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era of rapid change during which knowledge and technology increases
in staggering proportions, we know more about travel to the moon, the
possibilities for stored memory in amino acids or of ecology than
about human relationships; especially, marital relationships and the
function of sexuality in and out of marriage are just now coming in
for their share of scientific research.
psychologists and psychiatrists are becoming aware that marriage is
also in a state of change. Profound changes in marriage also means
change in the American family. The family, as it was known,
traditionally, had roots in the soil, the small town or village, and
was an extended family, consisting of grandparents, aunts, uncles and
the proverbial cousins by the dozens, but American mobility has
changed all of that. Family units more often, now, consist of a man
and a woman and their children, if there are children. It is
interesting to note, that in spite of what is considered a population
explosion the birth rate has declined, in the United States from 30.1
births per thousand in 1910 to 17.7 births per thousand in 1969.
accident had happened in a crazy way. Maybe, all accidents happen
that way. They don't need to happen; it just seems like everything is
there, then somebody does something stupid. All the parts fall into
place. The accident occurs, and the unfortunate, stupid bastard ends
up in the hospital.
Wright lay in the hospital bed, a body cast constricting his torso
from hips to chest, and tried to fit all the parts together leading
up to his accident. He was not quite sure how it all had happened.
position as Assistant Production Manager, he had given the order to
pull that malfunctioning high-speed router off the line, to be
replaced by a newer model slated to arrive the following morning. He
hadn't needed to be down there on the floor just then, but he wanted
to see the job done properly. He knew the section foreman, Steve
Matulich, could handle the job . . . so why in hell was he there?
Management personnel weren't supposed to be involved in such
activities, but the last time something had gone wrong, Royce had
practically held him personally responsible. He told himself it was
because he had wanted to do a good job; however, that gnawing fear of
being called into Royce's office, the little man sitting there,
behind his oversized desk, a picture of glacial ice, coolly
enumerating production-loss figures and assessing the reason for
them; all of which seemed to indicate some non-performance
John's part, had drawn him like a magnet to the vast production floor
to oversee, personally, the removal of the machine. It was stupid!
himself, now, for the damned fool he was, but it was too late. It was
part of Royce's game, one in which the Production Manager held up
numbered hoops for his assistants to jump through, pushing them to
the ultimate to find out the limits of their humiliation. Perhaps, he
reflected, it was to find out whether they wanted to become a part of
his trained seal act, or resign and move on to another plant. He had
been determined that Royce would not force his resignation; neither
had he wanted to blow horns, by the numbers, while responding to the
little man's cues. The upshot was he had ended up down there on the
production floor, jumping through Royce's unseen, but very real,
psychological hoops. Matulich had been disturbed when John had shown
up, but he had tried to hide it. In his mind, people with white
collars had no damned business messing around, sticking their noses
into his job . . . and he was right.
mobile crane had backed in and was lifting the router off its
foundations; as the crane operator swung the heavy machine around,
John saw it would go too far. It was going to arc in toward the
turret lathe across the aisle. He envisioned it crashing into that
machine, shutting it down for two or three days, and he could already
hear Royce ticking off the damages, the production-loss figures and a
request for his resignation, all in the same breath and tone of
voice. Sometimes, John thought the man was less than human . . . a
computerized robot that spouted figures.
the damn thing, Steve!" he yelled, grabbing at a projecting part
of the router.
lathe . . ."
the hell . . . !" Steve's concentration was broken from giving
the crane operator hand-signalled instructions.
hapless crane man heard John's shout, but couldn't see him. Steve's
sudden stricken glance at John, as he saw the Assistant Production
Manager grab hold of the machine, spelled danger to the operator. He
reacted. The crane was stopped dead, but the twisting arc of the huge
router, dangling from the cable, could not be stopped. As it turned,
John was thrown off balance, backward, against the half-raised
elevator of a parked fork-lift.
was the stupid part, his grabbing hold of the machine. He had seen
potential damage arising where none existed because of being overly
cautious, an attitude he would not have had but for Royce.
hard-muscled body, still in good physical condition, smashed into the
knew, in the instant he hit it, that his back was injured. The
pain put him down for the count, and he was only dimly aware of
Steve's concerned face bending over him; then he was in the hospital.
Royce had come to see him. It was business-as-usual. All he wanted
was a report from John on how the accident had happened. He had to
make out the
and compensation forms. It hadn't taken long. Royce was gone within
fifteen minutes, and John had cursed him, roundly, when he realized
the man had not inquired how he felt; neither had he expressed any
. . . he was here . . ." John answered, when Faye asked him
bastard was here less than fifteen minutes . . . and didn't even ask
how I was getting along!"
deep blue eyes showed her concern for her husband, but she was
puzzled at the deep funk into which he had fallen. He was so full of
complaints about Royce, the hospital, his doctor and the discomfort
he experienced from the cast, not to mention his grousing about the
pains in his back and legs.
didn't really know how to answer him. "Well. . . that's just the
way Mr. Royce is John. You'll just have to take him the way he is."
don't want any more of him!" he said vehemently. "Who needs
an iceberg? I'm through! Soon as I'm up and around . . . I'm looking
for another job!"
this was only a part of his presently foul attitude, she tried to
placate him. He had a good job. There was financial security in it,
and she knew his ability and training could carry him far. "Mr.
