"When the loving gets rough" - читать интересную книгу автора (Scope Perry)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Karen had no idea of how the night and day passed for her. The knowledge that Pat would be in her house that evening seemed too wonderful to be true. She waited until Allen was ready to leave for school in the evening before telling him. He hadn't even mentioned Pat's absence the evening before.

Once he was gone, Karen went hurriedly to the bathroom and took another shower. She wanted to be fresh and sweet-smelling for Pat. Karen sat in front of the cheap vanity table with a large towel tucked sarong-style under her breasts. She critically studied her face and what she could see of her figure in the three-way mirror.

Her skin was very pink from the hot shower. The color gave the girl an even softer look than usual. She surveyed her light hair, thought again of bleaching it, but, as usual, rejected the notion. Her fluffy hair was blond enough, striated with different shades of yellow where the sun had fingered and tinted the locks. She forgot her hair when her gaze fell on her face. She thought her pretty face too unexciting, too childish. She longed to look really sophisticated, sharply exotic, not like a face off a cameo locket. Her dark eyes penetrated her mirrored features, mentally adjusting her bone structure and coloring. In her concentration, her coral, pointed tongue darted out against her upper lip. When she noticed it, Karen frowned in disgust. She looked all of sixteen, and about as sophisticated as a bar of lemon soap.

The girl tugged at the top of her towel, letting it fall to her waist. She relaxed greatly at the sight of her own body. There, at least, she couldn't find much in which to object. Her smooth pretty flesh was all in the right places. Her breasts, in spite of their largeness, were very firm, with strawberry tips which pointed upwards. Behind each tip was a round smudge the color of jam. Under her breasts Karen's body tapered sharply to a tiny waist which Allen loved to encircle with his hands. Her shoulders were just broad enough to carry the mammoth breasts comfortably. And Karen could find no fault with her long neck. The girl got to her feet slowly, following the line of her body as it emerged in the mirror. She pushed the towel to the floor. Her hips widened from her small waist. She half turned to study her compact but attractively shaped buttocks. Her thighs were firm and full, and she knew, the rest of her legs were equally pretty. Karen looked curiously at where her thighs came together, wondering hotly if Pat would approve of her body…

She snatched her eyes away and, red faced, began to dress. She pulled on a clean cotton bra and a pair of pink panties. She couldn't resist taking an-other look in the mirror. She smiled nervously, wondering what would happen if she met Pat at the door dressed like this, with her full breasts spilling over the top of her bra and the thin panties exaggerating her hips. Then Karen frowned. She hurriedly searched through her closet, trying to find something decent to wear. She decided on an old pair of black stretch pants. They were tight, anyway. She struggled into them, then searched around for a blouse. She had to settle for a pale-blue blouse which became less dull once it was on her splendid body. The color did wonderful things for her hair and skin. She wiggled her feet into thong shoes and applied the little bit of makeup she used. A thin line of brown on her eyelids brought out the depth and darkness of her eyes, and a light touch with a pink lipstick gave her mouth a nice shimmer. She had just replaced the cosmetics when the doorbell rang. She got up at once and hurried to the living room.

Karen yanked the door open, her heart racing furiously. Pat! It had to be Pat! Oh, please, Karen prayed, let it be Pat!

"Hi, baby, am I late?" Pat grinned easily from the doorway.

Karen hardly recognized the dark girl. She stared speechless at the impeccably dressed, stunning young woman at the door. Pat wore a silk suit that fitted sleekly around her fine figure. The suit had an expensive look to it. It was Pat's color, midnight black, and her high-heeled shoes matched it. "You-you look like a fashion model," Karen said, frankly awed by Pat's beauty and elegance.

"I did that once, too, Karen, dear." Her eyes on the girl were very warm and very familiar. "I've done just about everything."

"Come in, please," Karen moved back from the door, urging Pat into the living room. She had been so impressed with Pat's appearance that she had forgotten to invite the girl inside. "How come the clothes? I mean…"

"You didn't think I ever wore anything but jeans?" The girl tossed her head and laughed. "You're almost right. This little outfit is in honor of your husband. Isn't he home?"

