Laura Wilson sat low in the steaming tub, letting the hot water whirlpool in the hidden crevices of her voluptuous young body. She blew playfully at the mounds of bubbles and scooped them up in her cupped hands, building small twin peaks on the dark brown areolas of her breasts, and then blowing them into hundreds of small translucent balls that crackled and popped furiously around her.
Stretching her smooth arms up above her head and stiffening her long, well-formed legs against the front of the tub, she raised her slim body halfway out of the water, and allowed it to run in small rivers down along the enticing lines of her soft young body. Her skin stretched tautly against her rib cage, further accentuating the curves that ran from her proud shoulders down to the slight jut of her pelvis that pointed out softly near the crest of her slender hips.
At twenty seven, Laura had lost none of the youthful and desirable form she had acquired as a teenager. Her body had kept its shape with exercise on the tennis courts or in swimming pools, and her face was still brightened by the same innocent excitement and exuberance that provided the cornerstone to her beauty. She had much to be proud of, and she was aware of that fact with an unpretentious satisfaction that showed in the way she moved and carried herself.
Leaning forward, Laura pulled the plug from the tub and allowed half the water to run out. Then she turned on the hot water tap to refill the tub, and poured two more capfuls of bubble bath into the water. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, and she planned to soak for at least fifteen more minutes. This was going to be a special treat tonight, she thought to herself, as she leaned back again against the back of the tub. She and her husband Bill had been invited out that night by their next-door neighbors, George and Abby Farrington, and Laura was looking forward to it with unbounded excitement. It had been so long since she and Bill had been out. Of course, she knew her husband was very busy with his work; but still, Laura was the kind of person who needed excitement, who thrived on it, and the last few months had been almost torturous for her. Bill had been working twelve to eighteen hours a day, and when he came home he was usually so exhausted that he could only eat dinner and fall into bed. Laura had tried her best to reconcile herself to this state of affairs, but that was becoming increasingly difficult as time went on. She found herself yearning for the exciting days when they'd first been married, when everything was new and wonderful. She yearned for those days which, she was beginning to fear, were gone forever.
But no matter, the young blonde thought to herself as she eased back down into the scalding water. Tonight, at least, will be different. Perhaps her husband would see that he couldn't go on working himself to death as he was doing, that there was more to life than simply preparing for the future. There was the present, that had to be enjoyed and lived fully in order to stay healthy and sane.
Laura was curious, and also a little apprehensive, about the activities that had been planned for that evening. Abby Farrington had been over that morning for coffee, and said that they'd decided to go out to a topless nightclub about thirty minutes from their home in the suburb of Oak Park.
Born and raised with all the modesty the Midwest had to offer, Laura wasn't sure how she would react to the naked breasts of other women as they bobbed and swayed to psychedelic music in front of a large crowd of people. She felt she would be too embarrassed to stay through an entire show, but with all her courage she had tried to seem pleased when Abby had told her where they were going. George Farrington had already reserved a table, and since he was footing the bill, Laura didn't feel she could object.
Her thoughts were broken by the loud ringing of the telephone in the bedroom. She turned her head toward the open door, knowing for some unexplainable reason that it was her husband Bill calling. She lifted herself quickly from the tub, threw her robe around her shoulders and hurried to the bedside phone.
"Hello, darling," she said, cradling the receiver between her chin and shoulder.
"How did you know it was me?" Bill asked.
"Oh, I'm just telepathic," she giggled.
"Well, tell me if you were telepathic about this," he said. "You have to pack a bag for me. I've been called to Dallas."
"Oh, no, Bill! Not tonight!"
"I'm afraid so, honey. The call came just ten minutes ago. There's an important meeting of branch managers from the larger cities. For some reason, the boss wants me to go along with him, and I can't think up a reason not to go." Bill's voice sounded slightly worried.
"Oh, darling, that means we can't go out with the Farringtons tonight."
"I know, honey, and I'm sorry about it – but there isn't anything I can do. I've got to go."
"Darling, is everything all right?" Laura asked with concern. "You sound worried."
"Damn right I'm worried. Don't you see what this trip means? All the branch managers from around the country are going to be there, and that means they'll be there from San Francisco, too!"
