Chapter 6

The honeymoon was over. They did stay in Europe, flying to Italy and staying a week then flying to London where they stayed for three days then taking a trans-Atlantic flight home.

It was a totally different couple that got on the homeward flight to America, Ohio, their town, their house. They looked exactly the same and their friends wouldn't have any trouble recognizing them at all. Only when they were around them for a few minutes was there anything noticeably 'different' about them. It was the mood that prevailed around them. They were excessively polite to one another. There were moments of long silence when they would seem to gaze off, their thoughts far away. Soon, after they were home and settled in, friends would finally say, "I'm sorry, maybe it's just me, and I hope I'm wrong, but something just doesn't seem right between Fred and Jenny ever since they came back from that European honeymoon.

And another friend would heave a sigh and say, "I'm so glad you brought that up, I've been thinking the same thing."

They had left Copenhagen -- fled, really -- on the first plane the following morning. The rest of their honeymoon had just been so many museums and churches, so many guided tours, so many meals, bags, hotels, and beds. It was as if the two of them stood looking at the Mona Lisa while marking time. Michaelangelo was simply one of a long line of paintings and sculptures they saw. Each felt numb, each tried not to think.

When Fred had awakened in Copenhagen and they looked at each other and then looked away in shame. Fred could have spoken, but he didn't. Jenny sat mute, wanting to speak, but unable. Both of them driven desperate by guilt and doubt, did the worst possible thing they could do: they didn't say anything at all. They acted like it didn't happen. When Fred cleared his throat and said, as if he were talking at a luncheon with a group of Rotarians, "I've had enough of Copenhagen, in fact, I've had enough of this climate. What say we leave?"

Jenny jumped at the chance, smiling, looking strange smiling with a face so sad. "Oh, I'd love to get some sun!"

Fred was on the phone, telling the desk they were checking out, then calling the airport and making reservations. They were lucky enough to get an early flight out and were busy packing and desperately chatting about inconsequen-tials. Only in the cab did they fall silent.

When he got on the plane, he was Fred Morrison, American, Ohioan, a man who worked with the Jay Cees, Optimists, Rotarians, Lions, Elks; a man who coached a little league team and was active in summer programs at the local YMCA, a man whose standing in his community was well known and respected.

Implacably, he returned to what he was prior to visiting Copenhagen. Each night, he changed into his pajamas in the bathroom and went to bed, fortified with arguments about how "bushed" he was and what a heavy schedule they had the next day and fell into a deep escaping sleep.

Jenny went along, attentive, polite, laughing and never forgetting to comment on the food with enthusiasm and never once trying to be intimate with her husband or mention that evening. Fred, when they were alone, whenever ,. they were sitting waiting to be served in a restaurant, talked of how anxious he was to get back and of his plans and problems with the Community Chest. Jenny listened and asked questions and got answers that she didn't hear.

Once, while traveling through one of the museums, she saw nude statuary of men and nude gods in paintings and again she felt a pagan, lewd surge in her loins and felt guilty. Per haps, she was thinking, I can get to a psychiatrist when we get back.

They talked more and more about their life back in Ohio and saw less and less of their actual surroundings. They were two people in a deep state of shock, frightened, eager to flee back to their old identities.

Only once, in London, had Fred felt anything at all in the way of emotions. While waiting for Jenny to dress, he had gone to the lobby for cigarettes. The desk clerk had explained in elegant and gracious terms that they were temporarily embarrassed and out of them at the moment but there was a tobacconist around the corner. Fred had gone to the store, purchased two packs and, as he was leaving, noticed a rack of magazines. One cover caught his attention. It was a nude girl, seated', her head tilted, her hair falling, a wanton smile on her lips. Something in the pose reminded him of Copenhagen. With his heart pounding, he picked the magazine up and leafed through it. Grils, totally naked, their pubic hair plainly visible, posed in obscene ways. Two girls embracing, with their tongues out. A girl with .a naked man, two girls, men, women. Fred found himself leafing through the magazines, one after another, with trembling hands and sweat forming on his upper lip.

The orgy in Copenhagen came flooding into his mind, spilling over into his loins and causing an erection. A part of him gloated over the night and longed for it again.