"Al's at school. He won't be home for a few hours yet." Karen couldn't stop looking at Pat. She loved the way the sensitive blue eyes were lovingly raking her own face and body. It suddenly occurred to Karen that, with a whole world of beautiful women, it was astounding that she had never before noticed the sheer beauty of femininity. The thought shocked and disturbed her.

"I can't really say that I'm sorry that we're alone, Karen." Pat reached out and touched Karen softly on the cheek.

It's only because I'm so hungry for real affection! It's only because other men frighten me and Al won't give me more than his body! Karen told herself desperately. Yet, at the slight touch, Karen felt herself sway towards Pat, even knowing why, and what she risked… and that she was damning herself to a hell at which she could only guess. Damned if I do, and damned if I don't! Karen accused herself silently. "Neither can I," she answered wearily, her mouth very dry. It isn't up to me to choose! the girl sobbed inwardly, from the depths of her confusion. Pat pulled her, filled her brain, flooded her memory, and started new, strange, urgent desires in her limp body.

"Don't be frightened, baby," Pat whispered, her arms going around the smaller girl's waist. "Don't be, please. I won't do anything to you…"

Karen looked up into the startlingly lovely face. She knew her own face must yield traces of the way she felt. She wanted to protest, argue, beg Pat… yes, please, do something to me, anything…

"Anything you don't want me to do, that is – I need you to trust me, Karen. I won't hurt you, baby. I love you." Pat held the girl cradled against her breast, feeling love like a pressure against her heart, trying to forget other times when she'd felt it just as intensely before.

Karen felt the slim womanly body against her, smelled and almost tasted the shivery silk that draped the taut flesh of this woman, this one woman whom she believed she loved as she had never loved anyone. In a gesture as ancient and natural as emotion itself, Karen raised her lips to be kissed.

Pat looked down at the prettily pouting mouth, reading correctly the intensity of Karen's desire to be kissed. She smiled gently at the desirable girl she held, but withheld her mouth from Karen's.

"I wish you were mine, Karen. You've no idea how much I wish that!" Pat released the girl with an abruptness that was almost a caress. "I don't know how I got myself into this! It's a nightmare for me!"

Karen watched Pat as she paced the small room with the liquid grace of a cat. Karen was filled with confusion and fear. "A nightmare?" she repeated, not understanding.

"Yes," Pat exploded, her face suddenly dark and angry. "Yes, damn you!" Then Pat saw the look of shock and pain on Karen's face. She went to Karen and fell to her knees before Karen, her head pressed against the soft little belly. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that! I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't you see?" Pat looked up, past the huge pointing breasts, into the heart-shaped face. Her eyes were glossed with unshed tears. "I love you so much, Karen. But what good is it? We're going to go on torturing ourselves. You won't leave your husband. We won't ever get together. We'll end up hating each other."

Karen put her hands in Pat's hair, smoothing the ruffled strands. Pat was right. This was insane. Was she willing to give up her marriage, her life, for this girl? A swift throbbing was alerting her body. The pressure of Pat's head against her stomach, the feel of the woman's shoulders and high breasts against the tops of her thighs, were speaking with a tongue all their own. She fought down a desire to cry out that she would give up Al, she would give up everything, for this girl she hardly knew! "Pat," she moaned, not knowing what to say. "Pat!"

"I want you, Karen," Pat said, rising to her feet slowly, brushing her body with easy deliberateness against the girl. "If you want me to stay I'll try to get you. I don't care about your husband, darling. You have to understand that. And if I get you… I'll never give you up."

Karen couldn't break the communication of their eyes. She managed to speak at last, and when she did her voice was unnatural and strained. "I can't send you away, Pat. I can't promise anything, either. I'm so confused. But… I… I think I know how I feel about you. I don't understand it. I'm not so sure I want to understand it. But I think I… might… love you…" She shook her head, impatient with the nothingness she had just uttered. What was she saying? She tried to smile, knowing that if she didn't she might have to cry. "I'm going to make some coffee now. I could use a cup. Okay?"

"Yes. Sure, baby. I didn't mean to frighten you. Want some help with the coffee?"