"Oh, darling… you mean, there might be somebody there that knows about you?" Laura's voice now shared the worry that edged Bill's voice.
"I don't see how there couldn't be," Bill stated flatly, and then he paused to think. "Laura, I'll just have to chance it. There's no other way."
"Couldn't you call in sick or something?" Laura suggested. "There's got to be some way to keep from going."
"No, I can't call in sick because we leave in just about two hours. No, I'm afraid there's no way out of it. We'll just have to risk it, I guess. I called just to let you know, and to get you to pack a bag for me."
"Oh, darling…"
"Now don't worry, Laura. There's no use worrying about it. Either my boss finds out or he doesn't. There's nothing we can do about it except pray. And believe me, I'm doing a lot of praying right now."
"Just when everything seemed to be going so well…" The tears were beginning to well up in Laura's blue eyes.
"Now stop that, honey. There's no use crying about it. Can you get that bag packed?"
"Of course, dear."
"O.K. I'll be home in, I guess, about 30 minutes."
"O.K."
"Come on, chin up, sweetheart. See you in awhile." Laura didn't answer, but only listened to the click on the other end of the line. Oh, why? she thought. Nothing ever seems to turn out right. Day and night Bill was away from her, working, and slaving, sacrificing even their lives together in order to give them some security, and then something like this had to happen. Halfheartedly, she walked to the closet and began selecting clothes for him. Her mind drifted back to those terrible days in San Francisco, over a year ago now.
Laura and Bill had only been married a couple of years, and Bill had been working at a fairly large finance company, and doing very well. He had already received one promotion in record time, and was well on his way to another. Both he and Laura had been excited about his success, and their eagerness and ambition knew no bounds. Perhaps it was this ambition that had led Bill to the greatest mistake of his life.
At first, it had all seemed innocent enough: Bill's former boss, a Mr. Ferguson, had simply seemed to be reorganizing the company's books, taking money from one department and giving it to another, paying bills out of one account and transferring funds to another. It wasn't until Bill began to really look at what was going on that he realized his boss was lining his own pockets with a small but steady income from the company treasury. Bill had known he should go to the police, and report everything, but he hadn't. He had pretended to know nothing about the imbalance in his books.
After awhile, Ferguson had somehow found out that Bill knew about his illegal activities; but strangely enough, even though Ferguson knew, and Bill knew he knew, there was never a word said on the subject. Bill found himself quickly elevated in position not once, but three times, with increasing salaries and benefits, though he never took part in any actual embezzlement himself. Still, he kept most of the books, and was therefore an accomplice to everything his boss did.
In due time, of course, everything was discovered. The boss had begun to take greater and greater amounts, the books were showing more and more obvious discrepancies, and finally Bill's boss had skipped town. The company went bankrupt, Ferguson was caught, and they were both indicated for embezzlement. Those few days had been the worst in Bill's life, and in Laura's as well. It was as though the world had come to an abrupt halt, and there was nothing, no reality to their lives at all, except the specter of the prison sentence awaiting Bill.
Finally, the District Attorney had come to Bill with a deal. He had proposed that Bill turn state's evidence, and testify as to the extent of his boss' illegal activities. Bill had hesitated at first, feeling that to comply would be some kind of betrayal of the trust Ferguson had placed in him. But gradually he had come to realize that far from trust, his boss had used him as much as he had used the company's finances, for his own ends. And Bill agreed to the District Attorney's deal.
Laura took a suitcase from the back of the closet, and opened it up on the bed. She began placing her husband's clothes into it carefully, selecting the things she knew he liked and which would be appropriate for the kind of meeting he was going to attend. Wearily, she passed a hand across her face, and sank down on the bed. Would it really happen? Could it really be true that their torture and torment was to begin all over again?
