Chapter 3
Post drove toward Griffith Park, thinking to find a motel somewhere along Los Feliz Boulevard or even Riverside, but as they neared the Park, Franceses was sitting close against him, her leg brushing his, her arm about his neck.
He muttered a mental blessing for the person who had picked out and designed automatic transmission. His hand was free to rest on her knees, moving lightly over the silk sheathed warmth of her legs.
She reciprocated, running her hand over the inner part of his right thigh.
Post became so preoccupied and excited that he went right through a red light, causing an oncoming car to swerge and blast angrily with his horn.
After a brief moment of fright, he allowed himself the luxury of nervous laughter, but then Francesca's hand tightened on his thigh again. They exchanged a meaningful glance and then they both realized they would not be able to wait until they found a motel.
He swerved off onto Griffith Park Boulevard and followed the fork that led into the Park, itself. He drove with great anxiety, turning twice off the well traveled roads that led to the Planetarium and the golf courses.
Her hand was actively massaging his leg now. Post briefly stroked her knees, as if to reassure himself that she was still there and this was not a part of the nagging need that had been set into motion by June.
Post found a small plateau and pulled off the road, onto a dirt drive that took a sharp descent to a plateau somewhat smaller. They were at least ten feet below the level of the road. They could not be seen by a car passing above them. There was no access from below; all was a sheer drop for a hundred feet or so, followed by ridges and small gullies, dotted with clumps of vines and violet wildflowers.
The moment he applied the handbrake, Francesca reached for the ignition and switched it off. They met in an abrupt fury of an embrace. He felt her moist lips crush against him and in another moment, her tongue was probing expertly against his lips.
Post held her tightly by the shoulders for a moment, the kissing being prolonged and vigorous, but then he had the need to touch her, to run his hands along her sides, to cup them over her breasts. He was spurred on in his ardor by a long sigh of pleasure from her. Her hands moved along his inner thigh until she reached his manhood.
Now Post sighed involuntarily, but this had the same effect on Francesca. She tugged at his necktie, loosening it and working the buttons of his shirt open. She moved quickly in her passion, opening the side of her dress and sliding her arms free of the shoulder straps. Then she freed her breasts from her brassiere. They were large and round with delicate pink tips contrasting attractively with the natural tanness of her body.
Post cupped them in his hands again, kissing feverishly, working in slow degrees up her chest, toward her shoulders and throat. Her head tilted back, her eyes closed, her slender nostrils flared as her breath came in quick spurts. "Oh," she said, "I knew it would be good with us."
He tried to unsnap her garter belt, until he discovered that it did not matter. She helped him remove her lacy black underwear, which he tossed into the back seat. He looked at her for a moment, then at the back seat. She understood his meaning and shook her head. Right here would be fine.
She tugged at him gently until her hand moved further toward her side so that the steering wheel would not be in the way. And then Post moved hungrily to bring their bodies together.
When this happened, Francesca gave a gasp of pleasure and began a concentrated rhythm. Post held her tightly, feeling all the pent-up desire rise in him as he began experiencing the tingle of being a part of her.
Their movements were frenzied and urgent, Post realized what had happened: Francesca had been just as overcome as he by the anxiety. She'd had just as long as he-even longer-to think about it. And now, as it was happening and their bodies were surging together, Stu Post knew the slowness and consideration and tenderness must wait until later. This was strictly a matter of need, violent need. Comfort would come later. The important thing now was fulfillment.
The force of this need frightened Stu. He was afraid his driving thrusts would bruise Francesca. He opened his eyes to look at her and was immediately relieved. Her face had the beauty of a woman flushed with delightful expectation. Her lips were parted and her eyes were wide open, looking directly at him. Francesca's face was rosy and moist with exertion.
"That's just right," she said. "That's wonderful. You aren't afraid to be forceful. Somehow, I knew you wouldn't be."
Quickly they passed to a plane beyond words, beyond seeing, really. All their sensation was contracted into the one experience of pleasure.
And that came with a quickening pace and a surge of spasmic finality in which Stu caught himself crying out in release. As he did, Francesca gripped him tightly. They writhed against each other for several moments, the scent of spiced apples in Post's nostrils, the silky softness of her hair against his face.
She regarded him fondly for several moments while catching her breath. Then, at length, she spoke. "I know this sounds silly, but thank you. That was good. You are good."
Post was loathe to part with her hand. She understood and moved next to him so that he could encircle her shoulders with his arm. She guided his hand to her breast.
"Now I'm even surer of what I said this morning," Francesca said. "You have troubles with June. You needed me badly, almost desperately."
"It's your imagination, Francesca. You just happen to be an exciting woman."
"You can be honest with me, Stu. I have no claim on you except that I want to be your friend. I expect us to know each other a long time, even when our affair is over. That can't be possible if you're going to be shy."
"Okay," he said. "I'm crazy about her, that's the truth. I hadn't realized just how much I cared, until...."
"Until what, Stu?"
He'd come close to saying something revealing. He'd nearly said, "Until we started pretending we're married." That wouldn't help things, talking like that. He could still take Francesca up on the friendship angle and confide in her without spoiling the secret.
Francesca took his silence as reticence and she finished the sentence for him. " ... until she began cooling down a bit, and that made you realize you lost something. You have to expect little periods like that, Stu. Give her time to get used to Coolaire Heights. That's a sizable change in a woman's life. It made a difference to me, too. Give her time, Stu, and keep on being the way you are, attentive, considerate and, yes, even a bit jealous. A woman likes it when her husband is just a bit jealous. I've heard them complaining about it, but just see how much more they'd complain if they thought their husbands didn't care at all."
