“God,” he said when they finally broke apart. “Where in hell did you learn to kiss like that?”
“You just showed me.”
“Yeah? You learn fast, Baby. Let’s make this night a real lesson, huh?”
His arms went around her again and he clutched her more fiercely than before. His mouth pressed savagely against hers and one of his hands went to her breast.
She hadn’t expected that. She didn’t think he would touch her there, knowing that it wasn’t right to let a boy touch you there. But what was wrong about it? She couldn’t understand it. It felt so good, the way Pete’s hand was caressing the firm flesh through her thin sweater. What could be bad about something that felt so good?
She was only dimly aware of what happened next, too deeply immersed in the flood of sensations passing over her body. His hands seemed to be touching her everywhere, evoking brand-new feelings and hungers every place they touched. One hand went under her skirt, sliding gently over her calf and resting momentarily on her knee, then gliding further up her thigh. He stroked her thigh gently, so gently. She began to squirm violently on the couch and make little animal sounds deep in her throat.
Deftly he raised her sweater and slipped it over her head. Then his fingers toyed with the hook-and-eye of her brassiere, finally managing to remove that too. The touch of his hands on her bare breasts sent her into a frenzy.
“Carla!”
“Ohhhh!” His hands were busy with her skirt now, and she wished he would hurry, wished he would remove the rest of her clothing quickly.
“Carla!”
“What?”
He had trouble getting the words out, panting as though he had just finished running a five-mile race. “Baby,” he said, “I don’t think I can stop. I—”
“Don’t stop,” she moaned. “God, don’t stop!”
Looking back on those first experiences, she marvelled at what a naive girl she had been. Still, what wouldn’t she give for a similar half-hour on a sofa with a strong and virile man! There had been other boys and men between that memorable first time and her marriage, but no one had quite compared with Pete Witosky.
She wondered absently what ever had happened to Pete. He was probably still living in the same place, working at the steel mill and getting drunk every Friday night. Thank God she had escaped that dismal trap! She had all the money she could possibly want now, all the clothes and furs a woman could desire.
The only thing missing was love, and somehow she would have to discover a way to get that as well. It was something she needed, and Carla was a woman who got what she wanted. She wanted a ticket out of the slums, and she lost no time in latching onto Ronald Macon.
She remembered the second time with Pete, when the pain was gone and the pleasure was even greater. And she also remembered what came after, when her mother came into the room and saw the two of them in each other’s arms on the sofa. Pete practically dove into his clothing and raced full speed for the door, but Carla could do nothing but cower in terror on the couch.
“You little slut!” her mother screamed. “You dirty little tramp!” And then she switched to Polish for a long string of words delivered at full speed. Carla didn’t understand the words but she knew the general tone.
“You don’t move,” her mother commanded. “You stay right there on the sofa, bitch.”
Her mother disappeared into the bedroom and returned second later with a hairbrush in her hand.
“Slut,” her mother said. “The only thing you got and you let a kid take it away from you. You’ll wind up on the streets, that’s what happens to sluts. Dead and stinking in an alley you’ll wind up with your insides rotting!”
Carla hardly knew what was happening. She felt herself hauled still nude over her mother’s knee. At first she was too numb to be fully aware of anything, but the first stroke of the hairbrush proved to her that she wasn’t altogether numb, not by a long shot. Her mother had the strength of a husky woman who worked hard all her life, and all that strength was being applied to Carla’s posterior. The hairbrush rose and fell with the grinding regularity of a watch ticking and above the noise of the hairbrush striking her skin was the constant flow of curses from her mother.
She thought that the beating would never stop. God, how it hurt! Her flesh flamed and she wished she could die.
Then, above the slapping sound of the hairbrush and the curses of her mother, Carla heard agonized screaming.
She couldn’t realize that it was her own...
Now she wanted a lover, and she would have one in due course. She would manage it.
There was plenty of time for that, she decided. It was late, and Ronald was already in bed. It was time for her to join him. She thought to herself how ridiculous it was for the two of them to share a twin bed, since the bed could never be the scene for the sexual union she craved. But Ronald said that he slept better with her by his side.
It might be easier for her if he didn’t love her so much. But she didn’t want to be unfaithful to him, not when he was so good to her and cared so deeply for her. She remembered unhappily their honeymoon, when Ronald tried so desperately to make love to her and was impotent on each occasion. He had warned her before hand that this would probably happen, but this didn’t lessen the disappointment that each of them felt.
But it was time for bed. Resolutely, she slipped into the sheer silk night-gown he had bought for her, enjoying the feel of the smooth silk against her bare skin. Then she opened the bathroom door and tiptoed softly down the hall to the bedroom.
She moved very softly in the bedroom, careful not to wake Ronald. She took off the night-gown and placed it on the armchair, a smart armchair that didn’t leak stuffing all over the floor. Then she tiptoed to the bed and slipped under the covers. She always slept nude, a habit she picked up in childhood when pajamas were a luxury her mother couldn’t afford.
“Carla?”
She started. Ronald wasn’t asleep; he had been waiting in bed for her. She turned to him and was surprised when he took her in his arms and kissed her gently. Was he going to be able to make love to her at last? The thought of satisfaction of her desires combined with the feeling of his arms around her to send her pulse racing.
He began to fondle her, touching her all over her body and increasing her desires. The caresses continued for a long time, and her passion built up to a point where she felt she would die if he didn’t make love to her.
But — again — he was impotent. With a heavy sigh he withdrew from her and pressed his face against the pillow.
“It’s no use,” he whispered. “I’m afraid I’ll never be a husband to you, Darling.”
“Shhh,” she said, comforting him. “You’re all the husband a woman could want.”
He lifted his head from the pillow and gazed into her eyes, a sad smile on his lips. “You’re a wonderful woman,” he said, slowly. “You’re a wonderful woman and I don’t deserve you at all. I don’t know why you go on living with me.”
“Because I love you,” she replied, the words coming automatically from her lips.
“I guess you must. I don’t know why you should, but I guess you must.” He shook his head and turned over on his side, breathing heavily.
She lay motionless in bed beside him, far too tense to sleep. His attempts had only succeeded in aggravating the desires which had been so intense all that day, and sleep would be impossible for several hours.
After a few minutes his breathing became regular as he drifted off to sleep. He was such a good man, she thought. If he could only be her lover, their marriage would be absolutely perfect. But he couldn’t, and there was no way to change that sad fact.