"The wayward wifes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Grant)

Chapter 3

The warm, diffused light of dawn shone through the bedroom window and woke Patty the next morning. Curled into a small ball, her legs drawn up with her arms circling them, hugging them, she opened her eyes and stared at the bedside clock. It was eight-fifteen. At first, she thought she was home in her room at the Jennings' and that she ought to get up immediately lest she be late for work this morning. Then, slowly, the sleep cobwebs began to dissipate and she realized where she was, whose bed she was now lying in, alone. And worse, what had happened last night, everything that had happened last night.

A low, tremulous moan escaped her lips as wave after wave of shame and degradation swept over her. Oh God, oh God, what had become of her? She was lost, lost… First she had experienced the sickly depraved rape at the hands of her father-in-law and then, following her headlong flight, she had allowed herself with condoning passivity to be sucked and kissed between her legs by her best girl friend in an act of sheer lesbian degeneration. And, most terrible of all, most horrifying of all, she had enjoyed that illicit, orgiastic lovemaking and had climaxed again and again under Marcia's expert tongue and mouth…

Patty moaned again, and dimly she became aware of the sound of a shower spray on tile walls. She listened, knowing that Marcia was in the bathroom, bathing, preparing herself for work. Patty briefly entertained the thought of getting up, of dressing and going to work herself… but the idea left her immediately. How could she work today? How could she go through the normal motions of her everyday secretarial position, having to face her employer, her coworkers? Too, she didn't have any clothing, had only the robe she had been wearing when she had come here last evening.

No, she couldn't go to work, she would have to call in sick.

Abruptly, the sound of the shower ceased and Patty realized that Marcia would soon be coming out of the bathroom. A certain panic seized control of her brain momentarily. How could she face Marcia, for God's sake? How, after last night, could she possibly look this woman who had been her friend in the eye…?

The bathroom door opened before she had an opportunity to further dwell on the thought,

Marcia…a fluffy bath towel wrapped around her slim body… emerged into the bedroom. Her face had a brightly pink, scrubbed look and she smiled pleasantly as she saw that Patty was awake. She padded over to the bed and sat down on the foot of it, looking tenderly at Patty. “Good morning, dear," she said. how do you feel today?”

Patty turned her face away, staring at the wall, and didn't reply.

Marcia toyed with the bottom folds on the towel. "I know what you must… think of me, after last night,” she said slowly. "I guess I'd best explain about myself.”

Patty said nothing.

"You see," Marcia went on, "I'm an extremely physical person. The needs of my body govern my mind at times, if you know what I mean. I suppose I'm oversexed anyway, but when I need lovemaking, when I need to make love, I simply can't wait beyond that first sperate urge. I have to do it, or I become so agitated I think I'm going to lose my mind sometimes. I'm not a lesbian, Patty; I much prefer a man with me, inside me, a man to kiss the way I was kissing you last night. But with Roger in Viet Nam, and no other man available right now, I… well, I just had to have someone. I've had women before, I'll admit not very often, but once in awhile, when I couldn't find other outlets. I guess I really am sort of screwed up sexually, but everyone has hangups, you know."

Patty turned her face toward her. "You mean, you… you've been with other men while Roger's been gone…?"

"Yes I have," Marcia admitted. "One or two. I can't help myself, and Roger knows that and understands. He also knows I love him, very much, and that these other… liaisons really don't mean a thing to me." She paused, her face softening in a gentle, woman-to-woman smile. "I hope you'll forgive me, honey, for last night. I… I don't want to lose your friendship, Patty.”

Patty was struck with a sudden compassion for this woman who was her friend, and the awful images in her brain of the lewd acts Marcia had performed on her body faded and paled into insignificance. Who was she to judge this poor woman? She, whom Tom Jennings had called a gutter whore and said had been leading him on, tempting him with lascivious movements of her lush body. If she expected to be forgiven for her transgressions, her "hangups" as Marcia had put it, then couldn't she find it in her heart to forgive another for hers?

