Chapter 2
Wesley Parker had been surrounded by women all of his life, smothered by them. The only boy in a family of six children, his father had died when Wes was five, leaving him at the mercy of a doting mother and five doting older sisters. The girls, ranging from ten to sixteen, treated their baby brother like a big doll. They fed him and bathed him and fussed over him until he hated them all with a vengeance. Most of all, he hated his oldest sister Pat, a pretty brunette with an upturned nose and a figure that was almost womanly ripe. She knew the facts of life, and went out with boys who panted and sighed and were always trying to squeeze her boobs or get their hands under her skirt. For some reason, he was always most awkward and troublesome when it was her turn to take care of him.
College gave him some respite from the domination of the females in his family. By the time he had met Sue, he thought his hatred and fear of smothering females was all behind him. Sue was the first woman he made love to, and they waited until their wedding night. The feel of her lying naked in his arms that night was headier than the feeling he had gotten from the champagne at the reception. Her breasts were small, but full and firm, with their pink nipples sticking up like apple stems. Her breasts reminded him of apples. No, they were more like peaches with their rosy flush and satin skin. He touched his lips to one, and then the other, as if he could savor the nectar of them.
Sue's passion astonished him. He had known her for two years as a quiet, shy girl who kissed gently, an air of reserve about her. But now, in bed for the first time, she responded to his touch like a wild woman. Her hands were positively brazen the way they explored, testing and touching as she murmured words of love and appreciation for his virility.
"She reminds me of someone," he thought.
That hit him with a jar. His sister Pat. Quickly he put the thought out of his mind and made violent love to his new bride, who pulled at him with urgent invitation.
He was able to revel in the pride of his masculinity as she gave way to him with a little sigh of pain and pleasure. He seemed to lose himself entirely, as her arms went around him, clasping so hard that she took his breath away.
Sweat gleamed in beads on their glowing bodies as the pace quickened. Breaths wheezed in their throats. Her breasts battered against his hairy chest, playing the grand symphony.
The music chords swelled in their ears, climbing, climbing, climbing to shattering thunder. The crescendo! Discordant, the long trills down the keyboard. And out of that all, unexpected and blissful harmony. Sweet, drifting repose. The flesh assuaged of all its torments and cravings.
After the honeymoon, the individual can regard the bedroom scene with a certain objectivity that is impossible in the first hungry days and nights. Sometimes in the midst of frenzied pleasure with his bride, Wes would stand off and study the two of them as if they were strangers. With repetition and familiarity, Sue's appetites and skills in the game of love increased. One morning, he awakened to find her crouching by him with her nightgown bunched up about her waist and a lecherous smile on her lips. He was surprised to see that she had already prepared him for her purpose with her gentle, coaxing touch.
"Darn!" she exclaimed. "I was hoping you wouldn't wake up until I had everything fixed."
"Huh?" His sleep-dazed brain could not comprehend what was happening until he felt her moving to him, giving him the unique experience of playing the passive role. Not that that was unpleasant; quite the opposite. He took hold of her shaking breasts and enjoyed the usual frenzy.
After that was over she buried her face against his chest and giggled. "I'm a wanton hussy, aren't I sweetheart?"
"You're my wanton hussy," he said.
"Do you like me the way I am? I mean, you don't think I'm too aggressive?"
"I love you just the way you are," he replied, but he was not altogether sure. It seemed to him that Sue was gradually and subtly taking over the management of their love life as she was taking over the management of their domestic affairs and finances. As the years went by, she became the embodiment of his mother and all of his sisters put together. She was a perfect wife. She handled his small schoolteacher's salary as if it were twice the amount. Her house was spotless.
It was Sue who insisted that he take courses at night after teaching his fifth-grade English class. It was Sue who saw to it that he advanced from grade schuol to high school. And it was Sue who made him get his master's degree. It was Sue who had been instrumental in getting him to apply for the position as English department head at the exclusive Jane Richmond College for Women. That had been two years ago, and Wesley Parker had been the first male member of the faculty since the school's founding.
His hiring by Dean Phylis Moon had caused a near rebellion among the all-female staff, but Wes had finally come to be accepted, even liked, by a majority of his feminine co-workers. However, he was still the only man at Jane Richmond.
One man among 75 women, and 1400 young nubile females between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two.
Yes, Wesley Parker seemed destined to be smothered by women!