She remembered back to the days and weeks and months that followed the trial in San Francisco. At first, she and her husband had been naive enough to think that, with the end of the trial and the conviction of Bill's boss, their troubles would be over. In truth, though, they had just begun. It had been months before Bill had been able to find an employer willing to hire him, and then only because that employer was not familiar with Bill's past. That first job had only lasted a short two weeks before Bill's part in the embezzlement scheme had come to light, and he had been fired. In the months that followed, the story was the same, over and over again. Bill would find a job after much searching, only to see it taken away from him when his new employer found out about the embezzlement and the trial, and then he would be on the streets again, facing the inevitable job interview, and the equally inevitable: "You wouldn't happen to be the Bill Wilson who used to work for Coast Financing, would you?"
After a year of this kind of torment, Bill and Laura had discovered that the strain was beginning to have an effect on their marriage: arguments were more frequent and intense, they could never seem to escape the shadow left by Bill's momentous indiscretion. And finally they had decided to leave San Francisco and try to start again in some other city. Bill had found his present job, and they'd moved to Oak Park – and at last it seemed as though they were free, out from under the incredible burden of their past mistakes. They had lived in Oak Park almost a year, and had almost forgotten what it was like to be hounded and trapped and desperate.
And now it could start all over again, all the frail and fragile supports they had built their new life on now threatened once again to be torn out from under them, with all the trauma that would ensue. Oh, it was hopeless! Laura thought to herself as she began packing Bill's suitcase once more. They would never escape… never again be able to lead a free and unworried life.
Laura stood before the full-length mirror in their large closet, and let her robe fall carelessly from her ivory shoulders. Her hands reached up to cup her youthfully erect breasts, and she examined herself in the mirror. Though she was only three years away from thirty, her exquisite body showed no signs of age, but was as vital and firm as it had ever been. She studied herself carefully, and then turned from the mirror, picking her robe up from the floor as she did so.
Both she and Bill had sacrificed something this past year. Bill had seemed to be working himself to death, almost to make up for the mistakes he'd made in San Francisco. And Laura had reconciled herself to the inevitable neglect in the bedroom that her husband's heavy work schedule caused. She didn't like to be petty, especially when Bill was working so hard to make their lives better – but all the same, he was exhausting himself, and that exhaustion was leaving him unable to satisfy Laura's desires at night. Laura felt very guilty the few times she had tried to suggest that he didn't need to work so hard, that their sexual lives together were just as important a part of their lives as the money Bill brought home at the end of the month. But he hadn't seemed to understand, and Laura had given up trying to make him see; she had instead decided that she could sacrifice something as well, and that would be her sexual desires.
It had been over a month since her husband had made love to her, though, and this new danger to their lives threatened a disruption that would be far more injurious than Bill's exhaustion ever could be. As she finished packing her husband's suitcase, and set it by the bedroom door for him to pick up, Laura wondered whether she would be able to survive this new wrinkle in the already disturbed pattern of her life.
At five o'clock, the door opened, and Laura heard Bill's voice as he entered the front door.
"Honey, are you dressed? George is with me."
Damn, she thought, when she heard him. She had hoped for at least a few minutes alone with him before he had to leave. Quickly, she threw on a simple housedress, and went out into the living room.
George Farrington turned to her, and greeted her with a large grin, as he always did. She smiled back at the steel grey eyes that always seemed to penetrate her when they looked in her direction. She always felt curiously exposed when he looked at her that way.
"Hi, Laura. How are you," George said warmly. "I gave Bill a lift home. Hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, why should I?" she smiled. Laura thought how little George Farrington looked like his forty years. His face and body showed no excess flesh, but was solid and handsome. Except for the slight greying of his hair, she would have guessed his age at about thirty-two or three.
"Hello, honey. Get that bag packed?" Bill moved across the room from the bar where he'd been fixing drinks, and handed her one, neglecting to kiss her on the cheek as he'd always done their first year of marriage. For some reason he didn't have the inclination to give her that little bit of reassurance that she needed so badly, especially now.
"Yes, it's in the bedroom," Laura answered him.
"Good. Well, here's to Dallas, and a safe trip," Bill toasted.
"And a quiet trip," Laura added, catching her husband's eye. She noticed the worry was still there, and that Bill's attempted joviality was merely a cover.
Bill finished his drink quickly, and moved into the bedroom. Laura excused herself from George, and followed him. Coming into the bedroom, she shut the door behind her, and threw herself into her husband's arms.
