The next year at home was much like the one before. I was back in the swing this time with no trouble at all. The men, the parties, the couples, the swingers and, of course, Cindy, were all glad to see me.
I completely forgot about that one traumatic moment with Kathy until I was with Cindy one night and she asked me so very pointedly about how I enjoyed the summer alone with my daughter. It seemed as if she were probing me for something dirty and evil. And I remembered so very vividly what she had told me about her own mother.
Strange, I thought to myself while alone sometimes, that the relationship with my own mother seemed to elude me so completely. She seemed almost a non-person to me, a dim memory from the past of something natural and routine, but with no emotional involvement. I did not, however, dwell on such subjects of potential morbidity for any great time. I was too busy having fun.
In fact, I was so busy having fun that I had apparently slipped up in some small respect in my careful attempts to keep my two lives completely separate. I learned this to my great surprise one Thursday evening in April after submitting my new budget for the drama department to the members of the school board.
Charley Riggs was 55 years old and a pillar of the community. He was a fat and jolly old man, and quite a flirt. I always played up to him at budget time, and I usually got what I wanted. He had tried to date me on the sly at least a dozen times, but always indirectly, with such ruses as offering me a ride somewhere, or dropping by the apartment to leave some papers for me to take to the administration office for him the next day. I had always played it very straight until that night in April.
I really did need a ride home then because my car was in the shop. And when he told me that he wanted to talk to me about something that might involve my career, I could tell that he wasn't just looking for an excuse to come inside. I fixed him a cup of coffee as we chatted about the drama projects for the year and he told me that his daughter was going to be in my class next term. And then he took on that serious look when we sat down, and I knew the purpose of his visit.
“I'm not going to mince any words, Mrs. Bryant.” He came right out with it, frowning as if the whole thing displeased him very much. “I was told something by Jim Bannon after last week's P.T.A. meeting that shocked me very much. He showed me a picture he took of you two. You've been moonlighting as a prostitute, haven't you?”
The small, beady eyes in his round and usually jovial face had lost their smile. They looked directly at me, dropping briefly to my exposure of cleavage provided by a scoop-neck blouse. Intuitively, I clutched at the neckline with my hand, as if that would somehow assure him of my modesty and virtue. But his eyes demanded an honest answer.
“Is… Jim Bannon the man who owns the hardware store on Leek Street?” I asked, swallowing my last word.
“Yes. And he has two boys in our school,” Mr. Riggs answered with a nod, clearing his throat as I crossed my legs and carefully pulled down at my skirt. “Jim recognized you at the P.T.A. meeting when the faculty was introduced, and… uh, he told me at the club the next day that he had… he and other men too… had been seeing you by appointment for thirty dollars.”
“It's true, of course,” I decided to be perfectly honest, wanting a stiff drink much more than the hot coffee. “Everyone has his… his secret life, Mr. Riggs. I have tried to be very, very careful. I have tried to keep the two lives completely segregated, separate. I dare say this is the only complaint you've heard against me in the time I've been at the school.”
“You're a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Bryant!” he insisted, gesturing with his hands. “Of course, there have been the usual jealous accusations from some of the female teachers because of your youth, your attractiveness, your sex appeal, your way with the students. But this is absolutely intolerable. I wish I could do something, Mrs. Bryant. I would love to be able to help you. You know… I find you quite an attractive woman too. What can I do though? If the word gets around that you're a prostitute…?”
“Are you a close friend of Mr. Bannon's?”
“Yes.”
“Close men friends have a way of confiding these things, don't they?”
“Yes, but…
“Mr. Bannon is married, isn't he?”
“Yes…”
“Well then I don't really think there's much danger that Mr. Bannon would ever say a single word about this to anyone who matters… do you?”
“No… of course not.”
“There are three women on the school board, Mr. Riggs. If I am to be dismissed, there will have to be some better reason than that Mr. Bannon, a married man, paid thirty dollars to have sex with me.”
I was so proud of myself for being clever. I thought I had everything figured out and that I was absolutely covered. I sat back smugly and lit a cigarette, letting my skirt creep up a few inches and not bothering to adjust it.