Fred closed his eyes and put the magazine down and rubbed his sweaty hands together. How long had he been there? He hurried out, his mind going a mile a minute. He had simply locked the orgy out of his mind with superhuman willpower. He had told himself that he would never behave that way again or mention the evening to anyone, at any time. Now, having seen the pictures, the old hammering, wild, frenzied, insane lust came on him again. If only he could do it just once more, just one more time.

Fred walked into the lobby in the center of a vortex, his fists clenched and his jaw set. He wanted to go upstairs, burst into the room, rip Jenny's clothes off and fuck her right where he found her. If anyone saw them, well, that was all right too.

He stood waiting for the elevator, his breath even, his face set. No. The word reverberated through his mind. He could not live like that back in Ohio. It was a disgraceful way to live, it was totally unacceptable.

Although Fred wasn't dumb, he was self-centered and trying, up until he saw those magazines, to forget the whole night in Copenhagen. Never once had he permitted himself to think about it.

Now, with the surrealistic night recalled in all its carnal detail, he had to think of Jenny. What kind of woman was she? What had he married? In a pompous way, he told himself that he could understand a fellow, like himself, going out and raising a little hell, living it up, sowing wild oats, but it was another kettle of fish for his wife to do such things. Thinking he was being eminently fair, he told himself that it was all right, since it took two to tango, for a girl to do a thing like that, but -- a big but in his mind -- would that kind of girl be happy being married? Being a wife? What kind of wife would a girl like that make? What kind of mother?

When he came back into the room, he apologized to Jenny, explaining he had to go out-for cigarettes. He talked on, reminding her once again that they had to stop by the American Express, check on ticket reservations, take in the Tate Gallery, and then back to the hotel to change for dinner. All the time, he was looking at his new young bride as a different person, a virtual stranger to him, a woman with appetites that weren't all to the good.

What he was to do about this quandary he suddenly recognized or, more correctly, suddenly acknowledged, he didn't know. He decided to stay in his state of numbness, his suspended animation, until he got back home. Once there, once he got his bearings and had slipped back totally into old sure ways, he would know what to do.

Friends, parents, and in-laws greeted them when they returned and they were wined and dined and showed the slides of their European honeymoon; all pictures or mention of Copen-hagan were judiciously omitted.

Jenny was a good if unenthusiastic hostess. Her life with Fred was barren but busy. She had a home to make and set about decorating it and being a good wife and homemaker in every way possible. She lay awake nights going over details, determined to be beyond reproach in every way, desperately eager to please her husband and hanging on his every word of praise. It became terribly important to her just whether or not he noticed the new curtains she had sewn and hung in the kitchen. Any little hint of praise made her heart leap.

But it was never enough to fill the need she had. Fred was busy with important meetings and always racing off to meet some dignitary. As a matter of business, they entertained a fair amount and Jenny found herself busy during the day planning dinners, fixing dips and making canapes and mixing drinks. And drinking them. She soon got the reputation of "belting a few" and "getting a glow on."

It was nothing serious yet, Fred never mentioned it. But, there were the nights. Nights when Fred had to be at some testimonial dinner or drive out of town for some meeting or rally. Increasingly, there were nights when she found herself alone, when there was nothing to do but read a book or watch TV or, eventually, have a drink.

To prevent this, she took to visiting relatives and friends and soon found that she had run out of people and places to visit. Then, it was lonely nights at home, sitting, smoking, watching TV in a trance, sipping on a drink. Then another. One more and still one more after that.

When Fred explained, because of his crazy hours, that it might be best if he slept in the den when coming home late at nights, it was almost with a feeling of relief that she agreed.

"Besides," Fred said, solicitously, "You need your rest and it's not right that I wake you up everytime I come home late."

"And you need your rest too, darling," Jenny had added. "You work awfully hard."

"And so do you. This place is spotless and 'the chicken you cooked tonight was out of sight."

"I'm glad you liked it. Fred?" The question was asked timidly.

Fred turned to her, feigning indifference, hoping she was not going to bring up anything unpleasant or embarrassing. "Yes?"

"Would you mind if I fixed the den up a bit for you?" Jenny asked, smiling at him.

Inwardly, he was relieved as he seemed to explore the question. "Just so long as it isn't too frilly, that's all. You have a way, you know."