"Oh Marcia," she said finally, "yes, I forgive you! I don't want to lose your friendship either! But you-we must never do what… we did again. You have to promise me that"

"I promise," Marcia answered solemnly, and she reached out and clasped Patty's hand. Then she stood, smiling, and returned to the bathroom. Patty slid out of bed and put on her robe, wrapping it tightly around her. She went out into the duplex's tiny kitchen and found fresh made coffee and poured herself a cup. She was sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping it, when Marcia came in, fully dressed, a few minutes later.

"Oh good, I see you found the coffee," Marcia said.

"Yes. It's very good."

Marcia beamed. "I've put out a loose-fitting housedress of mine which you should be able to wear until you can get your clothes." She paused. "Speaking of that, when are you going to pick up your clothes? And return the Jennings' car?"

"I… hadn't thought about it," Patty replied.

"Well, you should," Marcia told her. "I know you don't want to stay with the Jennings any longer, and I certainly don't blame you, but your things are there, after all, and you'll have to move them out. And if you don't bring the car back, Larry's father is liable to have the police looking for it; from what you've told me, he sounds like that sort of bastard."

"I guess I could do that this morning," Patty said reflectively. "He's left for work by now, and there's no one else home; he always takes the Muni bus."

"Good! Tell you what: I'll follow you to the Jennings' and help you load your things into my car. Then we'll bring them back here."

"But I can't stay with you, Marcia," Patty said. "I'd be intruding.

"Nonsense! I'd love to have you, Patty, sincerely I would. I get terribly lonesome for a friend sometimes."

"Well… if you're sure you won't mind…”

"Not at all," Marcia said. "I'll call in to work and tell them I'll be late this morning. Then, after you're dressed, we can be on our way."

"Oh!" Patty said suddenly. "I'll have to call in, too, to tell them I won't…”

"Don't worry, honey. I've already taken care of that for you. I told your boss you'd be taking a couple of days off, that you weren't feeling too well. He said he understood. I really don't think you ought to go back to work right away after an experience like you had with Larry's father."

"You're so good to me, Marcia," Patty said gratefully. "Thank you for all you've done for me." She blushed slightly at the inference of inclusion of last night's lesbian lovemaking.

Marcia seemed not to notice. "What else are friends for?" she asked rhetorically, and moved toward the telephone in the hallway.

Patty was preparing supper, lamb chops and a tossed green salad with roquefort dressing, when Marcia arrived home from work a little past six that night.

Patty had spent the day uneventfully. She had returned Tom Jennings' car, and the house had been deserted, as she had expected it to be. With Marcia's help, they had moved as much of her belongings as Marcia's car would allow and she had left a note for Jennings saying that she had moved out and would pick up the remainder of her things, hers and Larry's at some later date; she hadn't mentioned where she was staying.

When they had returned to Marcia's duplex and the clothing and other items had been moved from the car inside, Marcia had bid Patty good-bye and left for work. Patty had watched some television, trying to relax, and then read an historical novel which she found in the storage closet until the time came to prepare supper.

Marcia, coming into the kitchen now, said, "Patty, you didn't have to bother making dinner."

"But I wanted to," Patty answered. "It gave me something to do."

"You're a dear," Marcia said. She sat down at the table as Patty began to toss the salad in a large wooden bowl. "We've been invited to a party tonight."

"A party?"

"Yes. At the home… in St. Francis Woods, no less… of Richard Renault. You've heard of him, surely."

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, he's one of San Francisco's oldest and richest playboys, the heir to a Peruvian tin mine fortune. You have to be… well, terribly flattered when he invites you to one of his exclusive little parties."

Patty frowned. "How do you know this Mr. Renault?"

"He… ah, is a client of the brokerage firm where I work," Marcia replied easily. "I've been to one other of his parties; they're great fun, Patty."

"But he doesn't even know who I am," Patty countered. "Why would he invite me? Are you sure that he…?"

"I told him all about you, and he insisted that I bring you along tonight."

"Marcia, I really don't think a party…”

"It will do you good to get out and have some fun," Marcia told her. "That's the best way to forget… unpleasant experiences. Now I won't have you sitting around here in a sad and depressed state, so please say you'll come with me tonight."