"No, no thanks. Please, Pat, sit down. I'll be right back." Karen almost ran into the small kitchen. She was trembling violently, no longer sure of what had been said and what had been promised. She felt the proof of her excitement and hunger throughout her body. Her fingers shook as they measured coffee grounds and water. But by the time the coffee stopped perking she was almost calm. By the time she returned to Pat with the full cups of hot coffee she was able to smile almost normally. "Sugarless and black, right?" she asked, setting a cup before Pat.

Pat moved over on the couch, making room for Karen. "Right. And a sweet one," she added. She grinned at the girl. "Maybe if I didn't know there were sweet girls like you I wouldn't hate men so much."

"Why do you? Hate men so much, I mean?" Karen asked.

"That's a tricky question, baby. I could go on for years." Pat took a sip of the hot coffee.

"Really. I'd like to know," Karen encouraged.

"Well, if you insist." Pat paused for a moment, pretending to collect her thoughts. "For one thing, I believe that men are all rapists, by inclination and desire. They take what they want from women and the world. Men are completely lacking in any kind of sensitivity. You take a gentle, kind woman and mate her with a man and you find the woman turning into a shrew and a household drudge. Men bring her down to their own level. I can't understand why a woman would willingly subject herself to such a relationship. The man is usually the boss, the breadwinner, and the absolute lord of the house. What does that make the female member of the so-called fifty-fifty partnership? The whole bit disgusts me. I've never known a man who could be trusted, and I've known a hell of a lot of men." Pat thought of her stepfather. She sipped her coffee reflectively.

"What do you mean, 'trusted'?" Karen didn't really agree with Pat, but the girl's words rang in her ears with cold conviction.

"Trusted?" Pat put the cup back on the saucer and smiled at Karen. "You're a very naive child, did you know that? Men can't be trusted for anything. You can't rely on them. Particularly in sexual fidelity. If that's at all important to you."

Karen smiled a bit smugly. "Most men, maybe, but the one thing I can say about Allen is that he's reliable. Sexually, too. In fact, one of the things I don't like about Al is that he's… almost too reliable, if you know what I mean. He wouldn't even think of seducing another woman. I'm sure of that."

"Don't be too sure. It doesn't…" Pat looked away from Karen and toward the door just as it opened. She studied the thin man with appraising eyes. She took in his quiet nice looks, his spindly build, and his complete lack of guile. By the time she had pasted a shy little smile of greeting on her face, Pat had already decided that Allen Martin was not going to be a formidable enemy.

"Oh, Al!" Karen jumped up from the couch nervously. "Pat Collins, this is my husband, Al. Al, I told you Pat was coming over tonight, didn't I?" Karen could feel her face going pink. She glanced at Pat's calm poise and envied the other girl. She tucked in her blue blouse at the waistband and made an effort to act casual, just as if Pat were indeed a friend dropping by for coffee and a friendly chat.

Al looked at the girl and smiled awkwardly. He suppressed an urge to grin at Patricia Collins like a fool. "Sure. I'm glad to meet you, Pat. You girls having coffee?"

"Happy to know you, Al. The coffee's delicious. Mine always tastes like diluted mud."

"I'll get you a cup, Al." Karen backed off towards the kitchen. She noticed the way Al was looking at Pat, and felt a glow of happiness. She allowed herself to gloat a bit. Al might have believed that the person she had claimed to meet at the coffeehouse was a girl, but it was obvious that he hadn't expected to meet anyone like Pat! Even dull Al, who never noticed anything except his books and time schedules was impressed by this girl.

"Take your time, Karen. Al and I will get acquainted," Pat called to the girl. Then she turned to Al and patted the seat next to her. "You have a charming wife, Al. We've been having a delightful chat."

"Karen said she met you at that… that coffee-shop in Venice. You don't look like… I mean, uh…" Allen stammered uncomfortably. The body heat from this beautiful woman seemed to penetrate his clothing.

Pat laughed coolly. "It's all right," she interrupted, giving the young man one of her warmest smiles. "I don't look like you expected a girl from one of those places to look, is that it?"

Her smile encouraged him. He relaxed again. "Yes. I guess that's just what I was going to say."

"I suppose I don't." Pat put a slim-fingered hand on his surprisingly strong wrist. "People have many moods and appearances. Don't let this one fool you," she confessed, knowing he would take her words for whatever he wished them to mean.