Royce will be retiring . . . and there's the possibility you wouldn't
have to work for him very long . . ." she suggested.
. . . retire?" he derided. "He's bolted down to the floor .
. . like one of the
He comes with the place!"
she tried to change the subject, telling him about happenings in
She had been trying, desperately, ever since he had been in the
hospital, to present herself to him with a happy face, bringing him
cheery cards, bouquets of flowers and messages of sympathy from
friends and neighbors. She even contrived to smuggle into the
hospital, in a soft drink bottle, some Scotch highballs, in the hope
that the alcoholic lift in them would snap him out of his doldrums.
Moving her chair in close to his hospital bed, she glanced up to make
sure the curtain was drawn separating them from the other person in
the two-bed ward, and said, "I love you . . . John.."
mouth sought his, giving him her soft lips to kiss, then her tongue
probed deep into his mouth, guessingly, for him to nibble and suck.
Feeling risqué and naughty, her hand crept under the sheets to lift
his hospital gown and find the softly reclining length of his cock.
She fondled it, lovingly, in an attempt to taunt it into turgid,
alert erectness, but it lay limp, almost lifeless, in her teasing
hand. She didn't know what made her do it. John had been injured
almost ten days before . . . and she hadn't realized how much she
missed their sex-play. How much more he must miss it! This had been
her thought: She would use her hand to give him some sexual
satisfaction, a release of tension. Perhaps, that's what he needed to
bring him back to his old self. It was the least she could do for
twisted his head away, after a few moments. "I love you . . too,
Honey. . . but you might as well stop trying to get me hard! I just
can't seem to raise it . . . any more! I haven't had a hard-on since
I've been in this damned hospital!"
disappointedly, she released his unresponding penis and whispered, "I
... just thought . . . maybe I could do something for you . . ."
. . . I understand, and I appreciate your thinking about it," he
said, huskily. "But. . . it's no use! I think the injury to my
back must've done something else to me, too!
nerve injury, maybe . . . that controls erections . . ." He
turned his head away from her, unable to continue.
was overwhelmed with tender feelings of love and concern; she put her
arms around him, as best she could, because of the bulky body cast,
and kissed him on the cheek. Tears glistened in her eyes, as she
said, fervently, "It'll be . . . all right, John . . . just as
soon as you can be home with me! You just wait and see . . . you'll
be scaring me half to death with it . . . chasing me all over the
place . . . to make love to me!"
. . ." he said, mournfully, "we'll just have to wait and
see . . ."
just temporary! Your body's using all its energy to heal you up . . .
and I don't think you need to . . . to worry about it! Anyway . . .
you haven't talked to the doctor about it, yet . . . have you?"
. . . Why should I? He's treating me for my injured back . . . not
for a limp prick!" he growled. "Well . . . you should say
something to him about it . . . because if you don't I will!"
She was determined.
you don't!" he exploded. "I'll tell him when it's time to
tell him! How would it look for my wife to be saying, 'Doc . . . my
husband can't get a hard-on . . . can you do something about it?'"
right . . . I won't say anything, but I want you to promise me you'll
do it!" she nagged. Faye had left the hospital, at the end of
the visiting period, with a sense of depression she couldn't shake
off. She knew it was because John felt so intensely about his
temporary impotence; his foreboding attitude toward it had infected
her, and she was, by nature, usually optimistic, always looking on
the sunny side of things. She didn't know how she could help him,
now; she had agreed not to say anything to Doctor Bender in John's
behalf. His vehement outburst when she had said she would speak to
the Doctor, if John didn't, made her think her husband had already
built up a great deal of tension in himself because of it. He felt
threatened . . . touchy.
could understand that, she thought; after all, his very manhood was
involved. A man's ability to raise an erect penis had to be present .
. . or there was no penetration. There was nothing! How tragic that
would be for a virile man . . . a man like John . . . to be stricken
with impotency. . . permanently!
refused to believe it could possibly be permanent . . . with John. He
had been a virile man . . . almost too much so! He had been almost
too much for her . . . at first!
into John's car, she drove along the streets, until she gained the
freeway, her memories of the three short years of their married life
flooding back to her, as she headed toward home, a home without John
. . . and she felt the acute loneliness of it.
and back, in memory, her mind burrowed, until she was remembering how
it had been with them, at first, when they were newlywed. It had been
a time of joy . . . and pain.
three days after their marriage. They had eloped to Las Vegas. Now,
they were headed back to Los Angeles. John had driven the last fifty
miles in almost total silence, punishing the Porsche, without mercy,
as he blazed down the freeway. His face was set in an unsmiling mask,
his jaw jutting out, defiantly, his keen eyes raking the multi-laned
highway, judging distances and speeds with practiced and aggressive
the recesses of his mind, he knew that everything would be all right,
but at the thinking, conscious level, his brain whirled, constructing
defensive arguments; rebuttals designed to convince his uncle that he
was, indeed, capable of making some decisions for himself, especially
in making the selection of his own wife. The old bastard couldn't run
his life, forever!
young engineer looked over at her. She sat, calmly, watching the
traffic as he drove, her deep blue eyes cool, complacent and
unafraid, the speed, somehow almost hypnotic but at the same time,
exhilarating. Faye caught his sidelong glance and turned to look at
him. He had turned his head, again, however, and was looking ahead
through the windshield. Her eyes drifted over the handsome profile of
his face, seeing the strong chin, long, straight nose, broad forehead
and the slightly pouting lips that gave him that certain, appealing,
little-boy look, especially when a lock of his unruly, curly black
hair fell down over one eye. She smiled, now, as she saw him toss his
head and, impatiently, brush his hand across his forehead in a futile
attempt to control the recalcitrant curl. Her tinkling laugh caused
him to turn, questioningly, toward her, again. "Something strike
you funny?" he asked.
