Chapter 5
SUE HAD MADE UP HER MIND BEFORE THE SUN ROSE on Monday morning. She couldn't handle this problem by herself. She needed help, professional help. Actually, it was Wes who needed the help, but he would never agree to see a doctor about so intimate a problem. But maybe if she could talk to a doctor, both of them might persuade Wes to give it a try at least. The kind of doctor she had in mind was a psychiatrist. She had read enough about impotence to know that a great deal of that was psychological rather than physical.
The only psychiatrist in the small college town was Dr. Ruth Marx, who, in addition to her practice, taught psychology at Jane Richmond. Her home office was only two blocks away from the Parker house, on the edge of the campus.
A slim, pretty brunette, wearing the distinctive sweater of one of the school's sororities, greeted Sue in the reception room.
"I'm Dr. Marx's part-time steno," she introduced herself. "Do you have an appointment?"
Sue fumbled nervously with her gloves. "No, but I'm sure she'll see me. I'm Wesley Parker's wife. We're good friends."
The girl's eyebrows went up interestedly. Wes Parker was one of her favorite profs. She examined Sue from head to toe. Face nice looking. Breasts a trifle too small, but it was bard to tell the way they were hidden under the jacket of her tailored suit. Hips and rear slim and trim like her own. Good legs, long and shapely. She wondered what kind of problems Wes Parker's wife was having that had brought her to Dr. Marx. She flicked on the intercom and announced Mrs. Parker to the doctor.
Ruth Marx was surprised. "Send her right in," she said, and put aside the mike of the tape-recorder she had been using.
Connie Beach escorted Mrs. Parker into the inner office, then went out and closed the door behind her. Eyes glittering, she opened the top drawer of her desk and took out an electronic gadget with a rubber suction cup on one end and a pair of earphones on the other. She turned to the wall behind her and fixed the cup to the wall, then adjusted the phones to her ears. During the past year, Connie had picked up a treasure of confidential information about numerous patients who came to see Dr. Marx. Some of it was so confidential that the persons who had divulged it would do anything for Connie if she would only promise to keep it to herself. As a matter-of-fact, she had garnered a sizable amount of cash from fellow students, faculty members and a few of the local natives as the price of her silence. She licked her lips in anticipation as Mrs. Parker began to talk to Dr. Marx, and it came over loud and clear on the marvelous "bug."
Ruth Marx seemed too young and feminine to own degrees in medicine and psychiatry. Born in Vienna, the birthplace of her chosen profession, she had been brought by her parents to the United States shortly after World War Two. A child prodigy, she had graduated from college at the age of eighteen, and gone on to medical school, and finally specialized in psychiatry. She could have enjoyed a $100,000-a-year practice on Fifth Avenue in New York, but at a party one night, just before her graduation, she had met a young bank teller from Boston by the name of Donald Marx. They fell in love, moved to New England, and, ultimately, the job as head of the psychology department had come along.
Ruth Marx was a woman of ordinary good looks. Her face was round and dimpled. Her hair was mousy and she always wore it in braids tied over the top of her head like a peasant girl. Her figure was plump.
The two women exchanged amenities, then Sue got right to the point. She spoke nervously and rapidly for perhaps fifteen minutes, summing up her marriage to Wes from wedding night to last night. That was all it took, fifteen minutes. Ten years in fifteen minutes. Tears beaded her long lashes.
Dr. Marx questioned her in meticulous detail about the most intimate aspects of her love life. Or lack of love life.
"Have you ever suspected him of having other women? He is an attractive man, you know. And the opportunities here are excessive, we must admit."
"I've considered that," Sue admitted. "But I honestly never had any reason to. Not the slightest. I almost wish that were true."
"Yes, I understand."
"Is there anything you can do for him, Ruth?" Sue pleaded.
"That depends. First of all he has to want to come and consult with me. It would be unethical for me to ask him to see me. In any case, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Let's start with you, Sue."
Sue sat up rigidly. "Start with me? There's nothing wrong with me."
Dr. Marx smiled a superior professional smile. "I'm sure there isn't, my dear. But we've sot to make sure. When a marriage goes off the track for any reason, the' fault seldom lies exclusively with one of the partners. Impotent husband. Frigid wife. Two sides of the same coin. But we are not out to fix blame. What we want is to find the cause or causes and cure them."