Allen felt the cool fingers on his wrist and started to breathe harder. He was painfully aware of his body's reactions to this dark-haired, tan-skinned, shy-eyed beauty.

"I won't," he answered, wondering what she meant. He dared not let himself believe that her words were a subtle invitation. He could imagine her going on to say something like… I'm really a tiger under this respectable suit. And I've been waiting for someone like you… Her eyes seemed almost to talk for her. Allen thought immediately of the nights he had lain in bed wanting Karen and knowing that if he took her, she would lie there, hating it and him. Somehow he hadn't realized how much he longed for a woman who would respond to him, enjoy sex as much as he did. He was suddenly sure that Pat was such a woman.

Pat sighed softly. This was going perfectly. She had decided on what she would do from the first moment she saw Allen. It was almost too easy. She glanced at the kitchen door and listened for the sounds of china being rattled. She hoped her timing was good. "Al!" she looked up into his hazel eyes. Then she let her eyes trail down and stop at his generous mouth. "You're a very good-looking man."

Allen felt the faded eyes on his lips. His mouth felt bruised and neglected when they drifted away. "No one ever told me that before," he said, trying to smile. The girl was suddenly close to him, too close.

"It's true," Pat insisted softly. She let her eyes return to his mouth and stay there. "I like your mouth. It's… sexy…"

Karen balanced Al's coffee cup in one hand, held the steaming coffeepot in the other, and juggled a platter of coffee cake she had made earlier and forgotten to serve, in the crook of her arm. She walked into the room slowly, her eyes nervously focused on the precariously balanced cake plate.

Allen got to his feet quickly when Karen entered the room. "Hey, let me give you a hand, honey," he mumbled, going to his wife and taking the platter from her arm. He placed the cake on the coffee table in front of Pat, then sat down next to the girl.

Karen poured fresh coffee for herself and Pat, gave Al his cup, and sat down on a straight-backed chair facing her husband and Pat.

Pat kept the conversation on a light, amusing level. She avoided Allen's hesitant questions about her occupation. She thought of her plan while she spoke, wishing she could rush things. She wanted to skip the game for once. Pat wanted to take Karen to bed and bring her to life the way she guessed Allen never had. She looked at the young man, wondering whether or not she would actually have to sleep with him. He didn't appeal to her any more than most men did. Rather less than some men, she thought. His body was lacking in the muscular quality she admired. Allen could never control her body, force her buttocks into a mattress, excite her as he dug steely fingers into her soft skin. Still, his very weakness might be exciting. She could control him, she decided. She visualized Allen under her, his lean body punished by her teeth and bruising hands.

Karen was the first to become aware of the time. It didn't seem possible! Allen had never before stayed up to talk until three o'clock! "Oh, Al! You've got to get some sleep if you want to get up in time for work tomorrow."

Pat pretended to deliberate the invitation. "Well…" she thought of spending the night in this house, near Karen. She thought of waking Karen in the morning, after Allen had left for work. "If you want me," she said gravely to the pretty blonde.

"I want you," Karen answered, just as gravely.

Allen took a last look at the sultry gin who would be sleeping only yards from his bed. "Need any help with the bed, girls?" He yawned sleepily, wishing that there were some way he could put himself to bed with the dark girl.

Pat was amused at this display of smug maleness. She was sure she was stronger than Allen. "I'm sure we can manage. You go to bed. I'm sorry I kept you up so late."

"It was a pleasure," he answered. This girl made him feel more like a man by a word, than his wife ever did in bed.

After Allen went to the bathroom Pat and Karen set about opening the bed-couch. When it was opened Karen excused herself to get some linens. Pat noted the snowy color of the sheets.

"It's nice to know I'm getting such a good housekeeper. My apartment is always such a mess." Pat grinned at the girl.

Karen looked startled, and her pretty face took on the color of cooked beets.

"Don't get upset, baby," Pat whispered, moving close to the girl. "It has to work out that way, you know. Try to get used to the idea."

Karen opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She turned around, hiding her face in her hands.

Pat looked at Karen's small back. The girl looked so small, so young and fragile. Pat gave in to a moment of regret. She had no business here! What was she doing to this girl? Hadn't she done the same thing enough times in the past to satisfy her ego? She was about to break up Karen's marriage. For what? What could I give her? she asked herself. "How do you feel?" Pat put a hand lightly on Karen's shoulder.

