Barry completed his novel less than three months after that night, and it was accepted by his publisher with enthusiasm and praise and a promise of an unlimited promotion campaign to put it on the best-seller list. The publisher also requested a sequel to the novel, assuring Barry of a handsome five thousand dollar advance against nothing more than an approved outline.
Once the news of his success leaked out to Barry’s former co-workers on the Sentinel, and to those San Franciscans who gave parties in honor of literary figures, Barry and Kim were inundated with invitations to get-togethers. They turned down most, but were forced by social necessity to accept one or two here and there. As Barry put it, “Going to one of these things once in awhile is a necessary evil. But I’d much rather move within our own circle of close friends.”
“Like the Gorens?” Kim had asked teasingly.
“Like the Gorens,” Barry bad agreed, winking. “And like Caesar, too.”
At one of the parties, given by another former fellow Sentinel reporter named Phillips, Kim and Barry were standing on the patio, presenting to enjoy themselves and wishing enough time would elapse so they could make a graceful exit. Kim was restless, and kept moistening her lips with the tip of her pink tongue. Barry knew that she was becoming progressively hornier, for Kim’s sexual appetite had heightened unbelievably since that orgiastic night at the Gorena’ Sea Cliff mansion. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, his cock, his mouth, his tongue, every inch of his body. She was a new woman, all right, Barry thought; a new, exotic, alluring woman that he had never dreamed of possessing. It was like a miracle; he had never been happier, more contented, and his completion of the novel, the full and total satisfaction from the knowledge that it was good, very good, was directly descendent from Kim’s physical awakening. And, for that matter, his own. A fulfilled man sexually was a fulfilled man creatively, he now firmly believed that.
They were still seeing the Gorens, of course. Usually about once a week. On some of those occasions it was just Lynn and Jack, but on others there was Lorene and Doris and Harry-and Caesar-plus a progression of others. Strangely enough, it was those nights that both he and Kim seemed to look forward to with the most relish; for weeks after one of those sessions, fucking Kim was like fucking a crazed, predatory panther.
He wouldn’t have had it any ether way, since those were the weeks when his writing peaked to perfection.
As he stood now on the Phillips’ patio, Kim tugged at his arm and whispered, “Do you see that couple standing alone over by the pool? The tall, red-haired girl and the handsome man in the herringbone suit?”
“Yes,” Barry replied. “I see them, baby." “They look as if they’re as bored as we are.”
“They do, don’t they?”
Kim tapped one long fingernail against her gleaming white teeth thoughtfully.
“You know,” she said length, “that man looks extremely interesting, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, indeed,” Barry grinned. “And so does his wife.”
“I wonder,” Kim whispered, “if he’s hung as well as you, darling. I’ll bet he is, almost. I’ll bet he has a lovely long, hard cock.”
Barry grinned again. She was really working herself up, all right; she was going to throw him one hell of a fuck when they got home tonight. He said, “Why don’t we go over there and introduce ourselves?”
“That’s a fine idea, darling.”
Barry’s eyes slowly, languorously, began to undress the red-haired woman as he and Kim started across the patio. Maybe, he reflected, we’ll have something in common, a starting point. And then, later, when we’ve gotten to know them… well, we’ll see about that. Damn, but that red-head is nice! If, as Kim had projected, the tall man possessed a large cock, then it was a certainty the red-head had one hell of a tight, sweet pussy to accommodate it.
As it eventually turned out, Kim was right… and so was he…