. . . the way you've been fighting that lock of hair all day . . .
We'll have to get you to a barber."
crinkled his face. "So! You're trying to change me, already . .
. and we've only been married three days!"
her brow, she calculated, rapidly, after consulting her watch. "For
Mr. Wright . . . we've been married exactly sixty-eight hours and
twenty three minutes!" she laughed. "It's not quite three
days, yet." Then, seriously,". . . And, you haven't said
one word to me for the last hour! I'm beginning to feel neglected!"
just been thinking is all . . ."
mean . . . about what to say . . . how to . . . tell them . . .?"
. . . and I still don't know what I'm going to say. It'll be
touch-and-go . . .
with Uncle Morris," he said.
he really . . . that hard to get along with?" Faye queried,
remembering that all she knew about the man was what John had told
let's say that he can be pretty ornery and when he's really angry,
he's a fire-breathing dragon!"
you think he'll be angry . . . about us, John?" she asked. Her
voice trembled, tension beginning to build in her. John's answer was
candid. "Hell be mad as hell!" The freeway traffic, again,
absorbed his interest. He turned away from her, his jaw set, rigidly,
worriedly. Faye watched as he expertly passed a fast,
high-performance sports car, the driver of which had churned up
beside them, challengingly, the spitting roar of the car's engine
loud in their ears, as John tromped hard on the accelerator and
showed the Porsche's tail to the couple in the other car. His quick
grin, as he picked them up in the rear-view mirror, was a boyish
exultation of self in an easy victory. "That'll show them
She thought about it. John's always showing somebody something! She
asked herself what it proved for him. It was like the show-off stunts
of a little boy . . . only John was a grown man, still feeling the
need to show-off. Was their elopement to Las Vegas just another of
the same sort of thing? She wondered, seriously, about it; running
away to get married, against his mother's and his uncle's wishes,
could be an act of defiance . . . a show-off stunt.
would have been willing to wait to have a regular wedding in a church
. . . begin their married life in a conventional manner, but now, she
knew, they would be walking into a row with them, the first thing . .
. only three days after their hasty marriage. With unusual fervor,
she hoped she would be able to say the right words to John's uncle.
John portrayed him as a testy, difficult man, yet he had raised John,
paid for his engineering education, at a good school, had done
everything possible to help him; she just couldn't believe that sort
of man could be the ogre her husband painted him. Certainly, John
knew, when he urged her to elope with him, that the old man would be
had he insisted on their running off? Why? She didn't know the answer
. . . yet; of course, she had wanted marriage; to her, marriage was,
somehow, the answer to many things, and when she had met John Wright,
consented to date him, she had known that when he asked her, her
answer would be a positive yes.
not expected him to ask her so soon, and the unexpected manner of his
asking had been a great surprise for her, which had come only two
weeks after their first date. It had been two weeks of fun, activity
and surprising turns of event, capped by their going to Las Vegas,
where they were married in one of the numerous, commercial wedding
No . .
. Faye hadn't wanted it that way, at all, but she knew,
instinctively, that if she had insisted upon the proper procedure:
Announcement of engagement, preparation of invitations, arrangement
for church wedding, wedding gown; veil, flowers and a reception
followed by a honeymoon, her marriage to John would never have taken
might say it was womanly intuition guiding her, but Faye, sometimes
her years, saw in the boy-man the impulsiveness, the wildness of
rebellion against his uncle . . . a rebellion that, perhaps, he
didn't even recognize in himself ... and his need for stability.
was almost twenty-eight years old. He had lived almost his entire
life under the direction of his Uncle Morris, and Faye recognized the
unnatural aspects of that kind of life. He should have been on his
own, for several years, already. It was her hope, that in their
marriage she would be able to provide John with the stability he
needed, a stability in which he would be able to find himself . . .
his true self. It was the stuff of which romantic dreams are made and
dreamed by young brides. Faye was no exception; she knew she could do
it, if only her husband were no longer under the direct influence of
his uncle. To this end, she wanted them to establish their new home
elsewhere than Santa Monica, the city in which he had been born and
would insist they live out in one of the more pleasant suburbs;
commuting on the freeways wasn't all that difficult. Thousands of
people did it every day.
loved John. With her whole heart and soul, she loved him; she had
known it from the first date she had had with him. Her recognition of
it had been a revelation. Faye had been too sure that no man would
ever capture her heart. The deep bitterness in her had been almost
buried, in the deep recesses of her mind, and the man beside her, now
her husband of three days, had penetrated the weakened defenses, made
her come alive, again . . . something she had thought sure would
psychic scars on her mind, the slowly healing lacerations of her soul
and the deep, empty void in her heart had, somehow, been pushed
aside, allowing her to hope, to live, again . . . and to love . . .
replacing hate. Hate, she found, can only be destructive; love is
generative. It was ever so!
one of the minor miracles of youth that tragedies are overcome with a
tough resilience, a certain moral fiber and strength of character
that one never knew existed in them.
was young. She was just twenty years of age, having passed the
all-important milestone from tender 'teens into the magic of the
sophisticated twenties and approaching majority.
downtown Burbank, that day, two months ago, when she had descended
from the Greyhound bus, had been sunny and warm. She had looked out
upon its streets, finding them new, yet there was a hint in them of
the old life, something that reminded her of her own home town.