"How do you think I feel?" Karen whispered fiercely.

Pat saw the lovely huge breasts in profile. She imagined removing the plain-blue blouse, unhooking the restraining bra, and cupping the hot breasts with her hands. Pat took a deep breath and relaxed a gain. What was she thinking? What would she be taking Karen away from? She looked around the room. This dump? She looked toward the bathroom. That clod with an extra length of flesh instead of a brain? This idiot's existence? Pat smiled softly. She would be saving the girl from pure mediocrity. Whatever she gave Karen it would be better, more soulful, more enlightening than what she had. No matter what happened later on. "Karen…"

The girl turned around all the way. She rubbed her small nose childlessly, her face again pale and composed. "I'm just frightened, Pat. Can we… talk about it tomorrow?" She glanced toward the bathroom. She thought she heard the shower taper off. "Al will be out in a minute." She bent to the task of making the bed, all the while avoiding Pat's eyes.

"I'm out of the john, girls," Allen called from the bedroom. "Good night."

"I'll be in after I do the dishes. You better go to sleep," Karen responded. "Would you like to wear a nightgown of mine, Pat?"

"That would be lovely." Pat casually threw the jacket on a chair and sat down on the bed.

She could sense Karen's mood. Now was the time to be gentle. Damn Allen, she thought mildly. If he wasn't in the next room I could have her now! "You see," she went on in her most lonely tone, "I need someone to take care of me." She passed a fingertip gently over her lips, tracing the line of her chin, the length of her neck, the curve of her breasts. She watched Karen's eyes follow the finger. When the short nail and the eyes had fallen together to her lap, Pat spoke again. "I need… someone…"

"I… I have to go… to sleep now. I… I'll bring you the nightgown…" Karen backed toward her bedroom, hers and Allen's. She felt as if a cord were wrapped around her loins, urging her to the girl.

"It's all right, Karen," Pat said sweetly. "I think I'll sleep in my slip. It's all I sleep in at home, when I sleep in anything at all."

Karen glanced again at the slip. It was black. Karen thought remotely that she had never seen Pat in anything but black, undeniably her color, a witch's color, dark and mysterious and exciting. "If you like…" Karen longed to go to the girl and feel her lips against her own mouth. Once, anyway. She had never wanted anything so badly. "Good night, Pat. Dream of…" What had she started to say? Karen was horrified by her traitorous mouth and body. What had happened to her? "Dream of something nice," she managed to say.

"I will, darling," Pat whispered. "I'll dream of you…"

Karen retreated into her bedroom just as Pat stood up and opened the button on her skirt. She heard the hiss of a zipper as she closed the door and she visualized the skirt dropping to the floor. The slip must be short, she knew, remembering the above-the-knee length of Pat's skirt. She hadn't seen the color of the bra Pat wore, but Karen was sure it was black. And her panties, too.

"Karen? What are you doing?" Allen asked in the darkness.

"Nothing." She became aware of her body's trembling.

"Karen? How about coming to bed? Let's get some sleep, huh?" Allen's voice was muffled and remote, but not with sleep.

"Yes," Karen answered and began removing her clothing. She groped in the dark for a nightgown, pulling out the first one her fingers touched in the deep drawer. As the gown slipped down over her raised arms, Karen realized that of all the gowns she might have picked, she had chosen the frothy concoction of lace and ribbons that she had purchased for her wedding night. She had to forcibly keep herself from letting her wild thoughts revert to the girl on the couch. The choice of this particular gown, go lug to Pat in it, symbolically starting a new marriage.

"Hey, how about coming to bed? What are you doing, anyway?" Allen asked, sitting up in bed.

"I… I thought I'd get some water." Karen turned in confusion toward the living room. But she didn't move.

"After all the coffee you drank? Don't be silly. Come to bed." Allen passed his fingers lightly over his body. He hadn't lost his readiness.

Karen nodded in the dark and walked to the bed. She was tired, unbearably tired. Sleep was almost as tempting as Pat.

The bed was warmed from Allen's tossing body. Karen wriggled between the crisp sheets and adjusted the blanket. Just as she got comfortable, Allen rolled over. He reached out and put an arm around Karen's shoulders.

