Chapter 3
"Hello, you must be John," Rita smiled at the slim, rather boyish yet masculine figure visible in outline only against the blinding August sun. "Come in . . . please."
She moved behind the door to allow him entrance, then gasped in pleasant surprise when she caught her first clear view of him in the dim light of the hallway. Far from being a disheveled, burned-out looking, degenerate man, John Silverman was a tow-haired blonde with wide-set shoulders and an innocent grin. Something about his short stature and pixie-faced childishness reminded Rita of herself. Had he not been wearing the pale blue jumpsuit, she would have guessed him to be a college athlete. Her own elation took her by surprise. John possessed a wide-eyed visage of mixed compassion and curiosity mixed with a hangdog look of failing self-confidence. Harmless, this one.
"Sit down," she said, smiling warmly as they walked into the living room. "Could I get you a coke? You must be hot after walking in that infernal sun."
As she spoke, the man looked up to meet her eyes for the first time. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but it took a full minute before a word choked out.. . and then it was stuttered, his cheeks flushing.
"G-gosh, I d-don't know if I-I-I should be w-workin' for you, M-Mrs. Henshaw. You're a p-pretty lady."
Rita's smile broadened in effort to camouflage the compassionate distress she felt for the man. Half-boy, half-man-she understood now what Sharon Goddard meant about his harmlessness and half-wittedness. She could see the muscles in his neck standing out as if he were under great stress and, though she would have done anything to relieve him of the painful anxiety he seemed to experience in her presence, she did not want him to leave her alone. He appeared to be so gentle and in as great a need for a friend as she was herself.
Aside from his stuttering speech impediment, his golden blonde wind-blown hair and deeply dimpled cheeks reminded her somewhat of a boy she had dated back in high school at the advent of her newfound sexuality. Subconsciously, Rita had already begun to hope that John might feel the same attraction for her as Terry had felt-that she was beautiful and desirable, yet someone to be put on a pedestal and admired, not touched. But now he felt uncomfortable in her presence. She must change his mind and persuade him to stay.
"Look, I know you don't see many women out of uniform around the Center, but don't let your feelings disturb you," she began softly, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay out of your way when you're working. Would that make you comfortable?"
As if he had not heard her, the young man sat taciturnly on the sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. She could see him struggling with his courage before he spoke again. "Y-you ain't wearing no b-b-bra?"
Oh, God! Rita glanced down to see the tips of her diamond chip breasts poking out through the soft cotton of her faded T-shirt. Dear Lord, she was parading around in front of this lad, teasing him with her body, showing off and tempting him with forbidden fruit! Mentally she berated herself for being so careless, so reckless. Inside the wall, outside the wall. . . the rules of behavior were the same. Fleetingly, she wondered what Sharon Goddard had thought of her neighbor's sloppy style of dress.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she muttered shakily, blushing a deep pink. "I-I forgot things are different here. She stumbled over the words, trying to think of some explanation that would soften the cool disbelief she sensed John was feeling.
Again he was staring down toward the floor, his fists clenched tightly on his lap. Hot tears of shame and humiliation welled up in Rita's eyes. She had no idea of how to explain to him that she wanted him for a friend. To start him talking about himself would be a good initiation, she decided.
"How long have you been at the Center, John?"
"Oh . . . b-bout long as I c-can remember." He twirled his thumbs, pausing, struggling with the next word. "I-I used to w-work there . . . d-doin' stuff. D-don't g-got no fam-mily. Guess they're m-my family," he managed pathetically. Rita thought she might cry for him.
'Then think of me as part of your family, too, John."
Slowly he lifted his tanned, childish face to smile up at her with wide aqua eyes so shiny they reflected her own joy. Rita felt her heart tremble at his expression. He knew what it meant to be lonely. In an instinctive gesture of friendship and compassion, she sat down beside him on the sofa and took both of his tanned, calloused hands in her tiny white ones. Looking up into his sparkling eyes, she whispered. "I understand more than you realize. I know what it means to be lonely." Rita squeezed his hand, wanting him to be aware of how happy she was to have him there with her. To her delight, he returned the gentle pressure, tentatively at first, then freed his hand to move his arm exploringly around her shoulders.