"But how could I possibly be responsible for Wes's condition?" Sue colored again. "I I don't mind admitting that I'm very warm-blooded. I liked love from the first."
"That may be. But more often than not maladjustments between married partners are the result of causes far removed from the bedroom. I know of a case where a woman was frigid for the first five years of her married life. It turned out that they had lived with her parents for the first six months of marriage, and the girl always had an exaggerated fear that her father would walk into their bedroom by mistake some night, and catch them making love. This fear carried over for years, even after the couple had their own apartment. I finally was able to deduce this after nine months of analysis. Once I knew the cause, the cure was instantaneous. The magic words I spoke to her were these: 'Lock your bedroom door!' From that night on she became an ardent wife."
Sue was impressed. "A small thing like that?"
"It's the small things that cause the most trouble. Because they are so difficult to discover."
Dr. Marx asked Sue to talk about her earliest recollections of love. Sue began in a faltering, hesitant fashion, but as she continued, she was amazed at how vivid her recollections of childhood really were. She had been an overprotected child of parents who had had her late in life. As a result, she had been eleven years old before she had any inkling of the "facts of life."
Her teacher was a thirteen-year-old lad who lived on the street behind her house, Jimmy Walters, big for his age and a handsome boy. Sue had begun to sprout little acorns on her chest by age eleven, and her upper legs" and buttocks were filling out even faster. But in her heart she was still her daddy's little girl. Because she didn't know that there were differences between male and female, Sue had the impression that girls were a kind of inferior breed of boys. To offset this erroneous belief, she strove fanatically hard at school and at play to do everything as well as any boy could. It was only natural that her spirit did win the admiration of many boys.
Jimmy Walters was one of the boys who thought she was "okay for a girl." He even let her be on his team in games of stickball and touch tackle. One Sunday he called for her and they went for a walk in the nearby park. They came to a gnarled oak tree with branches close to the ground.
"Let's climb up," he said.
Sue hesitated, looking down at her new Sunday frock. But it was her principle never to turn down a challenge from a boy, especially when the excuse was something as "sissyish" as a dress. Dress or not, Sue went up the tree like a monkey. Soon she was above Jimmy's head. She didn't know that the boy let her get ahead of him for a very good reason.
Puberty had overtaken Jimmy that year. His new-found masculinity was asserting itself in all directions. Strange things happened to him whenever he looked at a girl's boobs or bare legs. Even the pictures of the women in underwear in the mail order catalogue excited him. Of late he had begun to notice Sue as something more than a good shortstop or a linebacker. She was a female. Her ! ;"le boobs were nothing. But she had a bouncy little rear and her legs were getting shapely. Climbing the tree he had a good view of her rear and her legs. Boy, he thought, she sure looked different with those pink silk panties than she did in dungarees or slacks. He kept his eyes focused on her. To make matters worse, Sue straddled a limb so that her skirt was hiked about her hips. She frowned at him. "What's the matter with you? You look funny."
Jimmy swallowed hard, and his heart was fluttering in his chest. As modesty and embarrassment left him in the face of his burning need. "It's your fault for wearing that dress. I was looking at you. I saw your panties."
She blinked. "My panties! So what if you did?" She was completely bewildered.
"You big dope!" he said. "You're a girl. When a guy sees a naked girl that does things to him."
"I'm not naked."
"You almost are. Those panties don't hide much."
Sue's parents had taught her certain bits and pieces of modesty. She pulled her skirt down to cover her bare legs. "What things does that do to you?" she asked curiously.
He giggled. "You mean you don't know?"
She shook her head mutely.
"You're dumb," he snorted.
The humiliation scalded her. That terrible de-grading tone that boys always used when they addressed girls! He was mocking her as-she had never been mocked before.
His hands were trembling as he reached out for hers. "Will you do something for me, Sue?" he implored her. "I'm awful miserable."
She tried to pull away. She was angry and humiliated. He only wanted to make her feel worse. But, in spite of herself, she was attracted. She put her hand on him. He moved, making strange noises and breathing hard--
"What are you doing?" she demanded, a little scared of the way he was acting.