"Well…" Patty considered the idea for a moment, deciding that Marcia was probably right; there was no purpose to be served in sitting around and dwelling on life's dirty dealings. Why shouldn't she have a little fun, meet some new people? God knew, she'd had enough unhappiness to last her a lifetime. She said at length, "All right, Marcia, I will come tonight. It sounds like it might be enjoyable."

"Oh it will be," Marcia said, smiling, “It will be, honey.”

After supper, and after the dishes had been done, Marcia and Patty dressed for their outing. Patty selected a simply designed party dress, carefully brushed and sprayed her long reddish-gold hair, and applied a touch of perfume and some frosted pink lipstick. Marcia, wearing a clinging red dress of rustling material, nodded her approval when Patty emerged ready to go from the bathroom. "You look lovely, Patty!" she enthused.

"And so do you," Patty returned.

Smiling comradely, they went out to Marcia's car and drove across the city to St. Francis Woods, an extremely fashionable section of San Francisco. Marcia pulled to the curb on Buena Vista Terrace, in front of a white stucco, Spanish architectured home with iron grillwork balconies and a spacious, well-tended green lawn bisected by a red-brick path. The two girls followed the path to a wide set of double doors which formed the entranceway, and Marcia rang the ivory bell inlaid into the stucco; faint, melodious chimes echoed throughout the interior.

Almost immediately, a Chinese houseboy, smiling pleasantly, admitted them into a hallway. “Mister Renault is in the study, ladies,” he said. “This way, please.”

He led them down the high-ceilinged hallway and through a door into a darkly furnished room; the motif was Spanish, with luxuriant tapestries and a brooding mural on one wall. On the right was a set of French doors in an ovaled archway, opening onto a patio grown with oleander bushes and other shadowed plants. A lush garden grew beyond it. Inside the room itself, on a thick muted rug, a series of cushiony pillows of a dark gold color were arranged in a wide circle before a leather couch. The only light came from the moon, shining through the glass doors, and Patty could see four people sitting cross-legged, Indian-fashion, on the pillows, three men and one girl. As they entered, one of the men rose slowly and started across the room toward them; the Chinese houseboy slipped out and closed the door behind him.

"Why is everybody sitting on those cushions?" Patty whispered to Marcia.

"Mr. Renault is kind of an eccentric," Her friend answered. "He's very involved in Meditative Transmigration."

"What's that?"

"A mystical Eastern sect which believes in truth, beauty and the eternity of the human soul."

"That doesn't sound very mystical to me," Patty responded. "It sounds lovely."

"Oh, there's more to it than that," Marcia whispered. “It becomes very complicated if you listen to all the little intricacies which comprise it.”

"Oh, I see," Patty said, not really seeing at all.

The man who had gotten up approached them now, his hand extended in greeting. He was thin, short, and possessed a lined, leathery face that disclosed his age as sixty or thereabouts; he had thick wavy gray hair and a precise dove-gray mustache. He wore a velvet lounging robe, a deep wine color.

"Hello, Marcia, my dear," he said, touching hands. Then he turned to Patty, taking her hand and holding it for a moment. "I'm Richard Renault," he introduced himself to her. “Rick, to my intimates. And you must be Patty Jennings.”

"Yes, she answered, smiling, a little flustered.

"Marcia's told me so much about you."

"I hope it was complimentary."

"Very complimentary indeed," Renault said. "Please come join the Circle. I'll introduce you to my other guests."

They followed him across the study to the cluster of pillows. He said then, "I would like to present two very lovely ladies, Marcia Allen, whom you already know, and Patty Jennings."

Neither of the remaining two men stood, but both smiled up at Patty and Marcia. Renault said, indicating the nearer of the two, a tall, distinguished man with close-cropped blond hair. "This is Val Robbins, a rather successful advertising executive. And the other gentleman "… he swept his hand to the shorter man across from Robbins, who had long, almost shoulder-length hair and very wide, bushy sideburns “is Frank Harrel, a not-quite-so-successful but very talented artist.”

Patty nodded to the two men, noticing that Robbins' eyes remained on her, moving slowly up and down her body; she flushed a little, feeling somewhat embarrassed and yet somewhat pleased, too, that he found her so obviously attractive. He was, she decided, quite a handsome man in his own right.

