Chapter 7

Naked, satisfied, fulfilled, Anne and Adam sat in the kitchen sipping their drinks. It was only ten-thirty and they had agreed to climb back into bed again for more lovemaking before Anne went home. Right now they had some talking to do.

"I still can't believe that sweet old lady would steal the letter," Adam said.

"I've told you and told you she's not a sweet old lady." Anne's eyes were blazing. "You should hear the way she talks to me."

"Like how?"

"More than once she's told me to go fuck myself."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not kidding. I think she--likes the sound of the word. She gets a kick out of using it. And she's always asking me if the boys I go out with try to screw me."

"And what do you say?"

"I tell her it's none of her goddamn business."

"Good."

"My answer is always an excuse for her to go into her room and lock the door. I think she plays with herself."

Adam's eyebrows shot up. "You mean she-isn't she too old to masturbate?"

Anne giggled. "Nobody's too old to masturbate, darling. I'll prove it to you when we grow old together." She giggled again. "Once I sneaked up to her door and put my ear against the panel. You never heard such moaning and groaning and thrashing around on her bed. Oh, yes, she plays with herself, all right."

Adam was beginning to feel horny and decided to change the subject.

"You really don't have any proof that she stole the letter."

"I don't need proof. I know she did and I can tell you how I know."

"Tell me."

"I keep the letters in my bottom bureau drawer underneath my underwear. They're all black frilly things, panties, slips, bras. They're very skimpy and-"

Adam interrupted. "Why haven't I seen you wearing those things?"

Anne smiled, came around the table and sat in his lap. "Don't you like my naked body?"

"Of course I like your naked body. I love it, but sometimes a man--likes to see his girl in under things so he can use his imagination, then take them off."

Anne hugged and kissed him. "You're a doll, darling. Just the kind of man I want. And don't worry. You're going to see me in my underclothes. I bought them just for you. It's going to be fun watching you take them off. As if you didn't know what they'll be covering up!"

"Wear them the next time you come over," he begged.

"I will. Now let me finish. I know that Quimper pokes around in my bureau drawers. When she saw the sexy-looking lingerie she probably picked up a few pieces, fondling them, wishing they were hers, getting her jollies."

"And that's when she saw the letters."

"Of course. She took just one, never dreaming that I counted them every night."

Adam sighed deeply. "You're probably right. When I called to say I'd left tickets for her-and her roommate-at the box office, I asked that one of you wear a red dress, so I could spot you in the stands. She said that she'd seen a red dress hanging in your closet."

"Which proves that she'd been snooping around my room!"

"Well, we've got to get the letter back."

"I'll get it," Anne said grimly. "I'll get it if I have to tear her room apart."

"Suppose she carries it with her?"

"She probably does. She probably reads it every time she goes to the ladies' room. Even so, some night when she's snoring away, I'll look into her bag."

Anne squirmed in Adam's lap. "Darling, you wonderful man, do I feel what I think I feel?"

Adam grinned. "There's no doubt about it. It's time we finished our drinks and-"

Just then the telephone rang. "I'd better answer it," Adam muttered. "If I don't, whoever it is will probably get curious and come over to see what's wrong."

He set Anne onto her feet and walked into the bedroom, aware that Anne was padding along behind and aware, also, of his swollen manhood. He heard her giggle.

"Just follow wherever the young man points," she chortled, "just so long as he doesn't point downward."

Adam gave her a look and picked up the phone. "Hello."

"Adam, darling, it's Betty."

"Letty! What in the world! Is something wrong?"

"Something's wonderfully right, dearest, I have the best news."

"Tell me," he asked, his curiosity aroused.

"Not over the phone, beloved. This is a face-to-face matter. It's that important. I'm driving up to Mekins next Saturday."

"Oh, gosh, Betty, I'm sorry. The team's going to be out of town Saturday. We're playing Glasgow Prep."

"I know that, silly. I have a schedule. You'll be home Saturday night, won't you?"

"Yes, but I'll probably be late."

"I don't care how late it is. Leave a key under your door mat in case I get there before you do."

"Golly, I don't know. Is it that important?"

"It's more important than you think."

Adam glanced at Anne. Naked, she had affected a pose, standing in the doorway. Her lips formed the words, "Tell her."

He shook his head and said into the phone, "Okay, Betty. I'll be looking forward to seeing you Saturday night. I'll get here as quickly as I can."

"I wish Saturday were tomorrow," Betty said. "Good-bye, beloved."

Adam hung up and turned to find Anne standing directly behind him.

"Why didn't you tell her?" Her voice was petulant.

Adam placed both his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her upturned face.

"Listen, Anne, you don't tell the girl you're engaged to marry that you've fallen in love with someone else, over the phone. At least if you're any kind of a man you don't."

Anne started to reply, but changed her mind. A warning bell sounded in the back of her mind. She could push this man just so far, she decided, before he balked.

So she smiled, slipped her arms about his waist and rested her head on his chest.

"And you're that kind of man, my darling. That's why I love you."