"I thought you were sleepy," she said, trying to move away without making it seem like she was deliberately avoiding him.

"I am." He closed his eyes and tried again to ignore the pressure in the pit of his belly. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all unless he gave some relief to his nagging body. He reached out for Karen again, this time lifting the frothy nightgown to her thighs.

"Allen! Stop it! What are you doing?" Karen pushed against his hands angrily.

"Won't take long tonight, honey," Allen whispered.

Karen jerked away from her husband. She sat frozenly erect on the bed. "With company in the living room you want to…" Karen began in her frostiest whisper.

"Forget it! Just forget I asked!" Allen rolled to the other edge of the bed. "I'm going to sleep!"

Karen waited a moment, then cautiously lay down, keeping her distance from her husband. She felt the uncomfortable stiffness in her limbs, and knew that sleep was out of the question. Her mouth was dry. She thought of going to the kitchen for water. She closed her eyes and thought very hard about it. She could see herself going into the living room, looking down at Pat. Karen worked her tongue over her dry lips, listened to her husband's steady breathing and eased herself out of bed.

The living room was dark and almost silent. Karen stood very still and listened. She imagined she could detect a soft but steady rhythmic breathing coming from the couch. Her eyes, well accustomed to the darkness, could make out the outline of gentle swells under the blankets which draped the couch. She watched only a moment. Then, unable to make out the beautiful face at all, Karen continued on into the kitchen.

Karen filled a glass to the brim with cold water, and eagerly brought it to her lips. But after a few drops, she discovered that she was no longer thirsty. She poured the water down the drain and automatically rinsed the glass.

Then, because she didn't know what else to do, Karen turned to go back to bed.

Pat stood there so quietly it was impossible to guess how long she had been there, watching her. Karen wondered uncomfortably if Pat had silently observed her idiotic glass-washing. Then she forgot all about feeling awkward or embarrassed. Sensation poured in on her like a delayed reaction. She knew how she looked, with the small kitchen table lamp she had turned on shooting rays of yellow light though her gown, illuminating her large breasts with warm sun color, displaying her womanly hips, exhibiting the darker smudge below her rounded belly, thoroughly piercing the frothy material, and Pat was so shockingly beautiful, so much a part of the night, framed, as she was in the doorway, the night behind her, the light ahead. The short, black slip hid little of the lithely graceful body. Her sharply tilting breasts rose and fell gently under the bodice. All she wore under the slip was a pair of brief, black panties. Her expression was bland, but her vivid eyes were cat's eyes, alive, aware, hungry. She didn't speak, but, when Karen continued to stare mutely, she detached herself from the doorway and walked towards Karen.

Her movement was swift and sure. One moment she was part of the darkness, the next, part of Karen, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving against each other, their tongues locked before either could caution herself.

It was over in an instant. Karen's moist mouth and her pulsating body felt the loss of the contact even before she was aware that Pat was no longer in her arms. A fire was roaring hotly in her red-tinged ears. The fury of it drowned out most of Pat's soft good-night. She watched the black slip float lazily back into the darkness.

Even when Karen heard the soft protest of the couch, as Pat sank into it, she could not believe that the girl was really gone, no longer in her arms.

If this was love, Karen thought miserably, abnormal love, she amended, she wanted nothing to do with it! But even as she thought the words, Karen knew that there was nothing she could do about it any longer. It was like a drug, a powerful narcotic. She had toyed with it, played with it like a greedy kitten with a ball of wool, and now it was too late.

Karen hurried through the living room, this time not looking at anything but the door that led to her husband and safety. She slipped into bed with the soundless care she had so carefully cultivated. She descended into sleep with almost as much ease.

Allen opened his eyes with a sudden start. He blinked sleepily, and wondered what had awakened him so abruptly. Then he felt the arm over his chest, recognized an immediate, foolish hope that somehow the strange, dark girl was beside him, and looked down into his wife's pretty face. Karen turned again, this time moving her weight to the other side of the bed and away from him. Allen sat up in bed. He was suddenly too aware of his senses – the desire for a woman other than his wife had stirred him, had made his body restless and his throat dry. He remembered the beer in the refrigerator. It was, he thought grimly, either the beer, or waking Karen.