Renault said, “The young lady is, ah, a guest in my house on a regular basis, Miss Barbara Davis.” The lone girl nodded up at them, tossing her rich brown curls carelessly. She had large, finely defined breasts encased in a thin black dress; her legs were bare, without stockings, and the hem of the dress had hiked up to expose most of her full white thighs; she seemed not to notice, or if she did, to care.

Renault went over and sat on the pillow next to Barbara, and then raised his hand to the two friends. “Marcia, come sit next to Frank; and Patty, please sit by Val if you will.”

They obeyed, and Patty smiled at Val as she sat down next to him and crossed her legs in the fashion of the others. She sensed then a certain oddly unexplainable tension in the darkened air, as if all the others even Marcia were waiting for something to… begin. She really couldn't understand it, though; she merely shrugged mentally and sat waiting.

They sat in silence for a long while, perhaps five minutes. The aging head of Rick Renault was bowed and his eyes were closed, as if he were in a deep trance; Patty wondered if he was meditating, remembering Marcia's words. Finally, Renault raised his head and smiled at each of his guests in turn. Then he reached down between his cushion and the one on which sat Barbara Davis and produced a sculptured silver cigarette box. He held it up in both hands for a moment, as if he was offering it for blessing to some unseen deity; then he opened the lid and took a thin brown cylinder from inside, muttering chanting words under his breath that Patty couldn't understand. He passed the box to Barbara after a moment, and she also took a cylinder and passed it on to Frank Harrel, who repeated the ritual. When the box came to Patty, she took one of the rough, grainy items and saw in the gloom that it was a cigarette. She frowned, looking at it, as the box passed back to Renault. Their host returned it between the cushions and produced then a series of small china cups which he passed around, so that each member of the group had one.

Not wanting to sound naive, but at the same time completely puzzled by the ritual of which she was a part, Patty turned to Val Robbins and whispered, "What… is this all about? I mean, I'm not sure I…" She faltered, blushing a little.

Val smiled reassuringly. "Rick is a strange sort of person at times," he answered. "You just have to bear with him."

"What kind of cigarette is this?" Patty asked, and as she did so she knew the answer even before Val told her. She had heard stories, read articles, watched news programs on the subject, heard all the pros and cons, the constant arguments, the vernacular terms: pot, weed, grass, muggle, hash, reefers, Mary Jane, "Marijuana, of course," Val said, somewhat surprised. "You mean you didn't know? Really?"

"Well, I…" Patty was blushing feverishly now, and she was glad of the darkness so that Val and the others were unable to see her. She felt confused, extremely indecisive at that moment; she had never had any desire to try marijuana, drugs of any kind, she had always said when asked her opinion on the subject that such things were probably fine for other people but not for her. Yet, she didn't believe that pot was harmful, that it led to addiction to such things as heroin and cocaine and morphine; that was just old-fashioned nonsense. And the idea of trying the relaxing drug for the first time, experiencing its effects was somehow wickedly exciting. I really shouldn't, she thought, it's against the law, but if I don't I'll seem like such a child to the others.

Renault had produced a silver lighter which matched the cigarette box, and had flicked the wheel. Flame burst into the air-flickering eerily in the darkness, making each of the six faces seem to be grotesquely satanic, as if this little circle was a cult of devil worshippers. Renault lit his muggle with the lighter and then passed it on to Barbara Davis, the flame still burning. Patty watched the girl light her cigarette, pass it on to Frank Harrel; she turned to Val again, having made up her mind to go through with it, after all, marijuana didn't make you unaware of what you were doing, she knew that much about it at least.

She said, "This… this is my first time." Her voice was bold. "You'll have to tell me what to do."

Val's face in the dancing light was surprised. "You really haven't turned on before, have you? You're really not kidding me."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, then, you just take a drag like you would on a regular cigarette," Val explained. "Hold the smoke in your lungs as long as you can, and then let it out. Slowly, very slowly. You drag in slowly, too. That's all there is to it."