And they spent the rest of the evening talking drivel, discussing color schemes for the den and reminding one another of upcoming parties and dates before Fred squeezed her arm and said, "I've got to run. The mayor's meeting on the Red Cross drive. Don't wait up for me."

Jenny didn't. After he left, she mixed herself a drink while watching TV, had two more drinks while watching her favorite programs and made herself another while making a bed for Fred in his den and carefully laid out a pair of freshly laundered pajamas and retired, with a new drink, to what was now "her room."

Fred became like a roommate to her, coming and going, paying the bills with Jenny keeping the house. Their liquor bill began to creep up, but Fred never said anything about it and, in less time than she thought, Jenny was getting smashed every night and waking up, late, with a hangover. A headache and general run-down feeling became normal and she did her shopping and her chores with alacrity, only happy when she was meeting a friend for cocktails.

People began accepting her as a quiet, affable matron who lost her balance or slurred her words once in awhile. Friends were worried about her and Fred. Fred seemed serious at best, morose at other times. He did his job well and took it seriously. Too seriously, some of his friends said among themselves and worried about the two of them.

Then, Nick Condos came into her life.

Fred's impulse, when he first met Nick Condos, was to dislike him. As he grew to have business dealings with him, he grew to distrust him. Nick was a land developer from the East, from New York, and had great ideas about a country club and shopping complex outside of town. So far as anyone knew, Nick's checks and credentials were good. What was it then, that Fred disliked about him?

It might have been his dress, which wasn't New York so much as it was flashy, colorful, smacking of California casual wear to mod dress which was so out of place for an average Midwestern town. At one luncheon, Nick had" shown up in a florid shirt and bell-bottomed pants. When reminded that a tie was considered being dressed, he whipped out a scarlet scarf and tied it around his bare neck.

And it wasn't the high living either. Within a week in town, Nick Condos had been seen in all the places people should be seen in and in a few places which were considered to be of dubious character. Nor was it just the racing car, a for eign model, that he raced around town in. Nor was it his deep tan and bold smile. Perhaps the smile seemed insolent. And there was the bold brazen way he stared at women and the way he talked about them: a way Fred could never bring himself to talk.

A whole, lazy, cocky, wisecracking atmosphere pervaded around Nick. Men were never sure if he was kidding or insulting them. He seemed to, in his attitude and look, radiate a contempt for the small, square, everyday life of the Ohio town.

He complained about the lack of what he called, "A swinging nightlife," in town, saying he had to go all the way to Cleveland for a decent meal and kicks. When asked what he did for 'kicks' he would only answer with a slow mocking smile and say, "Oh, man!"

Although he would never allow himself to think it, Fred, in his present circumstances, felt threatened by the presence of Nick Condos. Something about him, a mood, a word, a gesture, something indefinable and frightening about Nick Condos made him think of Denmark. Condos couldn't have been there; Fred would never have forgotten such an insolent cocky character.

What was it then? Fred didn't know, but he was soon to find out. Because of his social position in town, he met Nick more often than he liked. He seemed to be at every social function. He was at an Elk's dance that Fred had to judge and award a prize to the best dancing couple. During an intermission, Nick ambled up to him, a drink held carelessly in his hand despite the rule and signs all over forbidding drinks on the dance floor. "Hi. Got a minute?"

"Yes. What for?"

"I've been watching you and there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Oh? What?"

"Come on," Nick said, turning his back and walking, "we can't talk here. In the bar."

Fred followed, even though he disliked being ordered and having Nick think he would tag along, yet he did. In the bar, Nick found a table off by itself and sat down. "Have a drink?" Nick asked as a waiter hovered, as they always did, around Nick.

"No thanks."

Nick made a disgusted face. "Oh, man, let's not go through a big thing. Have a drink! Bring him a scotch."

Fred got the drink he didn't want and ignored it, looking at Nick who slouched back in his seat and smirked at him. "Well?"

Nick leaned forward. "Just watching you operate in this town interests me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think you've been around."

"What do you mean by that?" Fred asked stiffly. 0

Nick looked at him for an uncomfortable length of time and slowly, easily, began to laugh. He sat back, shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette, chuckling as he did so.

"You married?"

"Yes, why?"

Nick took his time shaking a match out, grinning at Fred all the while. "Just wondered. Never see you with a wife. In fact, I never see you with any women at all. You don't wear a wedding ring."