Whether it was homesickness or nostalgia, an unspoken wish not to
sever herself, completely, from something she had known, she didn't
really know, but she walked out of the bus depot into the street,
finding herself at home, immediately.
almost chosen Burbank, blindly, when she had bought her ticket.
Originally, she had wanted to go to Los Angeles, a place where she
was sure she could lose herself. The sprawling city, its mass of
humanity and its myriad activities offered her the anonymity she
sought. It was, in her mind, the perfect place to hide, but on the
spur of the moment, she had chosen Burbank. It was smaller, yet near
Los Angeles; the deciding factor had been the knowledge that the NBC
studios were located there.
out onto the street, she was glad of her wacky decision. She knew
that this city, a continent away, offered her, at once, a part of
both the old life and the new one she must build for herself.
Happily, she rushed back into the bus depot and claimed her three
pieces of luggage. She became, on the instant, a citizen of the town
named for the plant wizard. She was six weeks past her twentieth
birthday, a stranger in a strange town . . . and alone.
she was a stranger, albeit a beautiful, young and vivacious woman . .
. stranger; she didn't stay a stranger for long. She moved fast.
she selected a clean and modest room, in a rooming house within
walking distance of the downtown district. Secondly, the following
day, she groomed herself, donning a demurely conservative suit and
putting on her best smile, to apply for work. She returned to her
room, in the late afternoon, happy and exhilarated with the prospect
of starting work, as a clerk, the following day, in a combination
book store and stationers.
that same afternoon, she had opened a bank account, depositing what
was left of the six hundred and thirty three dollars she had
withdrawn from the savings account her older brother, Robert, had
opened for her. She remembered how painful it had been to make the
been mostly her money. She had made deposits in the account,
regularly, but she hadn't wanted to take anything that wasn't legally
she had resolved the problem in her own mind by withdrawing all but
the fifty dollars Robert had first deposited. Now, she had her own
checking account, for the first time; the figures in her bank book
assured her the four hundred and seventy-four dollars were hers to do
with as she chose.
place to live, a job, starting tomorrow, and money in the bank gave
her a comfortable feeling of independence and self-sufficiency, the
very things that Robert had told her, over and over, again, she would
never have, as he kept her dependent upon him. The tragedy, she
realized, now, was that for too long she had believed him, clinging
to him, after they were orphaned. It was a sick situation!
into her final act of defiance and self-preservation had proved the
lie. She had done exactly what he said she would never do; she had
left him . . . packed her bags, withdrew the money, bought a bus
ticket and left him.
should have done it sooner. Robert would never be able to find her,
and that was the way she wanted it . . . especially after that
horrible night, before she left.
Never would she return to that town or that house! She had been sure
of that . . . after Robert, her own brother, had tried to make love
to her. He had stripped her clothes from her . . . the memory of his
actions, the mad light in his eyes . . . and the hugeness of his
fully erect penis that he had tried to shove into her, as she
struggled and squealed beneath him, was almost too painful to bear.
Finally, she had escaped him, but she would never understand why he
tried to do it to her. Of one thing she had been sure: She would
never marry! Men! Men were beasts, and she hated them!
hated them all!
she had met John Wright. She bad been living in Burbank for six
weeks. To her, it seemed, already, that she must have lived in the
city all her life. She seemed to belong there. That's why she was
shocked. John had called her a stranger. She was sure she knew almost
everyone who came to the downtown area. It had been during the slack
time, in mid-afternoon, that Faye, following her employer's
directions, was restocking one of the higher shelves, behind the long
counter. She was standing on a ladder reaching high up, her hands
full of ledgers she had just price-marked when his voice startled
not been conscious of his entry.
does the special sale start?" he asked, looking up to enjoy the
looked back and down at him. She started and lost her balance,
momentarily; grasping at the ladder, she dropped the pile of
black-bound books, emitting a little cry as they crashed to the
floor. "Oh! Darn it!"
amused eyes continued to look up at her, and she realized, suddenly,
that her position on the ladder afforded him an unobstructed view of
her legs and thighs . . . probably all the way up to her panties. She
gasped and scrambled down from the ladder. He came around the
counter, murmuring an apology, and scooped up the fallen account
books, smiling down into her eyes as he handed them to her.
take a dozen!" he said.
dozen . . . ledgers . . .?"
. . a dozen just like you!"
face reddened, prettily. "Well! . . . Really . . . I'm . . ."
new . . . a stranger to Beautiful Downtown Burbank, aren't you? I've
worked around here for two or three years . . . thought I knew most
everybody . . ."
only been here a few weeks," she confessed.
thought so . . ." he smiled.
she added, "But I don't feel like a stranger, here . . . just
sort of transplanted."