"You won't be foolish enough to come over here Saturday night."

"Of course not." Anne threw back her head and looked up at him. "Is she going to stay here all night?"

"Naturally not." Adam frowned. "I must remember to make a reservation at the inn."

"Be sure you do." Anne kissed him. "And now, I believe we have some unfinished business in the bedroom."

Adam grinned, everything else for the moment forgotten. "That we do, pretty girl. That we do." And he picked her up in his arms.

Olive Quimper, wearing a long cotton nightgown, sat on the edge of her bed and for the hundredth time, read the letter that she had stolen from Anne Yeaton's bureau drawer. And as she read, a warmth crept through her body. Her loins ached. When she finished reading, she gave a little shiver, clutched the letter to her bosom, and began rocking back and forth, making little moaning sounds. Her eyes were closed and her mind was projecting lewd pictures.

Anne had guessed correctly when she'd told Adam that the elderly spinster had wanted to fondle her sexy lingerie. Miss Quimper envied the young girl her beauty, her beautifully shaped body, her altogether sexy appearance. And because she envied her, she hated her. The little bitch! Who did she think she was, wiggling her ass whenever she crossed the campus and whenever there was a man to see?

Miss Quimper stood up, slipped out of her nightgown and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Her body wasn't all that bad, she told herself. True, her breasts sagged a little, but that could be expected of a woman of her age. Her age! She wasn't as old as most people seemed to think. Forty-nine wasn't old. She still had her dreams and her hopes.

She examined the rest of her body closely. Her belly had only the slightest of bulges. Her legs were long and shapely. On impulse, she unpinned her hair, and let it fall down over her shoulders. It was a deep brown in color, with only an occasional streak of gray. "I am sexy," she thought. "I could dye my hair and look even more sexy."

She went back to the bed, and picked up the letter again and sat, naked, thinking. It had, actually, been quite by accident that she'd found the letters. She had formed the habit of sneaking into Anne's room whenever the girl was absent, snatching a piece of lingerie from the bureau drawer, fondling it, hugging it to her, getting her jollies. Once she'd been tempted to undress and slip the panties on, just to know the delicious touch of them against her skin. Then she'd noticed that the panties were new. If she tried them on, Anne would surely know that they'd been worn and would accuse her as the most--likely suspect.

On this day, acting wholly upon impulse, she'd swept the entire pile of lingerie up at once-and so had seen the letters. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have touched the letters. Other people's mail didn't interest her. But something had caught her eye. She'd peered closer, then gasped. The handwriting on the top envelope was familiar. It was the same as that on the envelope that Adam Lombard had left at the box office containing the complimentary tickets.

Without hesitation, she'd slipped the envelope from beneath the ribbon that bound the package. Heart pounding, she'd carried the letter into her room, locked the door, sat down on her bed and read as her heart thudded against her ribs, her breathing became a series of rugged gasps, and her skin burned. "Oh, God!" she'd whispered. "Oh, God!" She'd read the letter again, absorbing every word. The result had been the same. She'd become aroused, wildly, insanely sexually aroused, and sat on the bed for a long time, trembling, trying to control her emotions. "That little bitch!" she'd breathed. "That goddamn whore!"

Miss Quimper had fallen in love with Adam the first time she'd seen him at the faculty meeting. He was exactly the type of good-looking, six feet four of manhood that she had always dreamed about. She knew that her case was hopeless. Not for a moment did she think of it as otherwise. But now that she had found him, he would remain her secret dream man. She could and would devise means of meeting and talking to him. Naturally, his main interest was football. How fortunate that she was interested in the game. It was the excuse she needed.

As Miss Quimper sat on the edge of her bed, naked, and stared down at the letter in her hand, she knew she was holding a bombshell. She had but to show the letter to Dean Hodgkiss, and Adam and Anne Yeaton would be fired on the spot, their careers ruined.

Is that what she wanted? Anne, yes. But what about Adam? It would mean that the young man would be taken out of her life forever. He would hate her for what she had done. She didn't want that. The trouble was, she couldn't involve one without the other.

Miss Quimper read the letter through again. Now, as always, she got as much of a thrill from it as she had when she first scanned the lines. Lewd thoughts began running through her mind. One in particular kept repeating. Each time she discarded it as being utterly absurd and ridiculous. But when it returned again, she let her mind dwell upon it, thinking of it at first as something fanciful yet delightful.

"I'll confront them both," she thought. "I'll tell Adam that unless he fucks me, I'll show the letter to Dean Hodgkiss." A little shiver of joy ran through her body. The picture in her mind was so delightful that she elaborated on it. "I'll make his little whore watch while he's screwing me. I'll make him say all the things he said to her, all the things in the letter." Her thoughts became wilder and wilder. "I'll make him fuck me every week. I'll make her watch too. They won't dare refuse so long as I have the letter."

Miss Quimper had worked herself up to a high pitch of sexual arousal. When she finally got into bed, she didn't bother to put her nightgown on again.