"Oh, Bill… tell me it isn't going to happen all over again!"
"Hey, hey now."
"Come on, honey," he answered, trying to disentangle himself from his wife's caresses. "Don't get so excited. Nothing's going to happen, believe me."
"You say that, but you don't mean it, darling. I know you're worried… just as worried as I am."
"No, I'm not, really…" Bill's assurance was unconvincing. He talked like a man who didn't want to be reminded of his danger. "And you getting hysterical is not going to help matters."
Laura took her arms from around his neck, and moved across to sit on the bed. She was hurt by his unwillingness to share his trouble with her, and she was hurt by the distance he seemed to be putting between them.
"I… I didn't mean to get hysterical, darling. I'm sorry."
Bill turned to his wife, and then moved to her side, laying an impersonal hand on her head as though it might comfort her.
"I know, honey. I'm just a little upset, you know. But don't forget, nothing may happen in Dallas at all. There's just a chance that it will – but that's the chance we've been living with for the past year, isn't it?"
Laura looked up, and nodded mutely.
"O.K., so let's not worry until there's something to worry about. Life is too short. Now come on, we've left George in the front room."
Laura rose, and followed her husband into the living room. George Farrington got up when they came in, and she moved across the room to him.
"I'm sorry, George, but I guess we'll have to take a rain check on our night out tonight. Maybe when Bill gets back from Dallas."
"Not at all," George replied, and turned to Bill with a twinkle in his eye. "Shall I tell her?"
Bill nodded slightly as he finished his drink.
"Your traveling husband and I talked it over in the car and decided that you shouldn't miss a party just because your old man is out of town." George's smile never faded as he talked. "Abby and I will take you to the club without him. The table has already been reserved and everything has been especially ordered. Besides, I'm still not too old to squire two women at once, if it's only for one night."
"Oh, George, I don't know," Laura started, but he interrupted.
"Don't be ridiculous. I've already talked to Abby. She's been spending the last three hours getting ready for this. She doesn't mind sharing me for part of one evening. So you can't say no," he said, taking her hand warmly.
"In that case, Mr. Farrington, I simply cannot refuse," Laura said dramatically. "What time will you call, sir?"
"At eight sharp. Can you be ready, Madam?"
"Of course," she answered.
"Enough is enough for both of you lovers," Bill broke in, "I've got a jet to catch. Come on, George, let's get a move on. George is taking me to the plane, honey."
Laura walked her husband to the door and kissed him goodbye, feeling his impatience to leave as he drew away from her. She watched him walk to George's car and stood in the doorway, her arms hanging limply at her side.
"See you at eight," George shouted.
She nodded and smiled, watching the white convertible back from the driveway onto the street and roar off toward the corner and the airport. Goodnight, Bill, she thought and turned back into the house closing the door behind her, conscious of a single tear that had dropped to her cheek. A deep sense of loneliness rippled through her, a loneliness she had been carrying with her since their move to Oak Park, a loneliness that her husband had been too busy to recognize, and too preoccupied to relieve her of.
Two hours later, George and Abby Farrington shared a small pitcher of Martinis in their bedroom as George dressed. Abby sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard with a large pillow behind her. At thirty six, she looked every bit as good as the younger Laura, but her own self criticism and fear of growing older sometimes blinded her to that fact. Her black hair was cut in the latest style and she wore a miniskirt that revealed a year-round tan on her full and sensual thighs. Nearly every man she came into contact with looked at her with more than just idle curiosity.
"It's working out better than we thought," the exotic woman said. "Do you think she's ready?"
"Ripe for plucking," George said, smiling at his pun.
"You are too, too funny," Abby said. "I hope you're right, though."
"Have I ever been wrong about a woman before?" he said, not waiting for an answer. "You should have seen the look on her face when we drove away. Laura is the loving wife all right, but she's been so neglected by Bill that there won't be any trouble at all. And even if there is, I can change her mind. With what I know about Bill, I could convince her of anything. No, sweetheart, getting her hot little body between the sheets will be no trouble at all."
"No, I suppose not, darling, not with that fatal charm of yours," his beautiful wife answered with a slight tone of sarcasm.