He hadn't answered her, but the whole episode had left her with a feeling of astonished awe and, somehow, disappointment.
Sue had never told a living soul about that, not even Wes, until this day. It astounded her that she had been able to tell Ruth so casually, not only about that childhood scene, but also other things, including her unfortunate session with the salesman.
The psychiatrist's face was bland, but there was a fertile seed planted in her mind. It was enough for one day, more than she had expected so soon. "I think that's enough for the first session, Sue," she said. "Can you see me again next Thursday?"
"If you think it's necessary?"
"Oh I do. I surely do!"
"Maybe I can persuade Wes to come with me."
Dr. Marx frowned. "No, let's you and I have a few more sessions alone first. Then we'll see about Wesley."
Sue was vaguely annoyed with Ruth Marx for some reason she couldn't pin down.
It had been an annoying day for Wes Parker too, not, however, because his failure with Sue the other night bothered him. What bothered him was that he had wanted so badly to succeed! The torrid session with Phylis had awakened him to the voluptuous joys of love once more. Now that was on his mind constantly when he was trying to work, even in class. He would be in the midst of a lecture and he would gaze across the sea of ripe, young boobs bobbing in their sweaters and sheer blouses, and at the ranks of sleek bare legs, crossed, with the short skirts pulled above the knee, and he would feel desire begin. If those young things only knew what was on his mind while he was discoursing in scholarly fashion on the merits, of talent in writing.
He thought of trapping them in the coat room as he had the dean in her dark closet. The whisk of a skirt. Roll down sheer panties over soft, rotund buttocks. The pink flesh warm and waiting. And the quick move. He was crazy with lust. But he knew instinctively that, by the time he went home to Sue, he would be incapable. Why?
His wife had breasts as fruity as these young girls. Her buttocks were just as bouncy, her body as nubile. But the thought of her left him cold. Then a terrible realization hit him, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
It was the idea of taking a female unawares in the coat room that intrigued him above all else. He focused his attention on an exotic girl with a figure like Sophia Loren. Her melon breasts almost popped over the top of her plunging neckline. When she crossed one silken leg over the other, she lifted the knee high, giving him a glimpse of sculptured leg above her stocking tops and beribboned panties. He would have liked fiercely to rip her clothing off her cringing body, piece by piece, and then hurl himself at her like a wild animal, biting, worrying her sweet flesh with hands and teeth. And then destroy her virginity in one cruel moment.
But -
The idea of being married to this wench, and lying alongside her night after night, listening to her purring at him, having her insinuating portions of her body beneath his hands, and putting her warm hands on him, was repugnant. He didn't want her to want him! He only wanted to want her! The idea sent delightful tremors through him. Now that would be even better than having Phylis in the dark closet. Thinking of her now the way she had pleaded with him to come back, he was a little disgusted.
The bell rang, and he gratefully dismissed the class, his last of the day. Rather than go home and face his wife, he decided to work on his thesis in his office. Time passed quickly. He was on his tenth page when he heard hollow footsteps coming down the hall. He put down his pen and leaned back in the chair, puzzled. It was dark outside the window, and the school should have been deserted. Then Celia Brown appeared in his open doorway.
"Hi!" she greeted him. "Burning the midnight oil, I see."
He laughed. "You too?"
"Late basketball practice."
Celia was Richmond's basketball coach, and assistant to the athletic director. She was a tall, willowy girl, twenty-four years old, with hazel eyes, soft brown hair and a lovely smile. She had exquisite breasts, a wasp waist and flaring hips that tapered into the long, symmetrical stems of her legs, 'all alluringly displayed in her black gym leotards. Looking at her, Wes was aware of desire.
"I just came up to my office to get my purse. I don't like to leave it in the locker room. We've had some thefts, you know."
"I didn't know. Any suspects?"
Celia bit her under lip. "Well, I have some ideas, but I wouldn't want to talk about them unless I was certain."
"Of course.? '
"How is Sue?" she asked.
"Fine, thanks. And how is your husband?"
"All right, I guess. He's away for a few days, at a bank conference in Boston." She turned to leave. "Sorry I bothered you, Wes."
"Not at all. It's always a pleasure to see our lovely basketball coach."
