Chapter 6
1 "The real estate man assured me that we can get fifty thousand for the condominium, Bud!" Wendy said excitedly as she poured her husband a screwdriver and told him about her visit with the manager of the real estate agency. "That means we'll make a ten thousand dollar profit! So if we move to Kansas City it won't be a total loss. Any word?"
"Nothing," Bud sighed. "And, Wendy, don't get your hopes up about that profit. It's what they call a 'paper profit,' anyway."
"Paper profit? I don't understand."
"It means that this condominium hasn't increased in value any more than all other real estate, honey," he explained after taking a long swallow of the orange juice and vodka.
"But it's worth ten thousand more than we paid for it," she insisted.
"And it will cost us ten thousand more to buy the same condominium in Kansas City," he said, draining his glass and holding it out for a refill before she put the pitcher down.
"So?"
"So we didn't make a profit," Bud explained. "If we sell this for fifty thousand and spend fifty thousand to buy almost the same place in Kansas City, where's the profit?"
"Oh!"
"That's pretty much the history of real estate profits, Wendy," he laughed. "Most profit in real estate is nothing more than inflation. When you sell a house you have to replace it. At least if you live in it. The only way to clean up in real estate is to buy places and rent them out while they increase in value. Then sell them and pocket the profit."
"Well, you certainly rained on my parade!" she said with a pout. "I thought we were going to clean up!"
"Besides, we haven't been transferred to Kansas City yet," he sighed, relaxing for the first time as the vodka began to circulate in his bloodstream.
"No word at all? Not even a rumor?" Wendy asked.
"Plenty of rumors," Bud replied with a laugh, "but nothing you can sink your teeth into. Oh, by the way, Mike called today. He and Connie flew home this morning. I invited them over for a drink when he gets home from work."
"Oh, good!" Wendy said, anxious to see their friends again.
"Look, Wendy, we'd better face the fact that Mike and Connie are going to ask for a detailed, blow-by-blow account of our evening with the Landons."
"I suppose so," Wendy sighed. By some unspoken agreement, she and Bud had not talked about their evening at the Landons.
"I guess I'm about as mixed up as you are about all that happened over there," Bud said slowly, smiling as she poured him another screwdriver automatically. "I feel that I should be very indignant and angry about the things they did to us and made us do. But if I'm completely honest, I have to admit that enjoyed it all—even having that damned thing shoved up my ass."
"And certainly having their twelve-year-old daughter give you a blowjob!" Wendy commented.
"Sure. Do you want me to lie?" he asked.
"No, of course not," Wendy sighed. "Hell, I had an orgasm when Howard raped my rectum. I had the most intense orgasm I've ever had in my damned life when he screwed me while I ate Sylvia's cunt. So who am I to point a finger at anybody?"
"Would you do it again?"
"Don't think I haven't asked myself that same question a dozen times!" Wendy sighed. "Of course I would! There, I've said it and it's out! What's wrong with us, Bud?"
"As long as we're honest about it," Bud replied gently, "There's nothing wrong with us."
"But why did we enjoy all of those awful things? Here, let me make some more screwdrivers. I think these were too weak."
"Let's not bomb ourselves out of sight," Bud laughed, following his wife into the kitchen. "At least not until Mike and Connie arrive."
"Don't you feel bad about what we did?" Wendy demanded as she put ice in the pitcher and watched her husband pour in the vodka.
"I did, until I thought it out," Bud admitted.
"And?" she prompted as she turned the blender on to mix a can of frozen orange juice.
"Look, Wendy," Bud said patiently, "I don't know if I can explain this well."
"Try," she urged following him back in to the living room as she stirred the screwdrivers.
"Well, I think every human being has pretty much the same sexual desires. I think we're all part homosexual and part heterosexual at the same time, part wild and part tame. It's how we control our desire that determines what we are."
"You mean that a gay has simply elected to let that part of his or personality dominate?" she asked as she poured their glasses full.
"Something like that," Bud agreed. "This bondage thing sort of fits in."
"How?" she asked with interest.
"When a person is tied up, he or she can't help what happens. In a way, I guess it's like drinking. You know how some people drink deliberately so that they can say that they aren't responsible because they're drunk?"
"I think I understand," Wendy said slowly. "So if somebody forces us to do something, and if we're unable to resist for any reason, then we don't have to accept the responsibility for our act?"
"Right!" Bud said. "The trick is whether we use the justification or face up to the true nature of our personality."
"Bud, I wasn't tied up when I went down on Sylvia!"
"I know, but you were under her command. You didn't think up the act or initiate it, did you?"
"No."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Yes," Wendy replied in a small voice. "I told you, Bud, I even enjoyed it when that man shoved his huge prick in my ass!"
"Is that bad?"
"Isn't it?" she demanded.
"Not when you admit it, darling," he said softly. "It would be bad if you hid behind the bondage scene. But if you admit it, you're accepting the responsibility and coping with your desires."
"Am I a lesbian, Bud?"
"Of course not, Wendy," her husband laughed. "Do you hate men and loathe hard cocks?"
"Of course not!" she giggled, the alcohol now flowing freely in her system.
"Then how could you be a lesbian?" Bud demanded. "How many girls have we met at swinging parties who enjoy occasionally going down on other girls? You can be bisexual, Wendy."
"We're avoiding another issue, you know," she said.
"What?"
"Twelve-year-old Linda," she sighed. "Frankly, Bud, I was shocked that they included their daughter in their sex."
"So was I, Wendy," Bud sighed. "But, you know after thinking about it these past couple of days, I'm not so sure that they've done Linda any real harm. Her attitude about sex at school is pretty damned realistic."