I'm transplanted here only for work," he grinned. "I live
in Santa Monica."
an afterthought, "You live with your folks, here . . . ?"
alone, now! His understanding was quick. "I'm sorry . . ."
he said, "I didn't mean to pry . . . By the way, I'm John Wright
. . . and . . .?"
. . . Faye Andrews," she supplied.
he had made his purchase, a package of carbon paper. As he turned to
leave, he said, almost offhandedly, "You'll have dinner with me,
tonight? I know a nice place out on Foothill . . . not too far . . .
love to!" She said it without thinking. Afterward, on
reflection, she thought she had accepted too quickly, too eagerly,
perhaps. It was the last thing she wanted: To be thought too eager .
. . and she, certainly, didn't want involvement, at least not yet,
for a while.
picked her up, promptly, at seven o'clock that evening. The
atmosphere and decor of the restaurant was excellent, the food and
wines outstanding. John acted the perfect gentleman; she the perfect
lady. Her side of the conversation, when it drifted to her, was
evasive, enigmatic, as she told him as little about herself, as
door, he tried to take her into his arms to kiss her. She pushed him
gently away, turning to open the front door. "It was a lovely
dinner, John . . . but please . . . don't hurry me!" she
frown was momentary; he regained his composure, quickly, in the face
of her rebuff. "Lunch tomorrow?" he asked.
thank you . . . I have only a half-hour for lunch . . ."
. . . tomorrow evening?" He was persistent.
. . . Ill be doing my hair!"
call you, then . . . ?" he asked, refusing to be put off,
. . . Good night, John . . . It was a lovely evening," she said,
closing the door in his face.
stared at the closed door for a moment. Damn! What a cool brush-off!
. . . Or, is it a come-on . . . playing hard to get?
kept calling her, until she accepted a dinner-date with him three
small, intimate place in Pasadena, they had an excellent meal, and
John had drunk four or five martinis, she limiting herself to two. As
they drove homeward, he turned off onto a darkened road, pulling the
Porsche into a secluded turnout, under a spreading oak tree. Stopping
the car and turning out the lights, he reached for her. Faye tried to
avoid his avid kiss, but his lips captured hers, holding her tight to
him, his tongue searching, trying to penetrate the barrier of her
lips and teeth; finally, she struggled free of his embrace.
. . . please . . . !" she breathed. "I don't want any . . .
involvement . . . like this!"
it, Faye! You're so desirable . . . I-I want you! I can't keep my
hands off of you . . . any longer!" he groaned.
hand groped and found a luscious, firm breast through her clothing,
grasping and clawing, painfully, into the soft, mounding flesh. Both
her hands darted to her bosom, trying to protect herself, wincing
from the pain. Prying at his stronger hand, she grunted with the
effort, terror striking at her as the memory of Robert's attempted
rape of her went whirling through her mind. She grasped at words and
phrases to say; she even toyed with the idea of jumping from the car
and running from him . . . anything to deflect him from his goal. His
mouth, once again, captured her full, red lips.
she relaxed, dropped her hands to her lap and twisted her mouth
aside. A peal of almost hysterical laughter exploded from her lips,
grating into his ear. He drew back in surprise.
so funny . . . all of a sudden?" he queried, puzzled.
. . . Me . . . Us!" she gasped, giggling now. "I was just
thinking . . . maybe I should be playing it for comedy . . . act the
maiden in distress . . . who's about to lose her virginity . . . jump
out of the car . . . and walk home . . . or demand honourable
intentions from you . . . both of which would be foolish . . . and
would mean nothing to you . . . isn't that right?" she gasped
out, running her sentences together in a rush of words.
the hell . . . ? Talk sense . . . will you?" John growled with
am talking straight, John! Listen to me!" she chided.
I'm listening . . . !"
. . Or, I could let you have your way . . . with me . . . once! . . .
And that would be that! I'd never let you have me . . . a second
time!" She was deadly serious.
. . But, I-I love you . . . ! I want you . . . !" he mumbled,
not really meaning it. It was part of his practiced line.
you confusing love with sex?! They're not the same, you know!"
was thoughtful, for a moment, some reasoning returning to him,
belatedly, his passion curbed, momentarily, now.
. . . you wouldn't . . . ?" he began. "No!" she cut
in, "To me . . . sex without love would be out of the question!
Can you understand that . . .
exactly . . . but I'll try . . ." He hesitated, before going on,
". . . And, I do want to see more of you . . . I couldn't give
you up, just like that!" He snapped his fingers.
take me home . . . now! Please?" Reaching for the ignition key,
he started the engine, rammed the transmission into reverse gear and
backed around in the small turnout. He regained the road, the little
car jumping forward, screamingly, toward the main road, under his
torturingly heavy foot on the accelerator. He ground out at her,
between clenched teeth, "All right . . . this's your round!"
touched his arm. "John . . . why don't you give me a chance . .
. to learn to love you? I could . . . you know . . . i-if you gave me
. . ? How much time . . . and why?" be grunted.
months . . . a year, maybe . . . I've so much . . . t-to get
straightened out . . . with myself . . . Things I can't tell you
about . . . yet . . . she said, guardedly.
want to be sure . . . sure of myself . . . Sure of you . . ."
you talking about . . . rn-marriage . . . !"
said, quite simply, "Yes . . . John!"
had never known a woman quite like Faye. Too many of those he had
known in the past had been pushovers; his name, his uncle's
moderately large wealth, not to mention his smooth line . . . which,
if failing, he would replace with roughness and force . . . had
dropped many a pair of panties for him, their lovely, feminine owners
spreading their thighs, readily, for his rampaging sexual assaults.