"My wife stays at home. This," Fred said with a jerk of his thumb, "can get monotonous and a wear. Don't misunderstand me," he hastened to add, "I myself love it. Why, the day doesn't seem long enough sometimes with all the things'I've got to do, all the places I've got to go. If I had Jenny doing this, why we'd never have any home life."

Nick nodded with an openmouthed astonishment that could be taken as a mocking insult. Then he looked thoughtful, nodding to himself. "Jenny. That's a nice, pretty, old-fashioned name." He looked at Fred and grinned. "So you're out on the prowl every night, you old devil."

Fred resented being called "old" by Nick. He wasn't yet out of his twenties. "What do you mean?"

"Mean?" Nick looked disgusted again. "Come on I You must score like crazy. You got it made. I know a hundred guys wish they had the setup like you do. Come on, admit it," Nick said in an insinuating voice.

Fred shook his head. The fact that he did, indeed, have the perfect setup and alibi in the world, had never occurred to him before. He had reasons for being out late at night and 3lept in his own room and there was that cute young girl down at the Ukrainian Hall. Despite himself, he smiled, flattered that he presented a roguish picture to Nick. "I'm sorry, but I don't do that sort of thing."

Nick laughed and shook his head in admira tion. "Look at you! Man, that was a cool answer. You just sat there and gave me that executive suite smile and say, real cool like, That's not my game, Daddy. Fred, you got brass balls and I like them." He reached across the table and slapped Fred on the back. "Did you dig that petite brunette, the one with the boobs, shaking that tight little ass out there? I bet you got that message long ago and got the whole thing psyched out, got that little thing under control, now haven't you?"

Fred hadn't, but that didn't mean that he hadn't noticed her and idly dreamdd of the possibilities present. She never seemed to be seen with the same date twice and she had smiled at him. There had been times, in the past, when she always showed up and took pains to smile at him and offer a "hello" or "good evening."

Now that Nick had brought up his ideal position, the possibility of meeting the brunette and having a drink with her, talking to her, spending time with her, aroused a heat in his groin that had been absent since they had come back from Europe.

There was the real possibility, that he could have a little fun for himself. The Polish girl down at the Ukrainian Hall seemed an easier ' target and quite a juicy one, too. He gulped his drink and grinned back at Nick, delighted to be considered a stud, flattered into lying, by saying, "You'll never know."

It was a terrible lie, but Nick seemed to fall for it, wagging his hsad and saying, "That's cool." Then he looked at his watch and said, "Hey, I gotta flit. Got to see a friend." He got up, tossing a five-dollar bill down and winking at Fred. "A real good friend, you know?"

Fred permitted himself a little superior smile, "I understand," he said, very much the man of the world.

If Fred had known where Nick was going, he wouldn't have been so offhand about it Nick went out to the foyer, looked up Fred's address in the telephone directory and went out to his car. Fred heard him roar, tires squealing, out of the parking lot, but didn't really think about it. His was busy thinking about the interesting prospects Nick had brought to his attention, and of the girl at the Ukrainian Hall and how it would be late after this dance was over, and things should be pretty drunk and wild at the old Ukrainian Hall by that time. He decided he would drop in there after he was through judging. Nick Condos had already accused him of playing around. With a smile, Fred thought, I might as well get hung for a horse thief. Might as well steal a horse.

He thought about it for a moment, laughed to himself and then went back to judge the dance.

Fred's instinctive feelings about Nick Condos were more than right and, had he known his whole story, he would have been really alarmed. Anyone who knew Nick's past and current state of mind knew that he was someone to avoid. He was a reckless person, devoid of any consideration or thought for the other person. In truth, he had little regard for his own life. He would be dead before he was too much older, for he attacked life with a suicidal frenzy, completely oblivious of the consequences of any act.

It was this dominating, wild, thoughtless, quality in him that led him to be a Korean War hero, winning a commission on the field and losing it, being dishonorably discharged from the army when he slugged a snooping Colonel who became too interested in his blackmarket activities.

In civilian life, he was a hotshot salesman, selling anything in sight, working his way into public relations, publicity and finally, promotion. He had lost and made fortunes on many a wild and improbable deal. He was unpredictable yet had a reputation for making money with his many dealings. Once, on a golf course, he peeled off ten one-thousand-dollar bills and placed them on the green, behind the cup in a neat stack and bet a fellow golfer he wouldn't sink an eight-foot putt. The golfer had picked his ball up and walked off to the clubhouse.