"I thought the same thing," Wendy said. "I wish to hell I'd had her knowledge when I was her age!"
"At least she certainly won't be bowled over by her first lust," Bud added with a laugh.
"You're laughing, Bud," Wendy remarked as she took a long sip from her screwdriver, "but I think it's a serious thing. I'm not so sure that sexual liberation isn't the best thing that's happened to this generation. Linda hit me right between the eyes when she asked if our children were liberated."
"Me too!" Bud commented with a broad smile.
"If they learn all about sex and try it," Wendy continued, "then they aren't heir to the ridiculous love mystique the past generation used to disguise lust."
"They can make more intelligent evaluations of potential mates," Bud added.
"And for a girl that's terribly important," Wendy said. "The Pill has made it all possible ..."
Wendy was interrupted by the doorbell. Bud opened the door and Wendy ran up to help him warmly greet their closest friends, Mike and Connie.
"Hey, you have no idea how good it is to see you two again!" Mike remarked as Bud and Wendy led them into the living room. "This has been one hell of a week!"
"I'll bet" Wendy said. "How about a screwdriver to relax?"
"Mike has been relaxing all afternoon," Connie laughed.
"An ordeal?" Bud asked as he poured their friends drinks.
Mike related the story of their journey to his aunt's funeral. The services had been delayed a day to allow relatives from Chicago to arrive. Then his uncle had gone on a bad drunk and Mike and Connie spent two days sobering him up. On top of all that, his aunt had died without leaving a will and the legal end of the death would take some time to unravel.
"So you'd better believe we're glad to be home, buddy!" Mike sighed, almost draining his drink on his first taste.
"You'd better hit the joy juice lightly," Connie remarked, "or we'll have to pour you into bed. Mike served notice with his company today."
"Notice?" Bud said.
"Yep!" Mike replied with a smile. "Either the old bastard pays me what he owes me by the first or I take him to court. I've had it with this Mickey Mouse horseshit. Either I get paid or I work for someone who will pay me."
"We may be moving, too," Wendy commented, going on to tell them about Bud's pending transfer.
Mike and Connie asked a dozen questions at once. Bud held up his hand.
"Look, so far this is just an educated suspicion, okay? We're no happier about it than you are, but let's just hang cool until we see what really happens."
"Okay," Connie said with a wicked little smile, "now it's your turn to show and tell. Tell us all about the party we missed with the Landons."
Taking turns by interrupting each other frequently, Wendy and Bud began relating an intimate description of everything that happened at the Landons' house.
"Up your ass?" Connie said with a small shudder. "Didn't that hurt?"
"You'd better believe it!" Wendy laughed. "I don't think I'd like that," Connie said. "I didn't think I would, either," Wendy replied. "But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't something else when I had my climax!"
"And did you go down on her?" Connie demanded. "Yes."
"But you always said you didn't make the AC/DC scene!" Connie protested.
"I know, but this was different, Connie." "Christ, you're making me horny just listening to all of this!" Mike remarked.
"Have another drink and let me tell you the rest," Bud laughed, pouring the remainder of the pitcher into their glasses and handing the empty to Wendy for a refill.
"Yes!" Connie said excitedly. "Tell us what they did to you, Bud!"
Bud detailed his experiences tied to the mattress in the Landon home. He saw Mike wince when he related the details of the vibrator shoved up his ass, but Connie only laughed. Then he told them about Linda.
"Their daughter?" Connie asked, wondering if her ears had betrayed her.
"Their twelve-year-old daughter," Wendy remarked as she came back into the living room with a fresh pitcher of screwdrivers and began pouring.
"Twelve!" Mike said. "I don't believe it!"
"You'd better believe it, Mike," Bud laughed. "And Linda gave me a blowjob the likes of which I can't remember."
"But twelve years old!" Connie said.
"I know, Connie," Wendy remarked seriously. "It's a shock at first. Bud and I were talking about it just before you came."
Wendy went on to explain, and verbally explore, their feelings about sex and children. At first Mike and Connie were opposed to everything Wendy and Bud said. Then Mike began to come around.
"I think it's just the initial shock that hits you," Mike said. "It's part of our conditioning. We've been taught that sex and children don't mix and we accept that as some sort of natural law."
"Right!" Bud replied. "But it isn't a natural law at all. Look at some of the primitive tribes in the world. Children begin their sex lives at the age of puberty—in some cases with a structured ceremony and all."
"Girls marry at the age of thirteen and accept the responsibility of a family," Wendy added.
"Western man seems to want to preserve childhood as long as possible," Bud continued. "We create arbitrary limits, such as the age of twenty-one for maturity."
"Now eighteen in most states," Connie commented.
"Exactly!" Bud replied. "Suddenly we dropped the age of maturity three years. Why? Has man changed, or have our ideas changed?"
"At the risk of sounding like Archie Bunker talking about blacks," Mike said with a smile, "How would you react if your own children did what Linda did?"
Bud and Wendy exchanged glances. There was a heavy silence in the room.
"Hey, I didn't mean to lay a heavy one on the group," Mike laughed. "We're talking theory, not practice, anyway. Look, gang, I hate to break this up, but I'm as close to blind drunk as I want to get!"
"I think he started about lunch time today," Connie laughed.
"What say we have us a wild party this weekend?" Mike suggested. "If I wasn't so bombed, and if Connie didn't have the curse, I'd say let's ball tonight. How about tomorrow night?"
"Saturday night be better," Bud suggested.
"Bud! Flagstaff," Wendy said.
"Oh, that's right! We're taking the kids up to Flagstaff Friday night and we won't be back until Sunday. How about Sunday night?"
"Great!" Mike and Connie agreed.