Brad Grogan was pissed off. After the quarrel he'd had with David at lunch that day he remained in a bitter, sulking fury. That damned pampered mama's-boy had broken every unwritten law in the book by trying to involve Joyce in a lurid scandal right in the heart of Hillsborough. But hell, that's what he got for confiding in the boy, telling him all those hot details concerning his ex-wife's flagrant promiscuity. After that, one minute alone with Joyce and nothing was sacred to David. When a guy's thinking through his nuts, loyalty goes right out the window, and all David wanted was to get on everything he'd heard about. Wanted to conform and squirt a little Joyce in his juice, just like all those other sex-freaks he played golf with every weekend. Oh that bastard! He'd even had the gall to brag about this cheap conquest, taking it for granted he'd never in the world know which "pushover" he was raving about. Well, thank God Joyce had chosen to be loyal in this one instance and had shown the tasteful good sense to give him the facts. After all, his ex-wife was living proof that whores made good mothers, so imagine the nerve of David, molesting her right in her own backyard, when he knew how important it was to Brad to preserve the sanctity of his broken home.
Now Brad was convinced that David was just like the rest of those sonsabitches up there on the Peninsula, all of whom had been putting him down and writing him off for more than a year. He was a South-of-Market city-boy from way back, and if it hadn't been for a football scholarship, he'd never have seen the inside of Stanford University, let alone get the chance to court the radiant Joyce Barkley. But shit, he'd never really belonged in her world, not for a minute. And man, how quick she and her friends were to let him know it, once the news of their divorce leaked out. They'd dumped him like a load of garbage, because he'd never fit in the way Joyce did. Yeah… she sure fit in! Right between their ivy-league balls. But when she was up and dressed and in her own backyard, she was still more socially acceptable to them than he could ever be, even though "vulgar uncouth Brad" had never so much as touched one of their wives.
For months Brad had been wondering how he could get back at them, all those diamond-plated hypocrites. In his brooding fancies he had dreamed up various schemes of retaliation, all of which were pretty gruesome. But now that David had become the slimiest Judas of them all, Brad felt that at last he had the key to his retribution-
Lovely Linda Fortune, the crown-princess herself!
All those pure-assed junior-executives had been bangin' Joyce since the Year One, so now the time had come for him to take one of their prizes, and really show them how a big crude stud-slob behaved when he was at home. Man they'd given him the name… so let 'em sit back and watch how he played the game. David's exquisite wife had always been an aggravating temptation for Brad. Oh, he'd been a good friend to David and had never made a pass or anything, but Christ, he'd been sizing that woman up for years, wondering how it would feel to slide his hand up those creamy-white thighs of hers, just once. Yet, it wasn't merely the feel of her that he wanted; he'd had the most driving curiosity to see that girl's snatch… just to be able to walk up to her some day, lift her skirt, pull down her panties and simply stare there for an undisturbed moment or two. Aw man, he was almost positive that her cunt would look different from other women's. Like, oh hell, maybe there'd even be Stardust down there… or tinsel. And all during their years of friendly picnics and parties, he'd wanted to reach out and grab a horny handful of those fat baby-lickin' melons that always looked as if they were about to fall out of those jazzy two-piece swim-suits she wore around the pool.
Brad knew more about women than most guys his age, so he sensed that any girl with a face and body like Linda's had to be a dynamo in bed. And even though his own wife hadn't exactly been a novice in the nooky-department, Brad had, nevertheless, been intensely jealous of David's endless nights in bed with Linda Fortune. And if David was now so hot and eager to play the field, it meant that Linda had grown tired of him in bed and desperately needed the kind of stimulation which he, Brad, was so willing to supply her.
… JesusGod, I'm gonna rape my best friend's wife…!
No, I take that back-ex best friend. That two-faced sonofabitch, if only he could watch me give it to her. Sure, maybe he'd learn something… maybe he'd never want to stray again, once I showed him where and how to shove it!