She laughed self-consciously. "I bet you tell that to all the coaches."
He grimaced.
She waved and went down the hall. He sat there listening to her footsteps recede, thinking. Now she would be going down to the deserted locker room to shower and dress in her street clothes. Dangerous for a young woman to be alone in this manse at night, he mused. No telling who might be lurking in the shadows of those rows of lockers. His heart flipped in his chest.
Who indeed!
Minute? later, Wes sauntered through the main' gate where the watchman was sitting in his shack. "Evening, Sam," he said. "Nice night."
"Yes, sir. Are you the last of 'em?"" He jerked his thumb at the administration building which was directly above the gym.
"Mrs. Brown is still inside. She should be along in a half hour or so. She's showering after a practice session."
"Yeah." Sam chewed on his cigar butt. "The team came out a little while back. Well, I can't make my rounds until the place is empty. Gotta lock this gate first."
It was perfect! Wes said good night and hurried down the street to the corner. Turning it, he tucked his brief case under a bush and vaulted the chest-high steel picket fence. Keeping in the shadow of a hedge, he made his way back to the side entrance of the gymnasium. Only a small red bulb glowed above the door. He slipped inside furtively. The corridor was dark, but there were night lights burning in the rooms on either side of it. The air was steamy and sweltering hot. He passed the pool room, the calisthenics room, the steam room The showers and dressing room were at the end of the corridor. He flattened himself against the wall and peered inside. Empty. Off to one side was the door leading to the shower stalls. He heard the hiss of a single shower, and tendrils of steam billowed out into the dressing room.
The dressing mom consisted of a center aisle flanked by rows of lockers, each row containing a long bench. The only illumination in the dressing room at this hour came from the third tier of lockers, where, evidently, Celia Brown had her things. The Board of Trustee? of Jane Richmond were very frugal, and notices posted all over the college reminded students and faculty to "turn off all unnecessary lights." Celia was real gung-ho about details like that. He smiled gratefully. From a first aid box affixed to the wall at the entrance, he took a roll of wide adhesive tape. On tiptoes he moved down the aisle to the darkened tier of lockers next to the tier where Celia's leotard and dirty lingerie lay in a heap on the bench in front of an open locker. From his hiding place he could peer through a crack between two lockers into the lighted row. He settled down to wait with a pounding heart. The sight of Celia in a leotard was enough to make him giddy. The thought of gazing upon her in the nude really sent him spinning.
Soon the sound of the shower ceased and he braced himself. Hurriedly he tore off his clothing until he was stark naked. Then he ripped three long strips of tape off the roll of adhesive and stuck them lightly to the tops of his shoulders by the ends, flipping the strips back like tails. He waited.
The first sight of her was breath-taking. She came out toweling herself briskly about the face and head, arms upraised. -Her quivering breasts looked as if they had been carved out of alabaster, perfect globes with tips like ripe strawberries. He suppressed a groan. Her waist was tiny and edged the smooth gentle round of her middle, with the navel pouting like a cupid's mouth. Her hips were so curved and smooth-fleshed that not a bone was evident beneath her sleek, rippling skin. She was as svelte and sleek as a panther, a veritable goddess. She was standing on the opposite side of the bank of lockers, not more than three feet away from his avid eye.
She turned her back and bent over gracefully to dry her legs, revealing the most magnificent buttocks he had ever seen.
He had an insatiable urge to reach out and pinch the adorable little form. As she bent over to towel her dainty feet, he moved to the end of his dark row of lockers. On the front of the tier, facing the aisle, were two switches. One controlled the lights on his side. The farthest one, the lights on her side. He reached out and flipped the silent switches. Darkness enveloped the entire room now.
Celia gasped in surprise, but she was not frightened. "Darn!" she muttered. "The bulb must have burned out." She padded on bare feet in his direction, with the intention of turning on the lights in the adjoining row. He felt the air as she brushed close to him and faced the switches. His hand went to one of the strips of adhesive tacked to his shoulder and he laid that lengthwise on his palm.
In one motion, his left arm snaked around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, while his right hand clamped the adhesive tape over her startled mouth. His blading flesh fairly sizzled as he made contact with her. still cool and damp from her shower.