"But don't forget your part in the plan," George said, ignoring her jibe. "Bill probably won't be that easy."
"Don't be so sure of yourself, George Farrington. With the right treatment, he'll probably be as easy as you were," she said with a coquettish smile. "I can show him one hell of a lot more than that pretty little wife of his, and I'll bet he knows it. You saw how attentive he was the last time they were here. If you hadn't said no, I would have taken him to bed right then."
"You are anxious, aren't you?"
"Jealous?"
"A little, perhaps, but I always am, for a moment at least. But that doesn't last longer than it takes me to get into the sack with your friends' wives." George finished adjusting his tie and brushed back the grey at his temples with his hands. "I wonder how she's going to react when I tell her you have a migrain? And," he added as an afterthought, "Wherever you go tonight, stay on the other side of town, away from the club. If she saw you it might ruin everything."
"Don't worry, I'll stay away from your precious little game. I should find entertainment somewhere tonight, like maybe over at the Lessing's house. There's always more than enough excitement there."
"Well, don't let your excitement stay too long if you bring him home. I'll be back before three. O.K.?"
"O.K." Abby laughed. "Come give Momma a good night kiss."
George crossed over to the bed, leaned down, and gave his wife a playful kiss on the cheek.
"Good night, baby," he smiled. "Don't do anything you'll be ashamed of later."
"Fat chance," Abby laughed.
Laura had been ready for twenty minutes when she heard George knocking at the door. She gulped the last of her Martini, her fourth since her husband had left, and walked rather unsteadily to the front door.
"Good evening, fair damsel," George smiled as the front door opened. "Your pumpkin has just arrived."
"Ah, wonderful," Laura replied, laughing. "Let me just get my mink." She moved across to the sofa and picked up her rather faded cloth coat, slinging it over her arm. "Shouldn't need this, I just take it for effect."
"My lady, if you'll pardon my saying so, your mink looks like rabbit."
"And my rabbit looks like hell, I know," Laura giggled.
"But you look stunning."
"Why sir, how gallant of you."
As they walked out the door, George told her that Abby had a terrible migrain and wouldn't be with them. Laura thought it was strange that Abby should get a headache on a night like this, especially after spending all afternoon getting ready. Nothing seems to be happening right today, she thought with a slightly audible sigh. Well, I hope nothing else goes wrong.
"Well, George," she said with a forced smile, "we may as well enjoy our evening alone. Two stood-up people have to do the best they can."
He smiled at her as he closed the door of the convertible, then walked to the other side. Once seated, he started the big engine and pulled away from the curb.
Laura usually paid attention when George drove. She thought he was still a teenager at heart, the way he sped through residential areas, not to mention the ninety mile an hour rides on the freeways, but tonight she didn't care how he drove. Her thoughts were centered around Bill and her marriage. Confused and hurt, she had no idea how to recapture her husband from his work. She decided that she didn't care about the money, about the past, their problems, anything. She wanted her husband back. He had been a stranger too long, she thought almost desperately.
Was it possible that she was losing, or perhaps had already lost her sex appeal? Her mind searched every avenue trying to discover the real cause for her husband's neglect. Of course Bill was constantly worried that his past might be found out – but still, that didn't seem to be reason enough for his neglect of her. Her ears were deaf to George's continuous flow of words as they drove along the freeway at his usual ninety miles an hour. Laura was oblivious to the traffic and the danger: her mind was already fogged by too many Martinis.
Perhaps, she thought, Bill took her for granted. Perhaps she could make him jealous, and then he would have to pay attention to her. It certainly wouldn't be hard. She wouldn't have to do anything. She could be secretive about her night out with George when Bill asked her how the party went. There could be no harm in that. George was a good friend.
She smiled and sat a little straighter, adjusting an imaginary out-of-place hair on her head. After all, George wouldn't mind being used… especially if he didn't know about it.
Laura had never even flirted with the idea of being unfaithful to her husband. Their marriage had always been satisfactory enough, up until the last few months. More than a few men had asked her out, knowing she was married. Always flattered, but never unfaithful, she had always turned them down.