Then, if he couldn't get so-called, nice girls into bed, there was
always the possibility of buying sexual favors; as a matter-of-fact,
he was a well-known customer, at a certain motel down on Highway 101,
near the beach. There his uncle's money had bought him some of the
wildest sex that could be experienced.
coolness with which Faye had turned him off . . . actually, thwarted
his attempt to seduce her, carried out so reasonably, sweetly, yet
firmly, had been a new experience for him. Damn! He had wanted to
fuck her so badly! His cock had been at full-mast erection . . .
ready for business, as usual! . . . Yet, somehow, he recognized that
certain something in her, a certain resolve, he knew he would not be
able to overcome . . . easily; of course, he could have forced her,
as he had forced other women to his will, using his superior
strength, his knowledgeable sex techniques to bring her to heel.
Yes . .
. he could have done that, but to say he was baffled by her would be
an extreme understatement, indeed!
had gunned the little Porsche back onto the Boulevard, his mind
churned; his mangled emotions, his jangled, frustration beset nerves
and the throbbing ache in his balls combined to put him in a mean,
vindictive mood, the picture of a little, spoiled boy, masquerading
in the guise of a grown, sophisticated man-of -the-world. He took it
out on his car.
Faye to her door, John had cooled down enough to dredge up some
residual good manners. He mumbled an apology, and asked whether or
not she would allow him to call her.
me in three or four days, John," she told him.
days . . . ? Not before?'
. . I-I need time . . . time for myself . . ."
right . . . if you say so, I guess I can wait . . ." he
be shouldn't try to kiss her. He didn't. Instead, he grunted out a
grudging but polite Good night. Turning, then, to leave, he walked
across the porch and stepped down to the top tread of the porch
steps. Her voice trailed, softly, after him. It was unexpected.
. . . ?"
stopped, turned to look back at her.
then, she came to him, lightly, and placed a cool, gentle kiss on his
the kiss of a little girl, without passion or a hint of sex . . .
like a tiny girl would kiss her father.
you . . . for a wonderful evening," she breathed; then, turning,
swiftly, she was gone, disappearing inside the front door of her
rooming house, leaving him standing there, even more confused and
non-plussed. He shook his head in disbelief.
innocence of that soft kiss, its undemanding, almost sterile
impression brought forth a memory, almost lost, of a forgotten moment
of his days in high school.
girl had kissed him, like that, breathed a quick I love you, John
into his ear, before running, lithely, up to her front door, to go
misunderstood. Instantly, his sex arose, his young, virile cock
pulsed and throbbed in his pants, and he had caught her, before she
had the door open, grabbed her, crushed her to him, kissing her
wildly, passionately, caressing her stimulatingly, forcing himself
upon her . . . until with a broken will, a heart beating like a
trip-hammer, a strange, ready moistness between her legs and a
thundering, slashing desire in her loins, she had taken him into the
black darkness of her backyard, where on a redwood garden lounge she
had given him her virginity and her undying love. It had been the
first time for both of them. It had not been the last, for she had
become pregnant. John's Uncle Morris had paid for the abortion.
Uncle Morris had called his teen-aged ward into his study. He had
been direct and blunt with the boy.
it, John . . . this is a messy business!"
Sir . . . I-I . . ." John had begun.
From now on, if you want a piece of ass . . . make God damned sure
there's no possibility of getting a kid . . . understand?"
Sir . . ."
know about using condoms . . . rubbers?
do, now . . . Uncle Morris . . ." he said, sheepishly.
. . . get yourself a supply of them and use them!"
will . . . It was a fervent promise.
yet . . ." the gray-haired, still virile man went on, "I've
got some connections There's a whore house I know about . . . where
you can go regularly . . . if you want to get your nuts off . . .
with no God damn worries! The women down there are clean . . . and
you'll learn some things about fucking these little pimply-faced,
scrawny kids'll never know anything about!"
was interested, immediately, but he held back his enthusiasm. "Yes,
Sir . . . that'd
great . . . but . . ."
what?" Uncle Morris grumbled.
those . . . those women . . . in the houses like, that . . . kind of
expensive . ..?"
no! Not as expensive as this abortion I just paid for!" the
uncle had said,
his words with a big fist pounded on his desk.
Sir . . . I think I understand . . . what you mean . . ."
damned right it is! . . . But, you don't worry about the money end of
it . . . I'll take care of it . . . see you've got money in your
pocket! Do you understand, boy?"
Sir . . . I-I understand . . ."
Uncle Morris snapped. "I'm going out there, myself . . .
tonight! You want to come along . . . start learning the ropes . .
looked at his uncle, startled, disbelieving what he had just heard.
