oh, hurry!" Terry begged, writhing in loneliness on the sofa. She could feel the pounding of the drums of desire working deep inside her; knew that, before long, she'd feel and tremble and pulse with each throb of their beat. Would he never get back to her? Her impatience tore at her as she watched the slow process of his undressing.
And then he reached for her, leaning down as his lips found the warm, tight substance of her breasts, his fingers again playing the delightful sensations on her trembling stomach and thighs. Suddenly, she went wild as his kiss made her body bow with exquisite desire.
"Oh, Jerry! Jerry...!" Her hands became talons, dragging his nakedness against her with a frenzied strength. Still he toyed with her, letting her go almost to the line of insanity as he teased her and threw fuel into the fires consuming her. Finally, when she was completely out of control, her finger-nails biting his thighs, painfully, he slapped her.
"You bitch!" he growled and Terry felt another electric, paralyizing shock twist her at the blow. She had been hit before ... but never with such erotic explosiveness. Then, she went completely out of her mind, plunging, writhing, twisting and aching in every nerve until she felt his body descend on hers, and the wonderful sensations rip her to sensual shreds. She knew the crush and the thrust of his body was pushing the breath slowly out of her body but she fought like a tigress to stay alive long enough to die the way she had to....
She was bathed in perspiration, shaken, dumb when it was finished. Even as he moved away from her, his fingers remembering the delights of her bosoms, she wanted him again. Then. And again and again ... The need to have his body crush her was an agony inside her. Never had she been turned on like this, before.
Terry reached for him, with an inarticulate sound, to climb up into his embrace, her eyes locked on his, their lips a breath apart. Then she found her speech.
"Y-you were wo-wonderful!" she gasped her breasts pushing against his chest, ". ... ju-just wonderful...!"
Norma looked at her reflection, clad in bra and panties, as she applied make up. It was a little past six-thirty, her body still tingling from the shower. She was thinking about John Carrol-and they weren't lady-like thoughts. Norma knew about sex-quite a lot about it ... but she knew that much of her knowledge had been gleaned in totally physical encounters to satisfy a physical need.
Tonight, however, she had no such idea in mind. This could be the start of something real. She knew it in every corner of her being.
John Carrol was different:-had been from their first meeting. From that moment, she had loved him-in her way. She knew at the instant they met, instinctively, this was the man for her. But, John was married.
Now, things had changed. John would be coming here and she would give him cocktails-and how easy it would be to give him much more. She smiled in the knowledge that men were just like little boys. A woman, wise with the instinctive knowledge of her sex could wind one around her little finger.
Norma's study of her person in the mirror revealed a flawless and creamy skin-breasts which were not large but spectacularly placed. High and symmetrically positioned, they commanded male attention and Norma knew it from many an optical maneuver. She was lissome, without being willowy. She possessed grace, the fluidity of lines characteristic of a fashion model, but without the emaciated appearance which marked them. To the casual eye, Norma might seem slight, but to the discerning view, she was made with just a little more, everywhere, than a slight female posessed. Studying Norma closely, she gave an impression of refined opulence. Every bone was correctly sized and positioned, every ounce of tissue was most advantageously placed and shaped. There was no waste in Norma's conformation.
She stood, smiling mischievously, to imitate the club strippers with a little bump and grind, before moving to take the black sheath from its hanger and paint her excellent body with it. Norma faced her attitude of mind. Tonight, she was a huntress, stalking her natural prey. If John Carrol was free to date any woman he wished, he was fair game....
Her door buzzer sounded just before seven. Norma was working with the zipper of her frock and continued her efforts. Then she heard John's voice.
"Anybody home?" he called, outside. Norma went to the door, holding the dress around her torso, to unlatch the door and stand behind it, out of sight of the corridor, as she asked John in.
As he closed the door behind him, smiling, he became aware of her partially covered state with an interest, heightened by alcohol.
Turning, Norma looked over her shoulder at John to ask: "Would you help me, please?" For a moment she wondered if he'd make a pass and half-hoped he would.
His hands reached to close about her all but bare shoulders, and, in that moment, Norma held her breath, waiting, unsure....
Then his hands moved away to deal with the recalcitrant zipper. After a few seconds, he stepped back, hands dropping to his sides. "There, Norma, that should take care of the pesky thing."
As Norma thanked him, turning to face him, again, he ran a finger around the inside of his collar in mock agitation.
"Touch and go there, for a minute," he grinned.
"Oh?" she returned, trying to make it casual-as though she had not fully realized the situation. Then she felt a little foolish. After all, they were both adults and the situation had been intimate.
"Yes-come to think of it, it was," she agreed.
John stepped toward her. Norma warned, him off with both hands on his chest, smiling.
"What?" he said.
"You had your chance, now the opportunity has vanished." John's eyes, bright from the stimulation of what he'd drunk, looked at her and a grin began tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then his laugh broke the ice for both of them as Norma joined him.