Patty nodded, shivering with anticipatory nervousness. Finally, the lighter came to her and she fired the short brown cylinder which she had placed between her lips. She inhaled gently, as Val had instructed; the smoke had an odd but not at all unpleasant taste, although it was very hot curling into her lungs. She held it there bravely as she passed the lighter on to Val, holding it there for the count of ten and then releasing it. She tried a second inhalation, a third and a fourth; the smoke was not quite so hot now, actually very smooth, and she was able to hold it in her lungs for a longer period of time. The sweetish, almost cloying odor of the marijuana seemed to fill the room as each of the six people smoked, and clouds of smoke seemed to hang like a pall above their heads. The room was once again dark as Renault had extinguished the lighter.

Patty took another puff on her muggle, and Val leaned close to her. “How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "But I don't think I'm… turned on, or anything."

Val laughed softly. "Don't worry about that, honey. There's plenty of time." He chuckled again and, suddenly, he placed his hand carelessly on Patty's bare knee, just below the hem of her dress. He kneaded the smooth satiny flesh tenderly with his fingers.

Patty felt a momentary anger at this familiarity, but it passed almost as quickly as it had come. The thin cigarette seemed somehow to have dulled her basic inhibitions; Val's hand felt warm and right on her knee, and to take it away would be to take away the pleasant male touch on her flesh. There wasn't anything wrong with a man and woman being close on an occasion such as this one; in fact, she was really thankful for his attention as she ventured into mental areas heretofore self-forbidden.

Patty finished the cigarette, watching the way Val dropped the narrow remains and the ash into the little cup and then following suit. Almost immediately, Renault produced the cigarette box and the ritual was repeated. As she smoked her second reefer, Patty could feel a great peace take hold of her body, an ultimate relaxing of all her tensions, a complete abating of all the pressures of her world. She felt free and gentle, happy and responsive, and when Val moved closer to her, sliding his hand upward so that his fingertips were resting, caressing, on her soft inner thigh, a scant inch from her panty-covered pubic mound, she made no move to stop him. His touch felt so fine, so good… She leaned against him as though she had known him forever as she inhaled the sweet, pungent smoke, pressing her soft, pliant breast against his arm. He was so nice, she thought through her marijuana haze, such a nice, kind man…

The second marijuana cigarette was nothing but ash now, and moments later the ritual was repeated for a third time. Val's hand was stroking Patty's leg and thigh now, up and down, fingertips almost but not quite touching the soft silken crotchband of her panties. She was aware that her feminine sex juices had begun to flow, moistening the thin material between her legs, and that the first stirrings of sexual arousal were beginning to burn slightly in her stomach. Such a wonderful feeling, the marijuana and the passion comingling… She began to squirm her buttocks down very gently against the pillow as Val's hand teased its way up and down her naked thigh. She drew on her third reefer, and the faces of the others in the room no longer seemed like strangers to her.

They seemed soft and warm, like a close-knit family, in the glow of the lighter flame and in the pale moonlight from the French doors. She felt a need to take off her shoes and did so, with her left hand, wiggling her naked toes against the wonderful silky material of the pillow, squirming her buttocks down at the same time.

And then, suddenly, the man's fingers, next to her, reached her moist panties, brushing against the outside of the filmy material, tracing upward along her flimsily protected cuntal slit. She didn't jump or recoil from his touch, it felt so nice to be stroked that way, and as though in a dream she opened her legs wider to accept his caress, nuzzling protectively against him as they both smoked. Time seemed not to exist for Patty now, nothing seemed to exist except the great relaxed soft peacefulness that was her body, even her admitted arousal was soft, not at all overpowering. It was as if she could experience such feelings forever and not need the release of her passion, just float along on the tide of pleasantness forever and forever.

Val thought as he moved his middle finger up and down the drugged girl's wet silk-covered vagina; Holy Christ, she's really something! I only met her fifteen minutes ago, and here I am playing with her cunt! And what a nice hot little cunt it is too! There isn't going to be any problem throwing a fuck into this baby, no sir, and it's going to be one dandy fuck unless I miss my guess. Her first time with pot, eh? Beautiful, beautiful! She couldn't be reacting better if I'd planned it. And she'd been convinced that she wasn't turned on! Jesus, Jesus!