Karen groaned softly in her sleep. Allen looked again at her valentine face, and felt a sudden tenderness for her. Drawing a deep breath, he got off the bed carefully, so as not to disturb her. Better settle for the beer, he decided.

He tiptoed through the living room, looking through the darkness for Pat's sleeping form as he walked. He closed the door to the kitchen quietly, then turned on the light. Allen thought again about Karen and his marriage as he got out the beer and poured himself a glassful. He took a quick sip and shook his head. His marriage was not right – he could see that as well as Karen could, and although he could not put his finger on the trouble, of one thing he was sure – it wasn't his fault. He had done nothing…

Allen remembered with a fleeting twinge of guilt the thing Karen had wanted him to do to her that night, that one wonderful night when at last she seemed to be liking it, wanting it as much as he. What had stopped him? He gulped down some more of the beer. There was nothing wrong with the act. He knew that. Yet, there was something about doing what she asked – all his childhood his parents had been on his back to be man… A man didn't cry – a man didn't bend – a man didn't crawl. Maybe that was it. A man didn't crawl, in the deepest sense of the word. He couldn't, not even for her.

Allen thought about Pat as he took a final sip of beer. Now, there was a woman! Allen was sure that Pat would not need any exotic stimulation to make her act like a woman. He rinsed out his glass mechanically, his thoughts blurred and irritatingly exciting. He flicked off the light before opening the kitchen door. He didn't want to wake anyone. He was, Allen thought with a wiry smile, a model husband and boy scout.

He was halfway to his bedroom when he thought he heard the voice. He stopped and waited. Was this a wish taking on the substance of reality? Or had he actually heard Pat's low voice whisper his name?

"Al!"

The whisper was louder this time. He walked to the couch quickly, not wanting Karen to hear, somehow feeling nervous and guilty although he had done nothing, nothing at all. He was over the couch and could barely make out the girl lying under the covers. Then two slim and shapely arms snaked out from under the blankets and went out to him. He could see a flash of white as Pat's lips parted and her perfect teeth gleamed eerily at him. Then she was plastered against him, kneeling on the bed. The bit of black slip and panties she had been wearing were tangled around her calves, her naked body burning against him, her wet mouth covering his, her tongue darting between his teeth frantically. Her full breasts dug into his chest and the soft pillow of flesh between her thighs caressed him intimately.

Allen was pulling her even closer to him, cupping her ripe buttocks in both hands, moaning somewhere in his constricted throat as she slipped down from his embrace, a powdered, satiny-fleshed snake, her nakedness grazing his chest, belly and thighs in a loving caress of skin against skin. Her hungry, animal-like mouth nibbled wetly as her body receded from his. Just as Al thought he must grab this wonderful creature and push his throbbing hard flesh inside her, he felt the almost liquid kiss as it landed bird-like on his outstretched manhood for one brief, ecstatic second. Desire, like a ravished floodgate, obliterated caution, made him forget everything except Pat and her wonderful body. He pulled her against his frantically pounding chest, searching in the dark for her lips, her fantastic breast with its puckered tips…

But she was suddenly evasive, no longer soft and pliable and there. He didn't understand. He could only feel. He could only ache with the need for her… He felt the hands working now, pushing him away from her, but he didn't understand their meaning.

Pat had slipped down to the bed again, easily evading Allen. She smiled confidently in the dark.

"But…" Allen was very aware of the wild staccato of his heart beat. "But… I… need…" He could barely hear his own whispered plea.

"Not now! Not like this," Pat whispered back. She patted his thigh, liking the way his flesh trembled under her touch. "I'll come to you… when you're alone. I'll find a way… and soon!" she promised.

He understood, and felt guilty and absurdly cheap. He understood, but he didn't resist or tell her, as he knew he should, to forget it. Instead he grasped her hand and brought it to him. "I… I can't wait!" he complained miserably.

"Soon, darling, soon," she whispered soothingly. Then, fluidly, Pat turned on her side, removing her hand gently, and, to all appearances, went to sleep.

Al stood by the couch a moment longer, feeling impotent in a way he had never felt before. Finally he went back to the bedroom which was his and Karen's.

His sleep was fuzzy and permeated with stabbing and constant pain from the pit of his tortured loins.