It seemed ironic. Only this morning, Francesca had suggested they have an affair. The two of them had just finished a passionate session of lovemaking. Now she was telling him to be patient with his wife. That, alone, would have struck him as amusing, had he heard it said about someone else. But add the factor of his not being married to June, and it did not seem funny.
They shared a cigarette before Post backed the car up onto the dirt road and headed toward Riverside Drive. He found a motel and angrily paid the extra two dollars the manager added to the price. Seeing Francesca sitting in the car, it had become patently obvious what was about to happen. And Post knew he was over a barrel. They'd already consumed forty-five minutes. He didn't want to be too late getting back to the Institute. There was still more material to go over with Dr. Prique.
The room was small and shabby. But it had an ironic luxury, a double bed.
"Does it bother you, being in a place like this?" Francesca asked him.
Post shook his head.
"I'm afraid motels are going to be our trysting places. I don't see how we could be together at either of our homes.
"This beats the front seat of a car."
"I don't know about that," Francesca said. "I can think of an accident in a car I didn't particularly mind."
Francesca's humorous allusion and tone had them both laughing. Post moved to her and pulled her down beside him on the bed.
"This is better," she said, when he began working at the buttons of her dress. "This is much better."
He paused for a leisurely kiss. Now that his initial urgency was over, Post took longer to admire Francesca. Slipping her shoulder straps down, over her arms, he fell to kissing her breasts again and caressing her back.
She seemed to sense how important it was for him to be the one to set the pace. He took to it pleasurably, kissing the entire length of her body, feeling contented and whole again, while she returned the favor.
He worked her up to passion by slow degrees, caressing the nape of her neck, kissing her at the temples and stroking her buttocks (a thing she indicated she greatly enjoyed). It did feel good, he thought, to see the desire and readiness move into such a warm, attractive woman by slow degrees.
The firming of her breasts enthused him, the delicate motion of her hips was even more satisfying to see and the heavy breathing and sighing whenever he touched her: they all made Post confident again. It was a confidence he enjoyed.
He felt a strong surge of pride, knowing at the same time that he was excited by her, anxious to be united with her again.
He felt completely masculine, scurrying his fingertips along the smooth swell of her breasts and seeing her react so enthusiastically. And then, when he touched her pelvic area, she began moving even more spiritedly, kissing him several times in a way that surprised and delighted him.
When they were ultimately united, Francesca's hands gripped him tightly, her long legs wound about him and he had the pleasurable sensation of being as much a part of her, as much in possession and touch of her as possible.
The build up had been at his pace and now that they were together, he experienced the even deeper pleasure of mastery. It was good to feel like a man, good to know you were giving such pleasure to such a fine woman, good to hear her gasp with surges of enjoyment, good to hear her call your name, slowly at first, then in an increasingly rapid tempo, until she reached a rapid tempo, crescendo of delight and satisfaction and took you along with her, surging to the ultimate feeling of pride and pleasure and happiness.
She moaned, and when he started to leave her, placed her hands on his buttocks, "Stay here for a while longer, close and warm and still together. For me the moments after sensation has splashed over our bodies is one of the most beautiful parts of lovemaking."
Stu had never heard a woman talking like this before. It gave him pause. He was new to the game of love but Francesca made him realize that, without being aware of it, he had hung on to the high school attitudes toward sex.
It was exciting to discover what a sharing, enriching experience the mutual flow of physical release could be for a man and a woman. Here in this dirty little motel room he understood for the first time that Dr. Prique had the wrong approach to sex. It couldn't be defined by statistics and dry facts. What was important was the effects it had on the lovers.
She shook her head at his offer of a cigarette. "I'm still catching my breath," she said. "You do a pretty good job."
"You make a man feel like doing a good job. You make a guy really feel like a man."
He laughed. "Now, I can see why Ted is always so easy going and sure of himself. He doesn't have to improve himself by being the life of the party pinching fannies like Lyle Windover. He's already aware of what he's got; thanks to you. And now, I think I've got some of that, too."
"I'd like to think so, Stu. I mean this didn't happen because I had hot pants or because Ted can't keep me satisfied. I think you know that.
Post kissed her lovely mouth. He knew all right. Francesca was a fine person, a fine woman. Holding her this way, he believed it was true: they would be good, close friends for a long time, and there would be no reason for Ted Abblebaum to know about this.
With his eyes closed, he rested his head against hers, his hands idly stroking the small of her back. Then his trained, counselor's mind began working. Look what Francesca had given him. Had he done anything to repay it?
He tried to analyze her motives. She was not the kind to go sleeping around. Why had she done this? It was not love. She knew how he felt about June. What, then? And then the answer came to him. Francesca wanted to be needed, to be appreciated. Being a woman, she simply wanted to hear what she meant to her man. She could undoubtedly see the effect she was having on Ted, but, perhaps, Post reasoned, she needed this affair as a reassurance, as something she could remember.
"You're quite a woman," he told her, a note of deep sincerity in his voice. "I really want you to know how much I feel that to be so."
Immediately, Post knew he was on the right track. He felt her arm go about his shoulders tightly. "You really think I'm good, Stu?"
"Hell, yes," he said, experiencing the sudden surprise of feeling her free hand probe his loins.
"Prove it to me," she whispered. "Just once more before we go, Stu. Prove it to me."