Chapter 3
Pete Dudley walked slowly and thoughtfully up the steps of his bungalow on Martell Avenue, his mind still full of what Jack Caspar had been telling him at the Northwestern Station Bar and Grill. He didn't want to turn down the extra territory the boss had offered him after the sales meeting last week, but it certainly meant a lot of extra traveling. And since Eleanor and he hadn't quite established their marriage after two short years, he had grave misgivings about giving her too many days and nights of solitude out in the suburbs, where there were only too many married men around looking for a little extra pussy, as well as bachelors perpetually on the make.
They were relatively new in Glendview. Eleanor's marriage outlook was no more satisfactory than his-perhaps worse, because her periods of loneliness when tensions built up were of longer duration. The old system where a woman was a chattel to her lord and master might have improved their situation if the system still held good, but that just wasn't true anymore, Jack had slapped him on the back, and said, "You know, Pete, what we need is a sort of...well, a club, where if the girls got out of hand, like, we could sort of slap them on the wrist and warn them not to do it the next time."
There was a good deal of merit to what Jack had suggested, but Pete didn't know how it could be organized. Perhaps they could sound out some of the husbands in the neighborhood and find out how they might feel about it. Then Jack said something which had stuck in Pete's mind:
"You know, a woman respects you when you take her firmly in hand-and I mean that literally. You and I are both away from the hearth and fireside too much, far too much, but maybe we can arrange a sort of swap club, or maybe there's even some new kind of club somebody else will know about. Anyhow, it'll give us all some peace of mind when we're sitting in that motel room in Hicksville and we've got a pretty darn good idea the little woman isn't sitting home alone-home maybe, but not alone. There's a way to be sure, and we'd better find it."
Pete was all for it. He had always had a couple of extra-curricular flings when he was in the mood and hadn't touched home base lately, and it hadn't damaged his relationship with Eleanor, because she didn't know about it. But he didn't cotton to the notion that she might be doing the same thing. For him it was usually in the line of business, so to speak. Just a couple of weeks ago, for instance, Amy Trowbridge, the buxom wife of the general manager of the store at Gales-burg, had intimated that she would like him to take her out to dinner and she would put in a good word with her husband to take on Pete's entire line. Pete sold electronic equipment, the hi-fi sort, and an outlet for the entire line was not to be sneezed at. So Pete had taken Amy Trowbridge to the best restaurant in Galesburg and afterward he had taken her home in a cab, intending to drop her off at her door. But she had invited him in for a drink. She had gone into the bedroom to "get into something cozy," and returned after only a few minutes in a black net nightie and high-heeled black pumps-and with a drink in each hand. He hadn't left until midnight, and when he did, he wore a couple of rows of fingernail digs down his back, earned when his stiff prick had brought her to the fulfillment of ecstasy, something she had been complaining her husband had never been able to do.
While Amy Trowbridge undoubtedly could be counted on for an occasional bed-warming, there was far too much risk of being found out by her husband. A wife-swap deal right here in Glendview would be a lot safer and he would have more pussy to choose from.
He unlocked the door of his house and looked around for Eleanor. But she wasn't in sight. When he got out to the kitchen, he found a little note telling him that she had tried to call his office and had been told he was out. She was over having supper with Nancy Donnegan, who was a typical grass-widow and as man-hungry as they came. In fact, Pete had often cast interested eyes at Nancy; but with a slinky young wife like Eleanor, it really hadn't been necessary.
If he was any judge of how hen parties usually rambled on, Eleanor probably wouldn't be back until nine or ten. He decided to treat himself to a steak at the Glendview Rotisserie. Ten minutes later his car was parked there and he was seated in a dimly lit booth, ordering from a sexy-looking waitress. The restaurant was not crowded tonight, so he got spectacular service. So much so that by the time dessert time came around, he asked Peggy, the waitress, for a date and she said yes. It was shortly after nine o'clock now, so he called home just to check in. Eleanor wasn't there. With a shrug, Pete got into his Dodge Palermo and drove, Peggy by his side, out to Ravensbrook Street on the west side of Glendview.
Peggy was twenty-six, had been divorced for two years, and her husband had remarried in another state, so she had to make do on her own. She confided that this was an anniversary for her, the second anniversary of her divorce, and that was why she had let him pick her up. Pete didn't care much what her reasons were because he was sizing up her figure under the uniform and coat. Her face was small and oval. She had "small, high-perched titties, a wasp waist and long, sleek legs with delightfully rippling muscled calves. Whatever else she had was hidden by the uniform, the apron and the coat, but already he had almost gotten a hard-on.
Peggy was a perfect hostess. She told him to take off his coat and tie, and she went into the bedroom to get rid of the coat and the uniform. She came back almost immediately, wearing a red satin housecoat, with her bare feet thrust into red leather sandals. She didn't look like a waitress any more, and as she sank down on the sofa beside him, he was aware that she had added a subtle perfume, faint but clearly her own, and furthermore, she wasn't wearing a stitch under the housecoat.
Nor was Peggy a stranger to pleasure. She relaxed beside him with a little sigh and put her head on his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, moved with gentle nibbling kisses down her soft, sweet brow to her eyelids, to the soft, thick lashes, to her pert, upturned little nose, and, daringly, down the soft, sweetly curbing upper lip to her willing mouth. He felt her body respond; her titties began to rise and fall more rapidly. While their mouths ground together and tongues foraged hungrily, his hands were greedy on her shoulders, her back, and at last he was gripping the firm, pertly upstanding contours of her bottom-cheeks. He felt her fingers traveling down his body, working at his zipper, and then, astonishingly, her long, slim fingers were tickling his prick.
"Would you like me to talk French to him, darling?" she whispered softly.
For a startled moment his tongue delved deeper. This was something Eleanor had never even tried. Then he relaxed completely, obedient to Peggy's fingers, her lips, her tongue. And soon he forgot everything outside of the world of Peggy, until they both lay back exhausted and fulfilled.
It was midnight when he left the little apartment, promising to see Peggy again soon. He got into his car and drove to a motel. He phoned home and told Eleanor he was staying in Chicago for a conference. He needed time to think, and he went to bed very thoughtful. There were dangers in a girl like Peggy. Of course, they could be seen together, but there wasn't really much chance of that, nor would it probably matter if they were. But suppose he were to go to that restaurant with friends some night, and suppose Peggy was in a mood for a little teasing blackmail? Or suppose she got angry with him and let something slip-even called Eleanor? No, Jack had the right idea. A wife-swapping club was the only thing.