Perhaps Nick was in love with danger and, eventually, death. He seldom thought about it, saying, with a fatalistic shrug, "When the time comes, I'll be there."

Nick wasn't formally educated but that didn't mean that he wasn't intelligent. Some* people grew to believe that he had an almost superhuman cunning, a frightening prescience that too often came true. Out of boredom, out of frustration at being wrapped in a small, dull, Ohio town by a business deal, Nick had sat back at the Elk's club dance disgusted, bored to death, and fixed his focus on Fred. He mused on Fred's life and the wheels started turning.

As blood brothers recognize one another, as it is said that murderers sense one another without a word being said, so Nick sensed that Fred Morrison was a swinger in disguise. And, indeed, Fred had behaved with a singular lack of regard in Copenhagen. Something, a glance, an attitude, a glimmer in the eye, told Nick a great deal. He had no idea what he would say to Fred, simply went and talked.

Their seemingly casual conversation had told Nick a lot, enough for him to act out one of his wild schemes. And it was part of his wild scheme that led him to cruise the block where Fred Morrison lived, noting that the lights were still on. Nick was gambling a lot; gambling that he was right about Fred's relationship with his wife, that he never took her anywhere. Also, he was gambling that Fred would be inflated by his compliments and go out chasing broads for awhile.

His crazy luck was better than even he hoped for, for, at that moment, Jenny was sitting watching TV, half drunk, rolling her loins with remembered thoughts of Copenhagen. Had he planned the whole thing (and, in a sense, he had) it couldn't have worked out better. He walked to the door with a jaunty step and rang the bell, not having any idea of what he would say.

"Yes?" Jenny asked, opening the door, her housecoat wrapped around her, puzzled, a bit apprehensive, for they seldom had visitors at this hour.

Nick beamed at her. "You must be Jenny, Am I right?"

"Yes, I am." Jenny used the door for support.

trying not to slur her words. "Who are you?"

"I'm Nick Condos. Friend of Fred's. Is he here yet or did I beat him?"

Jenny looked a little bewildered. "No, he's not here. Don't expect him for a little while."

Nick walked in, past Jenny, looking around. "He'll be here in a minute." He walked into the living room, followed by Jenny, and seated himself in a chair and whipped out a cigarette. "I'm supposed to meet him here. He invited me over. Told me all about you although I must say he didn't do you justice."

Jenny wasn't at all sure she liked the brazen way he looked at her or the hidden, insinuating tone in his voice as his dark eyes swept over her body. Nevertheless, she behaved, as she had learned, like a gracious hostess. "Well, nice to meet you. Perhaps I'd better change. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, scotch on the rocks." He smiled up at her and his voice was warm. "I don't like to drink a lot of drinks so make it strong."

Jenny returned the smile. Lately, she found she liked people who drank, who kept pace with her. Too often, at parties, she stood around wishing someone would want another drink so she couid have the excuse of pouring herself an- * other one. She mixed Nick's drink strong, making small-talk and then handed it to him with a dangerous, thrilling look being exchanged.

There was no doubt he was attractive to Jenny, attractive not as a solid citizen or someone to marry, but attractive in a romantic, impulsive, lewd way. Jenny smoothed down her housecoat and said, "Well, here's to you."

They drank with Nick staring at her. Jenny giggled, embarrassed and said, "Forgive me, I'd better change."

"That won't be necessary."

"What's that?" Jenny asked, flustered and frightened by the calm penetrating tone of his voice.

Nick flicked ashes off his cigarette and looked at her. "I said that won't be necessary unless," he waved a hand, "you're going to change into something more comfortable."

"What?" Jenny felt a numbing shock. Surely, she hadn't heard him correctly. "What did you say?"

Nick looked at her with bemused patience. "I said, that won't be necessary unless you're going to change into something more comfortable. You know, something to turn me on more than I am now. I like black."

"Black!" Jenny was too astounded to say anything else.

"Yeah. Black stockings, bra and panties. Actually, I like black stockings and a garter belt. Nothing else. You like that?" he asked casually, as if he were asking a fellow diner if they liked spinach.