Carefully, afraid to break the spell, he insinuated his finger inside the tight elastic leg band of her panties now, drawing the material back over the deliciously wet juicy lips of her cunt, with his forefinger and then stroking the moist furrow with his middle finger, teasing upward along the soft hair-lined slit to explore the entire lubricated expanse. She was hot, all right, damned hot! He wormed his middle finger, just the tip, into her vagina and with a soft moan she squirmed her firm young buttocks down against the pillow pleasurably. He took the finger out then and found the erect knob of her clitoris; it seemed to vibrate with delirious passion against his digit and he tickled it with his fingernail, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. She made a pleased, relaxed sound, wiggling her sensuous buttocks, her cunt seeming to open and close like the mouth of a fish in anticipation as he slowly played with her open clitoris.

Renault, you lecherous bastard, you really know how to invite the right women to these parties of yours! Val thought. A tender innocent-looking piece like this Patty Jennings is what I've been looking forward to all day, and you didn't disappoint me. Hell, you never do, Rick old man. That last party, with Patty's friend Marcia, was a beaut, too. I've never had a better fuck; that is, until now because this Patty is going to outdo her, I've got a feeling about that and my big, stiff cock is never wrong about such things.

Patty finished her third marijuana cigarette, as did the others, and through drug dimmed eyes she watched Rick Renault get slowly to his feet. As if slow-motion, she saw Barbara Davis take Renault's proffered hand and pull herself up. Renault stepped closer to her and his fingers nimbly unbuttoned two of the buttons on the front of her black dress. Patty saw that she was not wearing a bra. Then Renault reached inside the bosom of the dress and took one of Barbara's firm, darkly areoled breasts out and held it cupped in the palm of his hand. He said a few short phrases in a strange language which Patty did not understand, and then he lowered his head to the nude breast he held and took the erect nipple between his teeth, kissing it briefly, and then released it. Barbara stood robotlike as he did this, her lips slightly parted in passion, then he returned the breast inside the bodice of the garment.

He said then, "We shall leave you now. I wish you all pleasant happiness for the evening." He took the girl's hand again. "Come, Barbara, dear." She obeyed and together they walked to the door, and left the room.

Val whispered into Patty's ear, "He does that every time, kisses Barbara's boob that way. It has some kind of symbolic meaning in this Meditative Transmigration sect he belongs to."

"Mmmmm," Patty answered.

"We're supposed to do the same thing," Val said, breathing into her ear.

Patty nodded. How nice! she thought. Such a lovely gesture! She saw that Frank Harrel, across from her, was unbuttoning Marcia's garment, removing one of her slender, firm breasts and cupping it for a moment, as Renault had done with Barbara's, then took the rigid nipple between his teeth. Patty turned toward Val as he raised his left hand to her bosom, his right still working gently, wonderfully, between her legs, in her strongly excited cunt. Nimbly, he unbuttoned her dress, slid his hand around behind her and unhooked her bra with deft fingers. Then her breast was free and in his hand and he was lowering his head, taking her sensitive nipple into his mouth, nibbling on it, kissing it, running his tongue around it.

Oh God, it felt so wonderful, she didn't want him to stop! She gave herself up completely to the sensual arousal which was rapidly overtaking her being, staring across at Frank Harrel and Marcia. The man called Frank had bared both of Marcia's breasts now, and was alternately moving between them, taking each nipple in turn into his mouth. Patty saw, dimly, that Marcia's hand was on his fly, stroking gently the long thick bulge which showed there.

Val took his lips from Patty's nipple and whispered against her ear, still cupping the white succulent globe in his hand, “You have wonderful breasts, Patty. So soft and warm, and the nipples are delicious.”

She leaned hard against him, her brain swirling now with a soft, easy motion. She felt so unbelievably fabulous; she loved everybody in the whole world and especially Val Robbins, this strange perfect man who had kissed her breast and was playing so sensuously down between her open legs. It wasn't wrong that he was touching her and fondling her so intimately, no it wasn't wrong at all it was right, so right…

Larry!