"W-With you . . . Uncle Morris . . . ? You go to those places
. . And, why'n hell not? I've got to get a piece of ass pretty
regularly, myself! I'm still holding my own!"
from that moment that John had begun to see his Uncle Morris in a new
and different light, yet there were many things he did not know about
his uncle, such as his intricate business dealings or why he had
chosen to remain unmarried. Only rarely did the older man reveal
anything of himself to the boy or to his sister, John's mother. One
thing he did know, after that, was the frequency with which his uncle
visited the women, in that place, down on Highway 101.
as he had stood there, John watched Faye disappear inside the front
door of her rooming house. He had not moved to restrain her; the
memories of another time, that other girl, crowded into his brain and
held him rooted to the steps. "I'll be damned!" he said
aloud, reaching up to touch his lips in wonder.
things repeat themselves? He wondered about it . . . thinking: She
was just like Ginger . . . Virginia . . . yes, that was her name. . .
Virginia O'Malley! I think' I really loved her! She was the first
girl I had ever fucked . . . and I really wanted to marry her! I
would have, too . . . but Uncle Morris said getting rid of, the kid
was best . . . and 1 listened to him . . . damn it!
the young engineer turned, descended the steps, traversed the walk
and crossed the sidewalk to the curb where he got into his car,
started it and drove through quiet streets to the freeway on-ramp,
heading toward his home in Santa Monica, rather the home still
provided him by his Uncle Morris.
could have turned out different! Ginger wanted to keep the baby . . .
and she wanted to marry me . . . too! . . . But, Uncle Morris knew
better . . . damn him! Sure ... he's raised me . . . took care of me
. . . and all that . . . after my Dad died . . . and I should feel
grateful . . . I am, I guess . . . in a way. . . but Christ! It's
just like I belonged to him . . . always doing just what he wanted me
to do! The crazy part is ... I'm still doing it! Now, there's Faye, I
could really go for her! I want to fuck her so damned bad I can
almost taste it! 1 haven't thought about marrying any woman for years
. . . They're always thinking about it though . . . trying to trap
you into marrying them . . . one way or another! . . . But why should
I marry one when I've been able to get all the fucking I want . . .
whenever I want it? Yet . . . Faye just made it pretty damned clear
where she stands: No sex . . . without love . . . and love to her
means marriage! God! How I want her! My damned balls ache so much I
can hardly stand it!
one quick solution for that! Suddenly, he stomped the accelerator,
sending the little car screaming down the freeway, ducking off of it
onto the broad boulevard leading to the coast and arriving at his
destination, in a matter of a few minutes. John Wright' was always
looked back over her shoulder at him. "For God's sake, John . .
. take it easy on me! You'll split me wide open!"
with passion, grunting pantingly, John labored behind her, a smooth,
creamy-white buttock grasped in either hand, his big, throbbing cock
pounding in and out of her moistly lubricated cunt with reckless
still, damn it!" he growled at her. "I'm going to fuck you
in the ass, now!"
. . . not this time, John! Please? You know I don't like it that way
. . . like Ginny does . . . she whined. "Let me suck you off,
instead. O.K. ?"
was one of the regulars . . . and one of his favorites at the
Pacifica Royale Motel and Lodge. There were other, more beautiful
women who worked the Pacifica as prostitutes, but Kitty's experience,
her ability to please and satisfy him, always brought him back to
her. She, on her part, was always glad to have the young engineer
share a bed with her for a few hours. Then, too, he always paid her
. . . O.K." he agreed, pulling his hardened, aching cock from
her sheathing cunt and flopping back on the pillows, the shaft of his
massive prick standing up jackstaff straight above his hairy loins.
Kitty was over him, her agile tongue licking and caressing the length
of his throbbingly engorged cock, her mouth, finally, capturing the
smooth, shiny redness of the bulbous head.
smooth, warm mouth was like honey, her tongue wildly gyrating around
the sensitive corona, the tip of it dipping into the tiny slit,
occasionally; then, as her head began to bob, moving up and down the
shaft of his expanding cock, absorbing his length to the fullest into
her mouth and throat with ever-quickening pace, she brought him to a
spewing ejaculation, in a few minutes, and she swallowed his white,
hot semen, voraciously, licking and sucking to get all of it to the
very last drop.
That's good, Kitty!" he grunted.
you want to stay the rest of the night, John?" she asked,
knowing that if he did, he would pay her more than the going rate for
an all-night trick. It's a hell of a lot easier than eight or nine
right, Kitty . . . I might as well .
more, that night, he used her. Kitty was a good fuck. She always made
sure that he enjoyed her. Somehow, though, something was missing from
the easy sex she provided him. Her services were as easily obtainable
as a good meal. Maybe that was the trouble!
early, morning light of the following day, as he lay beside her, he
knew that Faye, on the other hand, was completely unattainable. There
was only one way he could ever have her: Marriage!
looked over at the still sleeping face beside him, then his eyes
ranged over the rest of her warm, naked body. Kitty had been very
attractive, when she was younger, but now he saw the slight wrinkles
and lines, the tinted hair, the tell-tale sag of her breasts and the
middle-aged fat of her upper arms. He wondered, idly, how it was that
she had become a whore. Had she ever been considered as a marriage
prospect? She had been young, vibrant and idealistic, once . . .
he saw her as a person, for the first time, and realized that he had
been using her as an object . . . something on which, merely, to
relieve his lust. She had been a thing to him . . . a fucking
degrees, he began to piece the puzzle together. All of the women he
had seduced, the whores he had fucked had been as nothing to him . .