But now, to her liquor-fogged brain, the idea of making Bill jealous seemed like a good one. She turned her attention to the man behind the steering wheel. I wonder, she thought, how he is to Abby in bed.
"Oh," she said out loud, amazed that she could have had such a lewd thought. Never in her life had she any ideas relating to other people's sex life. It had always been a private thing, not to be discussed or even thought of.
"What was that for," George asked her.
"Oh, nothing," Laura stammered, "I-I forgot my compact. I remember now, I left it on the dresser." She was embarrassed to talk with him after picturing him in bed with Abby, but somehow she couldn't get the thought out of her mind. She even wondered how he might be with her, how he might please her. She fought to purge the images from the back of her head, but they persisted, until suddenly, she hiccupped from the embarrassment.
George laughed. "How many of those Martinis did you drink after we left?" he asked. "More than your share I'll bet. Do you feel like continuing?"
"Of course, I want to go. These silly things will go away. All I have to do is hold my breath…" Laura took in a lungful of air, raising her full, firmly set breasts higher, straining against her dress, unconscious of George's fixed stare at her up-thrust breasts. For nearly a minute she imprisoned the air in her lungs, while her face reddened under her light makeup. "… Like that," she said, exhaling, "and they'll be gone. See! Hiccup!"
"Try putting your head between your knees and holding your breath again," George laughed. "That works when nothing else does."
Eager to rid herself of hiccups and equally as eager for some unknown reason to please her friend, she did as George said. She pulled her miniskirt higher up her smooth legs until without realizing it, she had exposed the soft firm flesh of her upper thighs. George could hardly keep his eyes on the road while he watched her put her head down between her open knees and inhale another deep breath. Her sensuously tanned thighs invited him to touch them and it was all he could do to restrain himself and keep his hands on the wheel.
Laura kept her head between her knees a little longer than necessary. Alcohol and her sudden wicked thoughts of what George would be like in bed gave her the bravado of a little daring that she had never experienced before. She became aware of her next door neighbor's sidelong glances in her direction, and enjoyed having him look at her legs. It couldn't hurt anything, and besides, she half giggled to herself, she was titillated by the cool air from the vents blowing up between her opened thighs and gently caressing the softness of her panty-covered pubic mound.
She had a smile on her face as she lifted her head up and exhaled. "I think they're gone," she said, waiting a moment to be sure. She purposely left her skirt high on her daringly exposed thighs. She wasn't ashamed of feeling slightly excited, if it was only in thought. That much couldn't hurt anything.
"Here, have a little of this," George said, pulling a flask from the glove compartment. "Martinis from the flask, ready to drink. I always mix some before I go out. It saves not only time, but a little money if I'm half-lit before I get to wherever I'm going."
Laura started to refuse, but changed her mind. So what if I'm drunk, she thought. One or two more won't hurt. I'm not a child. I can hold my liquor as well as anyone.
She took the leather-covered flask and put it to her lips, taking a full swallow, and strained not to start coughing. It tasted strange for a Martini, but she didn't dwell on it. She had no idea that George had fixed the bottle with something extra before coming to pick her up. She had no idea that he was well versed in the art of aphrodisiacs. He had just put enough in so that they would not be affected too strongly… only enough to be suggestive: he would let the liquor and her disappointment with her husband do the rest.
He pulled into the club's entranceway, stopped and walked around the car to open the door for her.
"Ooops," she said, giggling as she got out of the car and nearly stumbled. "I've had too much to drink already."
"Nonsense, silly girl, you're just not used to the night air," he said, the smile still spread across his face.
"Girls, girls, girls – topless and bottomless."
Laura gasped when she saw the sign, trying to cover her shock. For a moment she stood still, halting George on his walk to the door. Oh no, she thought. I can't… but… I'm a grown married woman now. I can take this. She giggled again, trying to suppress her strict Midwestern morality, and walked through the doorway, followed by George who tipped the doorman his usual exaggerated tip.