Her husband's name popped through the drug haze in her brain then, and suddenly everything wasn't right any more. No, no, no! a warning bell chimed in her mind. You mustn't let this strange man touch you that way any more! You're married, a married woman in spite of all that's happened since yesterday. You can't allow any more subjugation of yourself, certainly can't passively allow your private parts to be touched by this stranger until the arousal you feel consumes your body completely and you end up allowing him to put his penis inside your vagina, to spew forth his sperm into your belly like your husband's own father did such a short time ago.

She pulled away from Val's hands suddenly, in a convulsive movement that slipped her breast free of his grasp, slipped his hand away from her lewdly excited cunt and out from beneath her skirt. She tried frantically to button her dress, succeeded in getting one of the buttons fastened.

Val was staring at her. "What's the matter, Patty?"

"Nothing, nothing!" she returned. She liked Val very much; he had been so nice to her, but she just didn't want him to touch her any more. "I… I feel like I need some fresh air.”

“Yes, I… I want to walk in the garden for awhile.”

Val thought to himself; Damn it, she's having some second thoughts, probably about her old man. I figured the pot to drive them all away. Well, she's still turned on, no doubt about that, and if I'm patient I'll still score, I'll still get into that warm, sweet pussy I've been playing…

He smiled gently at her. "I understand, honey," he said. "I'll walk with you. All right, Patty?"

"Yes," she responded slowly. "Yes, Val." She allowed him to take her hand, help her to her feet as he too rose. He put his arm about her waist, and she leaned gratefully against him, he was so nice, so kind, he just couldn't touch her any more, that was all, and together they went to the French doors. Val opened them and they stepped out into the balmy night, onto the patio there. They walked along a path through the oleanders and shrubbery, walking slowly.

Some of the marijuana fog seemed to lift from Patty's brain, but not enough so that she didn't enjoy the pressure of Val's strong arm around her waist, the comforting masculinity of his muscular body against hers. They walked for several minutes, and then Val stopped and turned toward her. He raised his hands to cup her face, looking tenderly into her eyes, and his face in the moonlight was so soft and kind… He kissed her then, gently, touching her lips with the tip of his tongue but not forcing it between them. Should she stop him from doing this too? she wondered dimly, but no a kiss was all right, his lips tasted so sweet and his tongue was so warm… no, this was all right just as long as he didn't.

"Are you feeling better now, Honey?" he asked her.

"Yes, Val, oh yes…" She clung to him, feeling the unwanted arousal begin to course through her again, feeling her nipples harden into diamond chips and her vagina begin to secrete lubricant once again. But it's wrong, wrong to feel this way while you're gone, Larry, Larry… no, it isn't really wrong when it feels so good… confused, I'm so confused…

"Let's go back to the house now, Patty," Val said soothingly. "Come on along."

"Yes," the young dazed girl answered, still confused and uncertain about anything. She leaned against him as he took her arm and led her back along the path.

They reached the patio and started toward the French doors. The moonlight shone through the glass, and Patty could see clearly inside. What she saw there made her stop abruptly, staring, clutching at Val's arm. "Oh God, Val, Marcia and Frank are…!” She stopped, swallowing hard, turning her face up to his.

"Yes," Val answered slowly. "I see them, Patty. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Beautiful?"

"Yes. Nudity and lovemaking are beautiful, don't you think?" His voice was soothing and intoning, almost hypnotic. "Soft and warm and beautiful, Patty."

"Yes…" She stared inside, listening as Val droned on behind her, telling her how wonderful the sight was, how beautiful, and as she continued to watch dazedly the actions of her married girl friend, Marcia and Frank Harrel on the study floor, she knew in her still fogged brain that the man behind her was right, that it was everything he was saying it was.

She could feel her juices flowing faster and faster as she walked forward trance like to the French doors, Val came up behind her, whispering, telling her to watch the beauty within, to get onto her knees and watch through the glass. She obeyed, sinking onto her knees on the cold patio tile, cupping her hands to her eyes as she stared through rising passion at the nakedly entwined couple ten feet away…