. after Virginia, and lie realized that it had been his Uncle Morris
. . . and his money that had hardened him, de-sensitized him, and in
the process, he had to admit, ruefully, to himself . . . had
of Faye came crowding in on him. Was this woman, somehow, destined to
be the catalyst for his aimless life? It could be possible her aloof,
unattainability was leading him to something new. Could that
something be . . . love? He didn't know. Certainly, it would not be
romantic love! Of that he was sure! He couldn't bring himself to
believe it existed except in stories . . . but it could be true love,
a realistic love, of the kind that makes good marriages.
! He couldn't seem to shake that word out of his mind. John Wright .
. . married! He couldn't imagine himself in that sort of permanent
arrangement, yet his thoughts of Faye were all mixed up with that
particular word. It kept cropping up . . . like a bad penny. I better
come off it . . . it's a stupid idea! I'm not cut out for all that
crap that goes along with getting married!
up, searched for and found his cigarettes and lighter; lighting up,
he leaned back, against the headboard, smoking and thinking. His
movement in the bed awakened Kitty. Her eyelids fluttered open, and
she gazed up at him, sleepily.
solemn face prompted her to ask, thinking about something . . . or is
something bothering you, Honey . . .?"
he answered, not being specific.
. . .?"
. . . I guess . . ."
. . . like what, for example . . .?"
. . . marriage . . ." he grunted.
. . . somebody I know?" She was interested, now.
. . . me!"
Kitty sat up, fast.
. . . I've been trying to imagine me being married . . . isn't that a
about time, John! You'll make some lucky girl a good husband!"
yes!" she exploded. "You ought to be settling down with
some nice girl . . . and start raising a family . . . before it's too
looked at him, levelly, "It's miserable being alone . . .
believe me!" She picked up a pack of cigarettes and stuck one in
her mouth. John lit it for her. He watched as she drew in smoke with
some agitation; then, she went on, "If you've found the girl ...
grab her, right away!"
Uncle Morris seems to get along all right . . . alone," he
. . And, he's the most miserable man I know, John!"
Morris . . . ? Impossible!"
me, he is! Don't ask me what . . . but it should be pretty clear why
I know . . . shouldn't it?" she said.
. . . you're one of his favorites, too . . ." John agreed.
about Morris . . . let's talk about getting you married!" Kitty
said with dead seriousness. "The sooner the better!"
cutting off your own business, you know!"
. . . there's always plenty of business! Don't worry about little old
right . . . if you say so. . ."
hand, under the sheet, moved to grasp the limp shaft of his cock. She
smiled up at him. "Would you like to cum . . . one more time?"
she asked. "For old time's sake?"
touch of her hand, the agile fingers working, expertly, on him,
brought his big cock to instant alertness, his blood pouring into it,
to be trapped there. It was hard and erect, in a few moments.
O.K., Kitty . . . for old time's sake . . . if you want to . . ."
want to . . . John . . ." she breathed.
mouth followed her hand. She knew he'd like that.
left a hundred dollar John on the bureau for Kitty, dressed, left her
there, in the room, still in bed, got into his car and drove home to
shave and shower, before going to work. His uncle's Continental had
been parked three spaces down from his Porsche, in the parking lot of
the Pacifica. He was probably with Ginny, he decided. The old bastard
must be quite a cocksman!
wonder what Kitty meant about not asking WHAT she knows about my
uncle? Hell . . . I really don't know very much about him, myself!
hell with him!" he muttered to himself, deciding not to worry
about his uncle's hang-ups! He had problems of his own . . . and he
wasn't sure of any answers . . . yet!
three days, John had tried to contact Faye, to no avail, telephoning
her at work, at home, sending her a telegram, followed by several
cards and a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. She would not speak to him
on the phone; his written messages remained unanswered, and she gave
her landlady the beautiful roses. Finally, on the fourth day, he
walked into the stationers, just before lunch time, found her busy
with a customer and waited, patiently, until she was finished.
. . . I have to see you . . . talk to you!" he blurted. "Let's
go to lunch!"
only have a half-hour off . . ." she said, coolly, not trusting
herself to talk to him.
I have to say will take all of ten seconds!"
blinked once at him, then stared, wide-eyed in disbelief of what she
had heard; her heart skipped a beat, then began a trip-hammer
pounding in her chest. It was something she had always wanted to
hear, but now . . . now that it had been said and she was confronted
with the necessity of making a decision, giving him an answer . . .
she didn't want it. God! She wasn't ready!
didn't know what to say. It had been thrust upon her too suddenly.
really wanted t-to wait . . for a while longer . . . b-before even
thinking about getting married," she said, uncertainly, ".
. . I'm not ready . . . yet . . ."
told me that, already! I want to marry you, now! Will you?" He
hesitated. "I-I can't give you an answer . . . right now . . . I
h-have to think about it . . ."
. . . at least we can have lunch together! Come on, let's go . . .
she went to lunch with him. After they had ordered and begun to eat,
he slipped the diamond engagement ring on her finger, greasy from the
cheeseburger she was eating. "Now . . . will you marry me?"
ring took her by surprise. She gasped . . . and stared at it;
finally, after long moments, she looked up at him and said, "Y-Yes
. . . yes . . . John . . .! What else can I say. . .?"