"Y-you like m-m-me?"
Rita nodded her head in encouragement. What a contrast was this sensitive being to the crudely masturbating black man she had discovered in the back yard this morning.
Those blue eyes looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his eyes. Then, as he gently pulled her closer to his muscular chest, he asked with difficulty: "I-I'm g-glad." Suddenly, he gathered her demure frame into his arms, her warm flesh press-temperamental displays. Perhaps it would be better to childish fury of a heartsick sixth grader, flattening and spreading her lips open until his tongue jabbed deep into her mouth.
A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of
Rita's stomach as she realized what John thought she wanted of him. This was wrong, accepting this arduous kiss from any man but her husband-not to mention a reject of society. Yet, his kiss was tender and longing, sweet and loving. Impulsively, she wondered what would happen if she didn't put a stop to this emotional display. She realized that many slow-witted people are capable of furious temperamental displays. Perhaps it would be better to comply and then find an excuse to make him leave.
Rita parted her soft moist lips to meet his next kiss, her mind blotting out the knowledge that she was leading him on unfairly. That he wanted her was no secret; his breath was panting from his lungs, his cheeks hot against hers, his tongue insistent. John was so simple and uncomplicated, so honest and direct. . . so un-like Max. His childish innocent was like a cool breath of air compared to that horrible night with her husband. John was secure and safe, and she resolved to enjoy these few stolen moments of delicious passion, even though she would end it in a moment and send him away. Who would ever know . . . and who would ever believe him?
He broke the kiss for a moment to catch his breath, shaking Rita from the reverie by the insistent pressure of his strong fingertips along the delicate line of her throat, his fingers dropping even lower as his hand circled in a seemingly innocent movement that brought him dangerously close to the cleavage of her breasts. The closeness of his gentle touch sent sharp electric thrills racing through her tender breast flesh, centering magically at the hardened nipple tips, and she instinctively pressed forward to thrust the sensitive, swelling mounds further into his palms.
"Dear God," she moaned, knowing she had to stop him soon before he took his actions seriously. Yet she had never felt anything so exciting as the maddening, exploring, teasing of his hands that now moved down to her nipples, pressing and pinching them through the thin material of her soft cotton T-shirt until the budded tips throbbed in pleasure.
Then shock and terror set in as Rita came to her . . senses. "No, John . . . we can't do this," she said, breaking the kiss.
But his hands kept on stroking her, moving down the full length of her lithe body, kneading the softness of her belly through the thin, faded denim of her shorts. Traveling down to the base of her abdomen, his fingers rotated against the hair-puffed mound of her vagina, teasing through her clothing at the narrow crevice between her slender thighs. Rita's breath was coming in tight gasps and the burning sensation was again beginning to grow in maddening intensity. John had taken her seriously, thought she wanted him to make love to her. Now how could she rectify the situation-especially when it felt this good!
Between her legs her panties were soaked, and she squeezed her thighs together to hold down the tingling sensation that was building and roiling there. Her pussy lips itched and begged to be soothed. Rita was on dangerous ground and knew it.
As his thick fingers worked more insistently against her warm, pulsating cunt, indecision arose again while the pleasure rationalized away the danger. She knew he could not, without forcibly overpowering her, get inside her shorts, and though he was a mental simpleton, he certainly must have an honorable sense of decorum to his credit.
In a gesture of resistance, she grasped his wrist tightly but it did not stop the manipulations of his hand. His long sturdy fingers still moved freely, pinching and teasing at her lower belly and the mound of her pouting vagina until she thought she might scream from the jolts of pleasure coursing through her too long neglected female body. Then John gave a hard pinch against the soft rubbery nipple of the breast he still held cupped in his other hand, sending a flash of pain and pleasure down the full length of Rita's spine. She uttered a low helpless groan which was quickly choked off by the harsh pressure of his wet lips clamping over hers. His tongue flicked moistly into her mouth and she suddenly tried to squirm away from him in an attempt to stop the flowing tide of passion slowly taking charge of her senses. She had sorely misjudged this boy-man!