"You know, I've got to remember what I learned in grade school," John said. "Opportunity only knocks once. Why do I keep forgetting the simple, basic things? Maybe I've lost faith in them."
"That you should never do," Norma said, indicating the sofa with a gesture of her hand. "What's your pleasure, sir?"
"Better stick to Scotch on the rocks," John said, easily, sitting down and Norma moved to the kitchen to mix.
Returning to the living room, Norma felt more relaxed. For a brief interval, things had seemed awkward to her until she remembered how close she and John had been, without recognizing it in any overt way, for a number of years. In the awareness of the change in his situation and the bearing it had on their relationship, she had lost touch with being herself, briefly. Now she knew what had thrown her off balance for a little. She hadn't realized that their relationship hadn't changed-it had only expanded, bringing with it an increased awareness of each other.
Suddenly, she felt comfortable sitting beside John. A woman alone was out of gear with living ... and a woman was not meant for loneliness anymore than the male of the species. If you attempted, in your unmarried state, to enjoy life as you wanted, it was you against the world. Go out for an evening with a man you didn't know too well and you were likely to find yourself struggling against a repugnant intimacy which he assumed was his reward for filling your time. On the other hand, a platonic relationship seldom produced a fun evening. There was no spice, no sauce, no flavor to it and it was just passing time. That she could do alone-but she didn't like it. She was not averse to sexual affairs-but she was extremely selective about her partners. Why this should offend men, who, in the same breath, demanded purity of their women, was a constant source of annoyance to Norma and conclusive evidence that men were no more logical than little boys.
However, just sitting beside John was a new sensation. She wanted John and his nearness sparked a recklessness strange to her; at least since becoming an adult, it seemed strange. This situation-this time, time-here and now-she had longed for, many nights in her lonely bed with the dark pressing around her, filled with the foreboding of doubt that it would ever happen.
"Well," John remarked as he nestled a little closer to her, "I am always excited, inwardly, at how lovely you look. Is this a new dress-I haven't seen it before, have I?"
She looked at him over the rim of her glass, giving her head a tiny shake to indicate a negative answer. She felt electric, alive and fascinating for the first time, so long, she couldn't remember the last time. It had probably been with her late husband....
"You haven't seen it before, John, but it's not a new dress." She nestled a little in the softness of the sofa pillows beside him. Here we sit, she thought, alone together as I've wanted to be with him for so long-and we don't have a thing to say to each other. Just like a couple of runny-nosed children. The awkward feeling came back.
"What are you thinking?" John asked, his perceptiveness sensing her unease and his instinct being to correct it.
"Thinking?" Norma laughed, suddenly. "Well, we are Norma and John, aren't we-the two who work together, day in, day out at the club? Double-harness for several years, but we never flirt, never touch, never smooch-just buddy-buddy all the time and laugh at our problems, together? Are we that couple?" Damn, she thought, it's tougher to relax with an old friend than a new acquaintance ... just because the old friend might represent something different.
John frowned, lit a cigarette, then offered her one and lit it for her.
"You know, Norm," he said, "this is strange, isn't it?"
Her only reply was a nod.
"Maybe we should act like strangers, who've just met." He touched her cheek with an affectionate finger. The contact made Norma go weak and excited inside. She was sure he was going to kiss her but the moment passed.
"Well, one thing I refuse to do is starve a lady to death," he grinned, finishing his drink. "Hungry?"
"I think so," she replied, wishing she could tell him she was so jittery inside she really didn't know. "What had you in mind?"
"How about the Benton House-nice dance music, an excellent bar and wonderful steaks. Also, it's far enough out of town so we can really feel we're in the country. Sound alright?"
"Fine, John," she replied as he got to his feet, and took her hands to lift her up. As she came to a standing position, John stood perfectly still for a little, then pulled her close to him. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, then his lips moved to touch hers, softly, as his arm tightened around her waist. It was a gentle kiss-just the tender pressure of their mouths-but Norma felt as though it were all the wonderful kisses she'd ever dreamed of, wrapped up in this fleeting caress. For her, it held a beauty and perfection which made her dizzy.
As John drew slowly away, his eyes held an odd expression-a little wider, but a little more somber; yet they seemed, also, to be sharper, more alert as though he were inwardly probing for an answer to a deep problem.
"Well," he said, hesitantly, "shall we go?"
Norma's impulse was to walk into the bedroom, take off every stitch of her clothing, and come back to John, naked as September Morn. The only reason she didn't was that she was dubious John would understand her motives and mistake her for one of the many easy women who might throw themselves into his arms at the opportunity.
Instead, she nodded, unable to speak because of a sudden lump which blocked her throat-a roiling desire surging through her nerves which shook her from head to foot. She moved to get her coat from the closet and gave it to John to hold for her as she slipped into it. They went out, quickly, leaving the intimate seclusion of Norma's apartment and the erotic invitation it held.