“Mrs. Bryant…” he said rather softly, looking at me as if he were the great white father and I was some foolish child. “Prostitution is against the law in this state. I'm sure that if I were to tell Lt. Hawkins of the vice bureau that we had reason to believe you were running a bawdy house and accepting dates for pay, it would be no problem at all to have your house watched, your movements checked, your… uh, visitors questioned. As soon as your name ended up on a police blotter, the board would automatically release you. The publicity would be ruinous.”
“Well… what is it you want?”
“I want your resignation, Mrs. Bryant,” he spoke firmly, pulling a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “I have everything typed up for you to sign. You're leaving because of a better job offer…”
“Mr. Riggs… you're not serious?” I questioned with utter disbelief, unable to believe that my whole life was suddenly crumbling just like that. “My… my record as a teacher is perfect. My private life is… quite discreet. I'm not a common whore… I just… Why, Mr. Riggs! You yourself have let me know many times that your personal interests in me were not purely as a teacher. Certainly, you recall the time last December that…”
“I guess I should have offered you thirty dollars and everything would have been fine!” he bellowed angrily, banging his cup down in the saucer. “Well, let me tell you something, Mrs. Bryant. If I had had any idea you were a professional prostitute, I would not have been interested. I was interested in you as something more than just a… a sex companion. My interests are more than flesh deep. You are truly a good teacher, an educated woman with a warm personality. I had thought… Well, no bother what I thought. I want you out of the school by next Friday.”
“Please… don't discard me just like that, Mr. Riggs,” I asked him contritely, walking over to pour myself a brandy and downing it straight, then sitting in the small chair right at his side, “I know… you can only look at this from a man's viewpoint. Try to think of me for a moment-a woman alone, a divorcee, a woman who has known love and can't live and function as a normal human being without love.
“What am I to do, Mr. Riggs? If I date normally, I am restricted to social activities, movies, dances. Even then, you know how rumors fly about a teacher who is a divorcee. And if I do make love with my so-called regular or normal boyfriends, I would gain a reputation as a tramp and be fired for that.
“If I… had dated you… allowed you to make love with me… how was I to know that it would not be just another tawdry affair for you? I… I had no way of knowing how deep and sincere your interest was. If I… just went around with a married administrator or board member, I could get fired too. Don't you see, I had no choice? The only way to have a life that filled me with the love I needed, was to be selectively and secretly promiscuous.
“I'm not a prostitute, Mr. Riggs. There were one or two married men who offered me a few dollars because they knew I… I have a daughter to support. It became a… a habit, I suppose. If I… I could find one man that I was capable of loving and who really loved me, I wouldn't care if he was married or not I need that kind of love. But it… it's impossible to find…”
“Do you mean you'd give up running around?” he asked, as I leaned toward him slowly and let my scoop-neck gape open, “You could… give up the money?”
“How much is it? Thirty dollars once a week… twice a week,” I scoffed, shaking my head and then swallowing hard, and realizing I was only hall acting. “No, Mr. Riggs, I'm not just interested in sex either… but it's a pretty important part of living. And with the right man, the sharing of sex is… is wonderful… wonderful…”
I let my head fall deliberately on his shoulder and I sobbed. There were real tears because I had worked myself into a highly emotional state when I realized that my whole future could very well depend upon what happened tonight. I was, however, unsure of myself in this particular situation. If I overplayed my hand or emphasized sex too much, I would spoil it. I desperately waited for some reaction from him before I could make my next move.
“I wish I could… believe,” he started to say, patting my head very gently, his voice unsteady, ”… that you meant this. I have… well, I'm not a very young man anymore, and I think you have excited and interested me more than any woman I have met in years. Mrs… Riggs is not interested in love, sex, whatever it is about a man and a woman that makes their association exciting. That went long ago. Her clubs, her church work, these all occupy her time.
“It may surprise you to know, Mrs. Bryant… Denise… that I have not had a relation with my wife in seven years. I have had no sex relation with any woman in seven years. When I… thought of you in this context, it has made me very, very intrigued. I can't tell you just how it has… affected me.”
“Why don't you take off your coat and try, Mr. Riggs?” I said softly, standing up and walking toward the bar, “Would you like some scotch… or bourbon? Brandy?”