He pulled his mouth free and struggled to speak, but only nonsensical, inchoate beginnings of words garbled from his tensed throat. He ground his pelvis tightly into, the smooth roundness of her hips, sliding his hand around to the curve of her buttocks to pull her loins tightly into his.
"Oh, no please . . . John, no," she moaned, his intentions all to obvious to her. A new shock of lewd excitement shot through her as she fought desperately to control the need that was building like a raging bonfire within her. She tried to wriggle away from him but his strength was just too overwhelming. "Please . . . we have to stop this, John! This isn't right!" Oh, God! Rita's mind raged. Make him understand!.
As if in answer to her plea, John's middle finger began a gentle stroke, pushing down against the gaping waistband of her cut-off shorts, crawling hungrily down over her belly and into the soft fleece of her pubic curls. His efforts snapped open the fastener, easing the access shamefully. His warm fingers delved in the soft folds of cuntal flesh. His touch made her tremble with desire and when he spoke in his tortured manner, Rita wanted to die with shame.
"Y-you're s-s-s-o pretty . . . " He buried his nose in her satiny neck, his hungry fingers massaging, fondling the sensitive folds of her vagina flesh. "I'm g-glad you l-l-like me!" There was a tinge of triumphant jubilation in his voice.
A tremor of shame passed through Rita at the indecent, forbidden pleasure overcoming her desire to resist. Yet she knew it was no use to pretend that she did not want it as much as he. She had never known how it felt to be sexually fulfilled and now she experienced a desire so strong it strangled all other considerations. If it only happened once, Max would never know; indeed, it might make her a better wife to Max, for she had not satisfied that night in bed, had she? Yes, there was no other road to take. If she tried to scream, no one would hear her except Sharon Goddard who no doubt had her ear to the glass anyway, and Sharon would have the tongues wagging in five minutes.
"C-can we t-take off our c-clothes?" he asked with the childish enthusiasm of a boy waiting to stay up on Christmas Eve for a peek at Santa Claus. How could she resist without injuring his faltering pride?
Yes, this was the only way, thought Rita in her dim haze of roiling lust. Slowly, almost as if in a dream, Rita nodded and, hooking her thumbs in the waist of the denims, pulled them down over her wiggling hips, taking it with it the tiny white band of her panties. Then, scissoring her arms overhead, she pulled off the T-shirt and sat naked on the sofa, feeling the soft velour caress her buttocks like ticklish little fingers massaging her nudity.
There was a rash of movement beside her and looking up, Rita's blue eyes blazed on the sight of the man standing before her completely naked. No boy was he now! His thick, hard penis was standing out from his flat muscular belly like a heavy blunt spear. The contrast of his body to his innocence was frightening. The pearly drip of pre-cum oozing from the tip of his penis was no mistake of adolescence: It was pure adult lust.
My God, what had she been thinking of? she wondered, hating herself for being so easily cowed by compassion for this simpleton. "John . . . we can't do . . . no, we can't. . . "
The hurt expression on his dimpled face quickly gave vent to anger. "Yes! Yes . . . you said you -liked me!" No stuttering this time.
Just as she had divested herself of clothes, John had stripped her of choice. There was nothing for her left to do but submit, she realized numbly as she cowered on the sofa nakedly. Where could she run and who would ever believe her when she tried to explain that it was not really her fault. Max would be shamed, fired, perhaps. Max already thought she was a slut, she thought bitterly. Why not prove him right and settle the matter?
Deep inside she knew she did not want to make love to a stranger. She wanted for Max to love her. . . that's all she had ever wanted.
A rush of motion brought her back to the present. John was panting on his knees before her, an eager, hungry look on his infantile, dimpled face. His wet mouth had begun to gently nibble at the nude flesh of her belly, sending goose bumps racing over her skin. Her mind formed protests as she felt his lips moving lower toward the mound of her pussy, but her mouth had lost all moisture and just as this pathetic simpleton could not voice his emotions, neither could Rita respond to her mental commands.