John Carrol's thoughts were like a pendulum-coming to rest nowhere. Before leaving the club that afternoon, he'd had a phone call from Frankie Robbins which had been suggestive and exciting. It was the type of conversation pleasant to a man averse to a serious involvement yet finding sexual involvement pleasant to consider.
"Hello," Frankie greeted him and he couldn't place the voice at first.
"Hello?" he repeated, inflection indicating he didn't recognize the caller.
"You don't even know me!" she said, following with a throaty, sexy laugh, a little colored by alcohol. Maybe she was tight, but it gave an exciting color to her speech. "I was home, alone and got to wondering when we might get together...."
Then the bell rang in his mind. "Frankie!" he exclaimed.
"Yes!" she replied, "and I'm a little tight. Hope you don't mind."
"Just so you kill the customers tonight," he reminded her.
"You sound stem. Never tight on stage ... maybe a little high, because I'm better high ... and you should see my private performance when I'm high. Why don't we get together sometime?" John could tell 'sometime' meant 'come right over' and he had a feeling that she might be very lonely. That seemed strange to him, because he'd never figure Frankie to be lacking in male companionship, if she wanted it.
"What had you in mind, Frankie?" he asked, to kid along a little.
"What do you think?" she laughed. "You know, boss, I'm a little too tight-maybe. But I'll be alright tonight. If I'm not, you can fire me without a pay check. OK?"
"Why not take the night off?" he offered.
"Never-I'll give the customers a real jolt for their money! Check the house when I finish or ask around tomorrow if you don't catch the show tonight. See if I'm not right." She laughed, again, then suddenly broke the connection.
John waggled the instrument in his hand, puzzled, then hung up with a chuckle. Women were interesting, for one reason, because you could never figure out what they'd do next.
He left a note for Jerry English to cut Frankie's act if she were smashed-otherwise, let her go on, but keep an eye on her and give him a report.
John's natural desires heated with the thought of a private party with Frankie Robbins. And, his speculation fired his desire for any woman-especially the one next to him.
Now, sitting beside Norma as they drove to the restaurant, John tried to channel his thoughts into considerations other than sexual. Kissing Norma, true, had fired him up ... but it had done something else, too. It brought into focus the fact he considered Norma something special-not a woman to be used and thrown aside.
The atmosphere in the restaurant was calculatedly intimate and, in John's frame of mind, it heightened the romantic aspect of his being there with Norma.
The dark wall paneling and heavy ceiling beams did nothing to amplify the already dim illumination. Tables were small oases of soft light, scattered through the near-gloom, and under the softness of the electric candle-light on the snowy cloths, faces became smooth, creamy, almost disembodied cameos of light and shadow.
Both were silent under the spell of their surroundings after they'd ordered cocktails. John, through the smoke of his cigarette, had been studying the features of Norma's soft face, automatically comparing them with Alice's. He felt a small surprise when he realized that his wife's looks did not quite measure up to Norma's beauty. John's interest heightened as he noted the sensitivity of Norma's face, the nose slender without being sharp and with just a suggestion of upturn, the high cheek bones, full lips and big, dark eyes which, aware of his scrutiny, looked back at him candidly, unafraid of his searching stare.
Martinis arriving, they tapped glasses in expectant salute to a happy evening and drank.
"You know, Norm, it seems strange-being out with you."
"Thank you!" she said with a sarcastic inflection but a humorous twinkle in her eyes. He smiled in recognition of his inept statement.
"You know what I mean! It's nice-but, after all this time, I feel I know almost nothing about you-personally. Some, of course, but I'm mostly in the dark as to your likes and dislikes, habits...."
Norma smiled. "Not much to know. I like to shower in the morning, and I'm like a mother bear until I have my coffee. I seldom drink before dinnertime, unless someone invites me out to lunch-and I like my steak almost raw in the center." She chuckled. "A man I knew-a long time ago-a Texan, commented on my preference for very rare beef. Said he'd seen a cow hurt worse than that get well."
John, laughing, said: "Well, that's the way we'll order yours, then."
"Better not," Norma said, falling into the lure of the silly turn of mind, "I might decide to take it home for a pet....
Terry stretched and tensed sensuously on the bed, an aroused little woman, housing the heat of a desire which the seductive lines of her body advertised as insatiable. To Jerry English, she was a rare treat since-of all the women he had known-Terry Anson was the source of seemingly endless delights. She never seemed to tire of sex-and she never ran out of ideas.
Some hours had passed since they'd arrived at Terry's place. Now they were relaxed on her bed, a seeming afterthought to the first, urgent lovemaking on the living-room sofa. Jerry had been surprised at the rapid return of his own desire following their first taste of each other.