Laura felt her sobriety weaken as she entered the club. Strobe lights beat a weird rhythm to the music and for a brief moment she discovered that she was having trouble walking with the lights beating at her eyes in the off and on strange patterns. She glanced up at the stage in front of her to see six over large breasts bouncing wildly to the blaring music. Quickly she lowered her eyes to the floor to watch her feet follow George and the Maitre d' to their table.
"Anything wrong?" George asked her, knowing she was shocked.
She shook her head bravely, her moving head only further confusing her senses. The strobe lights beat a strange and haunting rhythm on her brain and body. The potion in George's Martini flask was beginning to take effect, but she refused to recognize it at first. She watched the dancer until she heard George's voice at her ear.
"Where are you, Laura? You look a thousand miles away."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she quickly apologized. "It's just that I've never seen anything like this before. I wonder how those girls must feel up there with nothing covering them, dancing hour after hour. They must be awfully bored."
"Probably no more bored than you."
"George, no. I'm having a wonderful time," she apologized again. "If I'm a little silent it's just the liquor. Really, you could never bore me."
"That's not really what I'm talking about," he said.
"I don't understand."
"I mean Bill. I know it's probably none of my business, but I've noticed that he doesn't seem to pay much attention to you anymore. I wasn't surprised at all that you had been drinking when I picked you up tonight. I've been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately myself because of Abby. So I know how you feel."
Laura listened to him, feeling the warmth of his breath as he talked to her. He had moved closer so she could hear him over the pounding music. She suddenly felt very close to this gentle man. They were sharing an experience and she felt a kinship that only a shared loneliness can bring.
"I didn't know, George. I thought you and Abby were happy. I've never noticed anything that would make anyone suspect you were having problems too."
"Oh, we're good actors, Laura. It's been almost three years since we've really gotten along. We haven't even been to bed together in the last year. I sleep out in the guest room."
Laura was shocked. "I had no idea. Here I've been brooding about my life and I'm in heaven compared to you." She leaned over and kissed his cheek affectionately.
George smiled under the flashing strobes. It was going even easier than he thought. "Is it all right to ask what is wrong between you and Bill?" he ventured.
"I'd tell you if I knew," Laura said. "But I don't. I thought it was his work, but even on the weekends he's too busy for me. I guess I'm just losing my sex appeal. I'm old before my time."
"Nonsense," Laura's neighbor said. "There isn't a man in this room who wouldn't want to take you to bed right now."
"George, you're so sweet."
"Let's dance," George suggested. "The music is slower for a minute or two. They've got to give those dancers a break sometime."
The couple joined the throng that headed for the dance floor; there were always more people dancing when the music slowed. Laura swung into George's arms and felt them close protectively around her. The drug's effect was at its full power as their bodies met and started to dance to the slow rhythm, and the drum seemed to beat in tune with Laura's heart as she followed George slowly around the floor.
Her voluptuous breasts were strained through her dress against him and because she wore no brassiere, the taut nipples nearly pierced the thin, sheer material. Bill never let her wear a brassiere, saying that it weakened her pectoral muscles, and he was right, she thought as she felt her tingling breasts crush harder against George's strong body. She could feel his leg slip between hers as they danced, and a light dampness eased its way from her trembling vagina to the rosy pink lips of her pussy. She had never felt like this by just dancing. There seemed to be no explanation for the fire that was beginning to build deep inside her, and she tried tentatively to pull away from George. Making Bill jealous was a good plan, but she certainly didn't want to go too far.
But her neighbor had other plans. He knew the potion he'd put in the drinks was affecting the girl as it was starting to affect him, and instead of allowing her to move away he tightened his grip around her slender waist and pulled her tighter to him. And even though afraid, Laura felt a kind of comfort in his strong arms. Her drug-weakened body clung involuntarily to him as though she suddenly had lost all control over it.
The young wife closed her eyes, trying to shut out the flashing strobes, but their intense light shown through her eyelids and seemed to beat with undeniable insistency into her mind. The tempo of the music had increased, yet the two still held close to each other, still danced with their bodies molded as one. Laura's mind was starting to play sexual fantasies somewhere deep within her, and, unbelievably, her body was responding. She could feel her heaving breasts crushed against George's chest, with only the thin veneer of light summer clothing between his hirsute manliness and her tautly aroused nipples.