Celia's eyes bulged in the darkness like the eyes of a frightened mare. Shock, terror, panic rippled over her in successive waves. How many times had her husband Walt warned her about the dangers of an attractive woman walking lonely country roads and the pathways of the campus alone at night? A hundred times. And Celia had always scoffed and made fun of him.
He said seriously, "Did you ever see how some of the hayseed types drool when they drive by the athletic field and see the girls in their skimpy gym suits?"
"Let 'em drool," she said gaily.
"Then there're the college boys who come over to neck and stage panty raids. Half of them get stuck with teasers and hobble home still aching. But one of these days there'll be a guy who won't take that lying down." --
She had pinched him playfully.
He never needed much persuasion. She reveled in the knowledge of his desire for her, knew that well.
And she knew immediately what was happening now. The thing she had never believed could happen to her was about to happen in this dark room. Rape!
She tried to scream, but the tape silenced her completely. Celia was a strong, athletic girl, and she struggled fiercely in the vise of his arm locked over her body just beneath her breasts. He held onto her grimly, hi? breath panting at her ear, and dragged her slowly to the back of the room where exercise mats were spread about on the floor. Her lungs were soon bursting for air, and her brain was dizzy. The tape across her mouth curtailed her breathing, and she quickly became exhausted. By the time he got her to the mats, she was limp in his arms. He ripped another strip of tape from his shoulder and hurled her face down on a mat.
She struggled feebly as he bent her arms behind her and taped her wrists together. Then he rolled her over again so that her bound hands were resting snugly in the hollow curve of her back. Now, he took the last piece of tape and spread that across her eyes. He left her lying there trembling and got up to switch on a light. He was safe now. She couldn't identify him. Besides, he couldn't waste a beautiful body like hers in the darkness.
The sight of her lying at his feet all pate and helpless lashed his lust even higher. Her nostrils were flared wide in terror. Her body trembled throughout its long, tawny length. Her large breasts thrust boldly into the air.
He smiled and got down on the mat beside her.
Celia had lapsed into a state of shock. She was no more able to fight him now than a rabbit menaced by the hypnotic eye of a snake can run away. Sightless, soundless, arms bound, she was at his mercy. Body and mind were limp and defenseless. Her flesh crawled as she felt his hand on her. That was a big, firm hand, bigger than Walt's. What an awful comparison to make! her mind screamed at her. The hand covered one quivering breast. That was eerie, having an unseen disembodied hand caressing her breast.
. In her mind's eye she saw the scene, saw her attacker kneading the timid nipple with thumb and forefinger. She was outside, now. There was no sensation for Celia Brown, just for the girl in the picture. She saw the girl's nipple become inflamed, the pink turning to deep crimson as he continued.
His kiss descended to the other breast. Celia saw the nameless girl tremble as the banked fires commenced to glow. She was only human. No real woman could detach herself from the blatant reality of a man's hands skillfully caressing her naked body.
The hand left her breast and moved, sending little electric shocks across the sensitive surface of her skin. Celia was shamed. That helpless creature sprawled out on the mat was moving around restively. That was obvious why she was trembling now. Her nipples were bright with the warmth of her breasts. Her body was undulating slowly, straining against the hand of the aggressor.
Wes stared greedily. Who ever would have believed this? Wholesome, demure Celia. Shy, reserved Wes. Here together on the floor of the locker room, on the brink of perverted lust. Reveling in this orgy of rape. Both of them lashed by a foul thing that lurks in the subterranean depths of their minds, a thing that prowls in darkness and preys on the weak human flesh.
She was ready for him, moving almost uncontrollably. He could actually observe her impatience, in spite of her bound and helpless condition. He moved to her and satisfied her craving.
Celia was scandalized by the picture in her mind's eye as the depravity of what that girl was doing became clear. The pace quickened. The flames raged over the girl, consuming her.
And .then the spell was broken! The illusion dissolved. Celia knew the truth. She was the girl in the picture, the frenzied, lust-crazed animal who was with this rapist. But this was rape no longer. She went into a dizzy twisting finish like a rocket spearing into the night sky. And there was nothing else but the sensation.
She took him with her to the rarified heights, as if she had completely accepted him, and his flesh was at peace at last.