“Scotch, please,” he requested, removing his overcoat and jacket and loosening his tie. “And call me, Charley, Denise. I may just be an old fool and doing the wrong… stupid thing, but I haven't had anyone to talk to in years. I want to tell you everything, Denise. Can I?”
“Of course, you can,” I told him, bringing over our drinks, “Do you mind if I get into something more comfortable?”
I ran upstairs and took off my blouse, skirt and half slip, then put on a robe and slippers, coming back down immediately to find that Charley had drained his glass and was just staring off into space. He was a lonely man and I felt genuinely sorry for him. After I fixed him another drink and sat curled up at his feet, he began to talk and talk and talk, running his fingers through my hair tenderly as he did so.
It was a most unusual monologue, a confessional as much as anything else. The personal intimacy of it was certainly not conducive to normal romantic aims, but I guess he had picked the right person to tell it to. I can recall just about every word he said after he got over the sometimes boring preliminaries of his childhood and first years of marriage:
“Lucille is a good woman, I suppose. But how can a 'good' woman be a good sex partner? She was never that, Denise. My most pleasurable sex experiences have been when I thought about you… and masturbated.
“Seven years, Denise. That's a long time for a man to go without sex. I often wondered what I would do, how I would act, had you been more… friendly, say invited me in and allowed me to do more than just kiss you. I would worry about it, wondering if I could… would be so afraid and the experience so strange, that I might be potent.
“I'm 55 years old, Denise. I realize I have little to offer a woman in return. Money is out of the question. It would spoil the relationship.
“I… I've not had a sex relation in seven years, and only before that with a frigid piece of ice… what can I offer a woman who has sex with different men all the time, with young men who are virile lovers?”
“Sex… isn't everything, Charley,” I said very slowly and affectionately, looking up into is eyes.
“Oh… you misunderstood me before, Denise,” he looked down at me rather pitifully, eyes searching for understanding. “Sex… is very important… very important to me. I only meant that there had to be more than just a body for me to admire. The most physically perfect female in the world can be sexless. There must be a personality, a human and lovable and warm person behind it. And there is that one element that begs for an explanation, that of attraction. I am… attracted to you, Denise… always have been. How foolish for me to dream when I have nothing to offer you. I want to love you. I want to love you sexually, but I have nothing to offer you.”
“Are you afraid of being impotent?” I asked him softly, but frankly.
“Yes… very much so,” he admitted, hiding his face in his hands, “I should be very… very aroused here with you like this. I can't..
“And you still want to make love with me?”
“Yes… very much so.”
“Charley?” I said with a question mark, letting my robe fall open, “I think you're trying to tell me something. You know you can't shock me. Tell me… how do you want to make love with me?”
“Something… I want to do; I've never done before, Denise,” he explained, clearing his throat loudly, his hands trembling as he drained his glass for the third time. “Denise, I want to suck your vagina! Yes! I want to put my head in between your legs and lick and suck your organs. I know… I know I can't bring you pleasure any other way. But that's not it… no. Since… the first time I saw you, this has been my vision, my ideal dream…
“I have masturbated so many… many times imagining that I am sucking your vagina. Oh, and not only your vagina, Denise. Now… I know that these things are not supposed to be normal, but I have read… much about them. I think, maybe you can understand, Denise…”
“Yes… yes, Charley,” I assured him, putting up one leg so that my robe fell away to expose my crotch in only the sheer nylon briefs, “Oh, I understand so perfectly well and if you think you don't have anything to offer me, darling, you are so wrong. I… I am very hot, Charley… very hot just listening to you.”
“I want to suck your… you all over,” he blurted out with some difficulty, and then he could contain himself no longer.
The pent up lust of a lifetime was suddenly and violently unleashed. Charley's big body fell to the floor beside me with a thud and he pushed his head blindly between my legs, licking and sucking at my crotch through the panties as best he could. His hands reached for breasts and tore the straps of my bra. He held the breasts in his hand, squeezing them.