The music, liquor and aphrodisiac had become too much for the helpless young woman. She opened her eyes and, seeing a single topless dancer undulating on the stage, she began to dance the same patterns as the girl as she pushed away from George. She jerked her body in rhythm to the wild beat, throwing her arms out, feeling her bra-less breasts bounce unencumbered beneath the sheer white of her summer dress. She was perspiring and breathing heavily, aware only of the hot flashes of aroused abandonment that were beginning to course through her drug-filled body.
As she danced, she watched the single topless girl on the stage as though hypnotized. Instead of being embarrassed, as perhaps she would normally have been, she was intent on becoming that girl, or becoming as free, as passionate, as sexually liberated as that girl must be. The dancer's dark-nippled breasts moved with mesmerizing grace under the glaring influence of the rotating lights, and Laura's imagination transported herself to the strobe-lit stage, dancing half-naked in front of more than two hundred people, throwing her arms in the controlled sensual movements of a professional Go-Go Girl.
Her frantically undulating hips jerked to the beat, in perfect rhythm with her dancing breasts. She felt free, alive. She was in a sexual fantasy world of her own, but wanting, needing a man. Suddenly, the dancer on the stage unfastened her g-string and let it fall to the floor, purposefully exposing the thinly open slit of her clean-shaven pussy. But Laura felt no shock at the sudden display, so wrapped up was she in her own imagination. Instead she remained dancing, imagining herself now totally naked as well. To her drug-dazzled mind, reality was not on the dance floor, but on the stage. She was now that girl. She was now totally exposed before the crowd. Her aroused loins were on fire and for the first time in months she felt like a woman! She was a woman!
Laura looked at George, dancing three feet from her, imitating the same soul searing movements of the dance she was doing, and she began dancing for him, not even aware of who he was, only that he was a man. This for the moment, was her man… and… she was his woman!
The fire up between her spasming thighs grew hotter as she threw up her arms and tossed her head from side to side in a dance that began more and more to imitate the sexual act. Her frantically moving hips thrust forward, again and again, and George responded by moving closer, grinding his heavy pelvis at her as though he were taking her right there on the dance floor. Their grinding and jerking bodies were only inches from each other now, and one of George's legs was moving between hers as they danced, rubbing maddeningly against the satiny flesh of her exposed upper thigh. Her mini-skirt was hiked high on her rhythmically moving legs as she bent backward and forward in the most primeval motions of dance.
As though entranced, the young wife watched her partner's hand reach out slowly toward her like a snake in the Garden of Eden, beckoning, urging her to come closer. The hand found her waist and drew her closer until their bodies touched at their loins. Laura gasped as she felt his huge penis hard beneath his trousers, straining at her involuntarily. She ground her hips against him, her mouth open, breathing heavily, spurred salaciously on by the growing fire inside her. The lights flashed in brilliant colors on her half-open eyelids and she put her hand on the back of his neck, leaning backward, pushing her desire-inflamed loins against his straining penis. She stared at him as though he were a stranger, her eyes searching for his identity. Each beat of the drum pounded at her, exciting her further, and she could almost feel their naked bodies touching. She imagined them to be on a bed, ready for each other, ready for the final thrust that would connect their flesh together.
Suddenly, George pulled her closer, and kissed her brutally, crushing her lips against his open mouth, thrusting his tongue deep into her throat.
Oh my God, she thought. What is happening! The shock of her neighbor's sudden kiss forced its way into her aroused and drugged brain, turning her to ice as she came abruptly to her senses. She wanted the kiss, needed it desperately, but she knew it was wrong, horribly wrong.
"No, George…" she managed to say breathlessly. She struggled out of his powerful hold, dazed, not quite sure yet what was happening, but knowing something was wrong, realizing that this place, this music, George Farrington, everything, had excited and aroused her far beyond the danger-point.
She was frightened, knowing that George excited her, that she wanted him! But she had gone too far, too fast. She must stop.
She turned and walked quickly but unsteadily from the dance floor toward the door, bumping into people as she left. George Farrington, smiling broadly, followed her outside, picking up her wrap at the hat check. Round one, he knew, was his.