"The reluctant neighbor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jenkins Peter)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Fred and Marily awoke at the same time, almost the same instant. The room was still dark, but shadows of grayness played around the windows, the water slapped against the pilings under the house and seemed to be more insistent than it had the previous evening. Both of them lay without touching the other, aware that each was still there, and marveled at the discovery of each other, still not knowing the name of the person they had found.

Fred was almost sick. He had never dreamed that such a woman existed on the earth, had never dared think that he might ever make love to her. His mind kept telling him that she had to be married, that she was someone's wife since there had been only couples there. He thought it unfair, so ungodly destructive, to him.

His mind floated back to the time his mother had discovered him kissing his first kiss, an ugly girl who happened to be the daughter of his mother's best friend. She had hit him on the back with her fist, hard, almost knocking his teeth loose because they banged into the teeth of the ugly girl. His first sexual excitement had been turned off much faster than it had exerted itself. And then, he remembered, the ugly girl had told his mother that he had just attacked her, had just pushed her up against the wall and started kissing her. His mother had believed her.

He wondered what his mother would say to him if she could see him now, in bed with what he was sure was a lovely woman even though he had no idea what she looked like. She'd probably still blame him, fight at him, because he happened to be a male. So be it, his mind echoed deep within, may she rest in her self made hell. He wondered if the woman was thinking of him, was comparing him to her husband, perhaps. He moved his hand until he found hers, then folded the softness of it within his own, and slept again.

Marily had awakened suddenly, but not abruptly, and knew beyond doubt that the man alongside her was awake. She wanted to move her body to his, but yet wanted him to want her too, so she did nothing, lay still and calm and wondered when they had moved apart, if he had awakened and moved out of her. Then she realized that that would probably have happened anyway, because when Hans and Peter had slackened, had changed from hardness to softness, they had both withdrawn from her without effort on their part. She was still satisfied, no needs coming alive inside her with her awakening, so she permitted herself to think.

She had to face Fred as soon as the day came. That was certain. She would have to look at him, to hear his lament of dismay when he fully and finally realized what she had done, which he had also done, but she was sure that he would never forgive her. She didn't care, now, she told herself, because she had discovered her true love and he was still beside her. She was positive that he would feel the same toward her as she had toward him, even though neither of them had spoken a word, she didn't know yet who he was and… maybe he did know who she was, maybe he had plotted with Anna and Hans to have her. No, she doubted that. It had been a random thing, he had come to her from Anna. Just after Peter had left her – that he would know about, too.

She almost cried. Why had it taken her so long to find love, to be truly satisfied and fulfilled, and why did it have to be a faceless, voiceless body? Whom could she tell? Whom could she cry out in her joy to? No one, she answered herself, absolutely no one. She knew that she could never, never tell Fred. He'd kill her. He'd never been violent toward her, but she realized that like all men he had it there, well covered, perhaps, but it was there. She'd probably get a fine display of it early this morning.

She felt the hand searching for hers, joyed in the warmth from it, the protectiveness of it, the strength she felt when it closed over her own. She was ready to be pulled to him, to have him make violent love to her, but he didn't. He simply took her hand and held it in his. And she felt good from the contact of him, knew that he wanted her to rest, to store up her energy for their coming bouts of love, of which, she assured herself, there would be many. She drifted off to sleep again, her mind at rest, her body relaxed.

Marily awoke again, fear pervading the whole of her. She did not jump, but awakened to an alert state, her mind warning her of some danger, close by, ready to destroy her.

Then, slowly, she realized what had awakened her. It was Fred's soft snore, close to her, roaring in her head now that she had recognized the sound. Her hand was still closed in the one she loved, but there was that snore. She didn't open her eyes, out of fear, not knowing what she should do, jump up and run and grab her clothes and never look back and risk waking him, wherever he might be, or simply to lay as she was, ready for slaughter and hope that the man she held onto would protect her.

She knew that it was light, that the sun was high in the sky, before she slowly opened her eye, the left one, easy like, to the rest of the room. She closed it much more quickly than she had opened it, snapping the lid down and squeezing it shut. Then she gradually opened both of her eyes together, and looked slowly around the room. She couldn't see into Anna's bed completely, but what she saw of Peter's head convinced her that it was he, that he was still in the room. The snore continued, somewhat louder, then stopped abruptly, leaving a huge emptiness for her fears.

She felt the big hand tighten on her, gradually, and she slowly turned her head and looked at him. She screamed.

In no time at all Anna and Peter stood over her, both completely nude, and Fred's face was just above hers. She felt as though she couldn't breathe. She gasped and panted and drew back from the look she saw on Fred's face. Then it changed, his lips parting into a smile, his eyes becoming soft and holding hers locked in his stare.

"Marily, Marily," Fred said, shaking his head in wonder. He leaned over her and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

"I didn't scare you that much, did I?" he asked, smiling at Peter and Anna.

"Oh… Fred," Marily broke into tears, unable to contain herself, happy that it was he. "Oh, Fred," she cried again, wrapping her arms about him. He held her tightly to himself, tried to console her.

"It was wonderful for me, too, Marily," he cooed, burying his face in the hollow of her neck. "Wonderful," he kissed her mouth again.

"Well," Peter throttled, looming above them with his sex dangling in front of their eyes, "isn't love wonderful? If you'll excuse us, Anna and I feel the need for food. We'll see you later in the kitchen."

Anna smiled her understanding to Marily, then turned and walked away with Peter. Marily looked at their buttocks moving away, Anna's full and voluptuous, Peter's thin and muscled and hairy, and felt like laughing at the contrast. She watched them dress, openly enjoying the two of them helping each other into their clothes, Peter clowning and crying out as though Anna had caught his skin in the zipper when she closed his fly. Fred laughed, too, and watched the two of them, his eyes traveling over and down and then back up over the beautiful figure of Anna. She seemed like a Goddess to him, almost as much a woman, he felt, as Marily. As soon as they left the room, both of them waving merrily to them, Fred shoved the cover off Marily's body and looked at her full breasts, her slightly rounded and smooth, flat stomach, the pubic hair that outlined her sex perfectly, her rounded hips. He let his eyes feast on her, the beauty of her, thankful that she was his, and then went to her and kissed her and moved his body onto hers.