Now, he lay thinking about her large, firm breasts, standing like creamy globes on her body, the small, intensely pink nipples standing stiff to invite the touch of his fingers and the heat of his kisses.
"Jerry, do you like me?" Terry asked, rolling to him to rest the swollen bosom against his bare chest. "I mean-really like me?"
Her voice was so serious that Jerry felt a quick pang of alarm. The last thing he needed or wanted was a serious involvement.
"Terry, you're positively spectacular in bed!" he assured her, giving his honest reason for his attraction to her.
"I like that," Terry said, squirming until both the firm globes pressed hotly against Jerry's skin. He hadn't been able to resist taking one in his fingers to fondle. She leaned down to kiss him. "I like the way you do things to me, Jerry."
"I'll bet you say that to all your lover-boys," Jerry chuckled.
Almost, she pouted, but a giggle wrecked it. "You're right-or almost right! I like sex-and I especially like a man like you." Her wriggling commenced again until her luscious form lay on his. Jerry could feel the roller-coaster ride was beginning again and his ardent hands found the tight rounds of her buttocks, his fingers pressing the delightful firmness, hard. Terry's mouth found his ear and, with a small sting of pain, she bit him.
With a growled oath, Jerry flipped over to pin Terry beneath him, arms and legs suddenly whipping about her savagely as his lips began to taste the soft, velvety skin as though starved for it. It was getting late, he knew-they'd have to go back soon-but right now, all he could do was to crush the heat and desire of this delightful, small animal in voracious want. There'd never been a girl like Terry....
She was writhing beneath his hard muscles, sobbing, uttering small, explosives profanities, her hands wadding and tugging the sheets in excitement. Then, when in blind rapture she tried to capture his tormenting masculinity with her twisting, hungry body, he possessed her slowly and deliberately and the shock of their release, when it came, immobilized them both, for a long, long moment, in a paroxysm of paralyzing delight. As Jerry's aching, tensed muscles relaxed, he felt as though he'd drowned in the crashing, thundering climax of a great symphony, the music still echoing in his throbbing head. He became conscious of his breath, rushing in and out of his lungs, as through a tear in the bellows of a huge pipe organ.
He rolled away from the quivering Terry in the dimness to think of the many girls-the singers, the customers, the fans-the lonely women he'd had. Jerry had had his share and he'd begun early. A comely widow on his street, a customer for his lawn-cutting activity as a boy in his mid-teens, had seduced him one afternoon in a memorable experience. She'd invited him into the kitchen, when he'd finished her yard, for a cold drink and his eyes couldn't stay away from the nylon-sheathed mystery of her knees and thighs, constantly coming back to them through the glass of the table-top. Recognizing his fascination and his excitement, she had subtly fed both. When, daringly, his throbbing desire brought him around the table to her side, she kept her own, blazing hunger under a firm hand as his excited kisses and unsure hands stung her. When she'd led him to the sofa in the living room and stretched upon it, lifting her skirt to her waist, his panting, blinding passion made him like putty in her hands ... his body like hot steel in her fingers as she introduced him to manhood....
Jerry sighed, losing count of the women in his past. This one, next to him now, was something else. It was as though Terry had been created for sex. He couldn't make love to her without wanting to make love to her again. She was wild and free and natural and exciting. She made love like she sang-with intense artistry and overwhelming emotion-and as though she never wanted to stop. He sat up, his eyes finding the light outline of her arousing beauty in the dimness and going to the proud stance of her breasts. He was filled with her beauty and with the pounding knowledge of how wonderful she was to make love to. Suddenly, he felt the danger of the emotions which she evoked in him and quickly got to his feet.
"Jerry-where...?" Terry sat up in the darkness. "Work. Remember?"
"Oh double, diddledly damn! We'll be late!" She shot out of bed to pause for a beat with her arms around him. "You were wonderful!" she breathed, raising her lips.
"So are you, Terry-double wonderful!"
"Again-soon!"
"Whenever you say, baby."
"Like after work, tonight?" she said, writhing against him as though to arouse him again.
"Hey-this is Jerry-not Superman!"
"That's right: Jerry Superman. Anyhow, we could sleep together and let nature take its course, couldn't we?"
He laughed, pleased. "And why not?" he asked, kissing her lightly.
"You know, Jerry," she said, choosing her words and speaking slowly, "I'd like to be your girl on a short-term basis-so we could be together most of the time-that's if you like the idea. You could sleep here, nights ... it would be so handy!" She giggled.
Jerry was pleased, again-and a little surprised.
"No strings, baby?" he asked.
"No strings. I'm for fun, Jerry. I love your kind of kicks and I dig your music like you dig mine. You like?" she nodded at the bed, stepping back from him, reaching for her clothing, breasts trembling with the motion. Jerry exhaled.
"Baby, in that sack you're like crescendo, largo, and molto grandioso ... not to forget mucho caliente. I like...!"