Although Jenny was too shocked to feel any anger, she pretended she did, feeling she had to. "You've got your nerve. Who do you think you're talking to?"

Nick took a drag on his cigarette. "A very desirable and lonely lady."

Again, she was taken back by his brutal direct way. "When Fred gets here, I'm going to have him throw you out."

Nick smiled and drank. "When Fred gets here, he'll be in no mood or condition to throw me out. Your Freddie is out balling."

"What! What do you mean?"

"I mean, Jenny, that Fred is, at this minute, having an affair with a very attractive young lady and I think he's going to be busy for a very long time. I lied about meeting him here. / wanted to meet you."

Jenny sat down, stunned. "Me? Why me?"

Nick smiled. It was a practiced, enigmatic, smile he used on clients as well as women. More often than not, it worked. Intuitively, Nick knew that everyone had something to hide and, if he could convince them he knew something about them, he could have people eating out of his hand and telling him the very thing they wished to keep secret. Slowly, his voice low and confidential, he said, "Fred told me quite a lot about you."

From the look on Jenny's face, the way her eyes clouded over, Nick knew he had scored again. He sat patient, smiling.

"What ... did he ... my husband ... tell you?"

Nick took another drink and lit a cigarette, knowing he couldn't drag it out too long or she would know he was bluffing. With razor sharp » timing, he let his face fall into a slight annoyance. "Oh, very well. I see where we're going to go through a game. Look, he told me about that night."

Again, Nick's luck and intuition worked. Almost every married couple had a night they'd rather people didn't know about. Jenny's gasp told him he was right. He sat back in his chair, confident it was going to be an interesting night and, if she was good enough, a welcome relief to the tedium he found in the town. "He wouldn't dare!" Jenny said, her whole face and posture telling Nick that Fred would dare, did dare, and that she was afraid that Nick was going to dare a lot more.

He triumphantly stubbed his cigarette out, chuckling to himself as he ignored the question and asked another. "What's the matter? Didn't you have a good time?"

"He wouldn't!" Jenny wailed.

Nick shrugged his shoulders. "He did. That's a fact. Another fact is that he's cheating on you this minute and has been cheating on you. Too bad. You should have kept him happy at home, you should have gone on with that night instead of feeling guilty and embarrassed about it."

Jenny, completely bewildered and dismayed, crushed, by what this stranger had told her, covered her face with her hands and murmured, "I thought it was so wrong."

Nick leaned forward, a confident smile on his lips. It wouldn't be much longer before he'd have her in bed, doing all kinds of tricks at his every command. "You thought it was depraved? Perverted?"

Jenny shook her head and fought back tears.

"You thought it was immoral?"

Again, she shook her head.

"You thought it was lewd and obscene?" he asked in a husky voice.

The words seemed like branding irons on the air. Here she was alone, with a very masculine man, who knew all about what she did in Copenhagen and, by talking about it, he was bringing it to life again! Jenny felt a familiar stirring in her loins, a roiling of pleasure and energy she hadn't felt in a long while. She spread her hands. "It seemed so wrong. I hate that city! I'm never going to Europe again! I don't know why I did it! Something just came over me and, before I knew it, it was too late!" She put her face in her hands and began crying.

Nick sat back and let her cry. She had told him it had happened in Europe, probably while they were on vacation or a honeymoon. He let her cry, timing his remark. "Come on, Jenny, who got hurt?"

"What?" Jenny looked at him with tear stained eyes.

"You had a little fun and who got hurt? Answer me honestly." Before she could answer, Nick leveled an accusing finger and said, "Look, you enjoyed it."

"No," was all Jenny could say in a small voice, thinking, has Fred told him that too? Has he told him everything?

Nick scoffed, tossing his head. "You enjoyed it. Enjoyed it?" he asked, his voice rising with his bluff, "You loved it! You loved being ob-' scene and pornographic and I bet you sit around this house wishing you could be again. Don't try to kid me, you love it. You're begging for it!"

Jenny sat as if turned to stone. All Nick was saying was true. All she could think of was Nick and Fred crouched at a table or a booth somewhere, their heads close together, lewd smiles on their faces as Fred told Nick all about her and that night in Copenhagan. He had probably told others and she was known around town as a whore, a slut; a perverted, obscene slut!