He was well aware that almost from the moment he took the job at Richmond, that his bedroom powers began to wane. He attributed that to many different causes: Overwork, tension, added responsibility, the doctor's thesis he was working on at night. Now, even the one time a month he made love to Sue was a distasteful chore, and his interest was at such a low level that he sometimes had real difficulty in forcing himself to sleep with her.
Wes was working on his thesis during a free period when there was a knock at his office door. "Come in," he said, and continued to write. It was Brenda Sloan, one of his literature instructors. Brenda Sloan was thirty-six. two years older than Wes. A small, slim woman with close-cropped brown hair and a cold face, she hated Wesley Parker, and he knew it. Mrs. Sloan had been up for the job of department head before he was brought in from outside. It would have been bad enough ii he had been another woman, but the fact that he was a man made it impossible for Brenda to accept him. She had led the early revolt against him upon his arrival, when the other teachers gave him the "deep freeze" treatment. And, he suspected. Brenda Sloan was still seeking ways to get him out of the department and out of Jane Richmond. It was like walking on eggs.
As the only male instructor, Wes was extremely popular with the girl students. To begin with he was young and quite good-looking with his even features, dark eyes and curly black hair. He was an excellent lecturer and an amusing one. His classes always drew the heaviest enrollments.
"I think it's disgusting," he had overheard Brenda comment to another teacher once, "the way those girls throw themselves at his head. Of course maybe he encourages them. After all, it isn't natural for a man to want to teach in a girls' school, now is it?" '
Considering that he was now making the best salary he had ever made, it was completely natural. However, aside from the pay, he did not care for any aspect of the job.
Women, women everywhere!
He sighed and stood up when Mrs. Sloan entered the office. "What can I do for you, Brenda?"
If she would only let herself smile, he thought, she would be a pretty woman. Her figure wasn't bad either small bosom, which she de-emphasized by loose blouses and suits, shapely buttocks and good legs, hidden by too-long skirts and too-tight girdles.
"It's that Olson girl again," she snapped. "The dorm mother reported she got in after three A.M. again last night. I don't know why I bother with her. She's under your counsellorship, after all."
Wes was amused. Indeed, why did she bother? It was none of her business. But Brenda was a born snoop and reformer. She was firmly convinced that every girl in the school had only one aim on her mind, to lose her virginity. And Brenda was determined to see that none of them accomplished their purpose. He was surprised that she didn't try to institute some inspection program, such as a nightly bed check.
"Out with a boy, I imagine?" he asked.
"Two boys!"
Wes grinned. "Well, there's safety in numbers."
She gave him a withering look. "I have suggested to Dean Moon that, for the remainder of this year, Lorraine Olson be placed in the custody of one of the senior girls. Some one with authority that she'll look up to."
"A big sister?" '
"Yes, we could put them in the same room together. That way the influence would be incessant."
"It's irregular to room a freshman with a senior, isn't it? What does the dean think?"
"She says she'll accept your judgment."
Wes didn't give a darn, really. If it satisfied the dean, and it got rid of Brenda, he was for it. "All right. I'll send for Lorraine and talk to her."
"Good. By the way, the dean says she is to be confined to quarters for the next two week ends."
As she was leaving, Brenda Sloan dropped her pencil. She stooped to pick it up, and, for a moment, her upper legs and buttocks were molded by the thin summer dress. Wes felt a faint twinge of male appreciation, but that left him quickly. Brenda Sloan reminded him a little of his prim sister, Gert.
His mind drifted to Sue. He wondered what she was doing this warm, lazy afternoon. Not much. Too bad they hadn't any children, he lamented. That would have given her more to occupy herself with. As it was she couldn't seem to think of anything else lately except love. Or the lack of love.
He knew she was a passionate woman, and he wondered how long she could stand the repressions that were building up for her because of his growing neglect.
Would she ever be unfaithful to him?
He shuddered and put the idea out of his mind.
Sometimes he was sorry that he hadn't married a cold tomato like Brenda Sloan. You could bet she didn't complain about lack of loving in her marriage.
Or did she? You never could tell about a woman. She might be one of the most passionate wenches in town once she released her inhibitions behind a bedroom door. Frankly, though, he just couldn't visualize that. Brenda Sloan, in his book, was the type that put love-making in the category of one of those marital duties guys performed whenever it seemed absolutely necessary.