His movements were cumbersome and totally unsophisticated. He was satisfying himself and nothing more. Of course, I let him have free reign. I tore open the crotch of my panties and felt his mouth and tongue slobbering at my vulva. He was like a man possessed, straining to get his mouth all over me down there, grunting, whining, groaning, and muttering almost unintelligible words.
And then it began working on me too. The fact that Charley was going almost out of his mind because of his sexual obsession with me tended to fuel my own passions. I began to work at his clothes to get them off. I was curious about his impotency. I had an intense desire to see him naked, although I knew he was fat and certainly not ideally attractive.
Charley had a big belly and his flesh was slick and flabby. But I enjoyed feeling it. I lay back on the floor and let him kiss my body all over. He licked my legs and belly, and his mouth closed over my nipples and sucked so hard it was almost too much to bear. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure.
It got better and better for me, yet I wanted more of a direct contact with my clitoris. He was too sloppy and awkward to bring me the climaxes I wanted. But that should be the least of my worries, I realized. The important thing was to please him and let him have access to me in whatever way he wished.
I saw his penis for the first time when he turned me back over and began to go down on me again. He was completely impotent. I managed to get it in my mouth and went to work, sucking it hard until I could feel its length stretch in my mouth. I threw my arm around his buttocks to steady him, and I began to suck harder.
Suddenly, I became aware that I was on the verge of orgasm. He had hit the right spot, and I paused in my own manipulations long enough to tell him to keep doing it right there. At almost the same time, as it became obvious to him that I was having orgasms, his penis began to swell.
I continued to work on him, hoping to bring it up to full erection, but he started to come before either of us were ready. I took it all from him before he rolled off of me and came up to hold me in his arms. He was out of breath, but he had to talk to me.
“Denise… oh, damn, Denise! I… I knew I couldn't do it. I wanted to do it right so very much. I wanted to have a great big hard on and give it to you like a young man… but… I'm not a young man… any more…”
“It's been a long time, Charley… a long time,” I told him, patting his head and shoulders, “You'll do better. I'll make you do better. We have a long time to practice. How often can you see me, Charlie? I need a lot of loving…!”
“My… kind of loving?”
“Yes, Charley,” I whispered in his ear, pressing my breasts into him, “I like it when you suck me… you satisfy me completely…”
Charley became a real problem after that. Within two months, his lovemaking had returned to normal and he was as active as a man 20 years younger, at least. But he was possessive, and he was madly in love with me, insanely jealous. Charley bought me hundreds of dollars worth of clothes and jewelry. At the beginning of summer, he bought me a brand new convertible and said that he wanted Kathy and me to really enjoy it when she came for her visit.
The real crisis arrived when he told me one night that he had asked his wife for a divorce so he could marry me. I almost panicked. Charley was certainly not the kind of man I would ever want to be married to. He was capable of satisfying me, but no one man could ever keep me satisfied for long. The very idea of it was ridiculous. I had only been seeing him once every week or two, and the reason for that was obvious — so I could keep my job. No job, however, would have been worth a marriage to Charley Riggs.
I really felt sorry for the man. He was such a pitiful sight as his big fat body lay naked in the bed next to mine, and he talked so happily and animatedly about his plans, and how he had broken it to his wife:
“She took it pretty hard, naturally. The unity of the family means so very much to her. It means a lot to me too… but the children are old enough to understand now. Lucille will leave for Florida next week and we can be married by the end of the summer. I'm leaving her the cars, the house, the beach house, one third of the stock in my grain business, and all of the insurance agency. That's the price I had to pay.
“I thought… well, it will cause quite a scandal our getting married right after the divorce… so I thought you and I could settle up at the lake cottage. That's close to my canning company, and I could drop into the office there once or twice a week.
“Just think, Denise… you'll be a free woman. No work, no worries, just you and I at the cottage with nothing to do but live and love. Denise, I'm a young man again with so very much to live for. You have no idea what you've done for me…”
The shock of this turn of events was almost paralyzing. I could not think what I would do. The idea of living in a lake cottage with Charley Riggs was about the most awful future I could think of. Although I had kept it quite secret from Charley, and made him believe he was the only man in my life, I had been sneaking out to parties and seeing Cindy as well as some of my other lovers the whole time he had been going with me. This was the life I loved, and I was determined not to let it go.