And, with the despair such a thought brought with it, there was also an unholy excitement, a mad desire to just once more act in an abandoned manner. There had been times, alone, at night and when drinking, when she had thought about being a whore, a prostitute; doing whatever men paid her to do, accepting money from strangers and then doing their bidding. The thought had filled her with such a rampaging desire that she was forced to pour herself another drink. And still another until she stumbled to bed and thoughtless, dreamless, sleep.

She got to her feet to pour another drink, her housecoat falling open and showing her naked leg and beautifully curved thigh. She poured herself a drink, drank it, and poured herself another before coming back and sitting opposite Nick, accidentally letting her housecoat fall open again, a smirk on her face. There was something thrilling, something carnal, in her attitude and actions. Her mind, lulled by alcohol, was slipping back into that Tiotpants' feeling she had had in Copenhagen.

Nick sat smiling. In a low voice, he said, "Let's see some more of those legs."

Jenny, her eyes half closed, groaned slightly to herself and reached down and separated the gown all the way up to the flimsy whiteness of her panties. The lips of her vagina beneath them were swelling now and she could feel a moist-ness and itching heat growing slowly down be tween her legs. The thought of Fred telling other men, perfect strangers to her, of what she was like and then allowing them to come to their home and try to fuck her, filled her with rage and hate for him. She would fix him good when she had the chance, she would fix him real good. He was out with some young girl, doing obscene things and never touching her, his own wife. She would get even. With a lewd smile, she looked Condos directy in the eye and teasingly spread her legs, revealing the tight white crotchband of her panties covering her pussy and the few pubic hairs that curled softly out beneath the legbands.

"That's a baby," Nick breathed heavily.

Jenny took a drink and slid further down in the seat, grinding her buttocks down so that the band running between her legs became tighter over her cunt, revealing the imprint of her vaginal lips and forcing the nylon between the smooth rounded cheeks of her buttocks, revealing them almost naked to Nick's lustful eye.

"Very interesting," he said.

Jenny could feel the band pressing up against her tiny, puckered anus and she squirmed more, sinking lower in the chair and forcing her hips out as she rolled them around in her sudden, wanton desire to act out the whore in front of this perfect stranger her husband had obviously sent out to fuck her. Putting her drink down and reaching down, she pulled her panties up, tight, revealing her hipbones and feeling the band press hard against her vagina and anus.

There was something lewd and exciting in her drunken state of mind, so very exciting in know ing that Fred was talking about her in such obscene terms and that there might be other men coming to do all kinds of things to her. She pulled the panties higher, stretching them and rolling her hips then grinding them down into the chair, tightening the band until one lip of her vagina slipped free and the band slipped slowly into her hot wet cuntal slit.

Nick got up and kneeled between her legs whispering, "Baby, I've just got to see this more closely."

Jenny lay her head back and closed her eyes. Drunkenly, she thought, we'll play house, we'll play dirty doctor and I'll let him do whatever he wants!

Nick hooked one thumb under the panties, feeling her soft cunt as his knuckle buried itself in her soft, warm, moist opening. With a slight motion of his wrist, his knuckle rubbed over her rising clitoris and he could feel it throb under his urgings. He pulled hard and the panties slid down under her firm rounded buttocks. Then with both his hands, he worked the soft silken material down to her ankles where Jenny kicked them aside. Then, he bunched her housecoat up around her waist, and with the palms of his hands pressing against her soft inner thighs, spead her legs wide apart, to the point where she winced. He crouched between her knees and with both thumbs, he stroked her soft silken pubic hair outwards along the passion moisted slit and spread her vaginal lips wide, wider, Jenny groaning with emotion.

He looked at her red moist cunt spread open before him and knew he was going to have this bitch hotter than she had ever been before and he was going to fuck her all the way across town and back. He smiled as he leaned forward and the tip of his tongue flicked over her distended clitoris and sent shivers of flickering joy up her spine.

This, he told himself, might turn into a good thing.

"Oooooooh, God!" Fred's wife groaned as he plunged his tongue into her soft open cunt and unconsciously she flung her legs up over his shoulders, her buttocks raised up off the chair now and held by his cupping hands. With a long lewd sigh, she hooked her legs tightly around his neck and pulled his head in deeper between her widespread thighs while her buttocks writhed and rolled in wild abandoned passion down against his hands below....