“Call me Harry, all right? And if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Jill. It makes everything less formal.” The older man’s eyes were shining, taking in every curve of his employee’s beautiful young wife.
“Of course… Harry “ Jill managed unwilling to let him see how upset she was. “I’d love to sit and talk, but I’m really very tired from the trip and… and I’ve got to get unpacked and everything.
“I thought Tom said you had already unpacked,” Harry smiled
“Oh, you’ve seen Tom?”
“Yes, we were here in the bar when he came in.
“Oh… well. I didn’t quite finish before I came down, and… Jill’s voice trailed off in confusion, and there was an uncomfortable pause in their conversation.
“Well, then, I’ll walk you back to your cottage?” Harry offered, coming around Jill to hold her chair.
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that…!” But when she stood, Jill staggered and she realized she had had more to drink than she thought. “Oh my, I’m a little unsteady.”
“Yes, you certainly are,” said Harry, quickly taking her arm with one hand. “Let me help you. It’s no trouble at all, believe me.”
Jill was suddenly thankful for her husband’s boss’s help as she recognized that she was, in fact, drunk, and without noticing it, she leaned against him as they made their way to the door of the bar. They made their way out of the main lodge, and into the glare of the summer sun outside. As they began the walk to Jill’s cottage, Harry suddenly spoke.
“I hope you’ll pardon me for asking, but you seemed kind of down in the dumps back there.”
Jill hesitated, and tried to control her voice.
“Oh it was nothing… really,” she answered with difficulty.
“Tom was in the bar when we left,” Harry said carefully, looking down at the voluptuously ripened body of his employee’s wife with obvious appreciation. “Didn’t he wait for you?”
And suddenly without meaning to, Harry’s words caused a sob to rise in Jill’s throat. She tried to catch it, failed, and found herself crying out loud. She must be drunk! She was making a fool of herselfi
“Why Jill, what’s the matter?” said Harry, with apparent concern in his voice.
“Nothing… really… nothing…” But she was unable to stem the weeping now that it had begun, and leaning heavily upon Harry Sommer’s strong arm, she sobbed out her anguish and torment. He moved his arm around her slender shoulders, and tried to comfort her.
“Look,” he said, “There’s something that’s troubling you deeply. Let’s go to my cottage and talk about it.”
“No… I couldn’t, My… husband would mind that, I’m sure.”
“Would you want Tom to see you like this?” prodded Harry, with a strange insistency.
In a burst of honesty, Jill blurted, “He… he’s probably not in anyway. I don’t know where he is.”
“Ah, the truth will win out,” smiled Harry gently. “I thought as much. I saw you with Tom in the lounge, and when he walked away and then you started to cry, I just couldn’t let the matter rest. Please… trust me. It’s not only because Tom is an employee of mine… I want to help because you two seem like such great kids.”
The tortured, beaten girl nodded mutely and as though drugged, she allowed Harry to lead her to his own cottage. Entering the front door, she almost toppled onto the small couch, and then she hung her head, burying her face in her tiny, trembling hands. “Oh, Mr. Sommers. I don’t know what to do” she wailed in a broken slurred voice.
“Call me Harry,” he urged, sitting down next to her. He took one tightly clenched fist and uncurled her fingers and placed a tumbler in her hand. “Here. more Drambuie. I saw that the waitress had given some to you and she was right. It does help soothe.”
Jill was unsure whether she should have any more to drink. She already had consumed more liquor than she ever had before, and her head was spinning terrible. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t control her innermost emotions from breaking through the layer of propriety and modesty. Everything was so mixed up, and it seemed that only Harry Sommers and the Drambuie were between her and complete mental collapse. She sipped the drink, and the burning softness of its honeyed taste did help. Harry was right there, too, so near and so kind..
She talked to Harry then, pouring out her heart to him in total freedom, sipping often and occasionally stopping her confession in order to cry or use a handkerchief And Harry stayed on the couch, pouring a little more of the Drambuie when necessary, always using a soothing calm voice to commiserate or ask a question. The liquor and the almost soporific tone of voice and the relaxation of her mind as she poured out her agonies made Jill drift as time passed, and she found it much more restful to lay her head against the back of the couch and shut her eyes as she talked.
She barely was cognizant that her hand which did not hold the glass of Drambuie was being stroked tenderly between two soft palms. Only that there was a pleasant sensation, as though she was being sent to sleep by a loving parent.
From far, far away came the slumbering drone of Harry’s voice. “Poor Jill,” he murmured, “Poor, poor Jill.”
The torpor increased, and Harry’s words faded into meaninglessness. There only remained the sound of that soft, hypnotic voice and the increasing fog of alcohol and the soothing feel of his fingers upon hers.
“I’ll rub your head, Jill,” Harry said. “Would you like that? I know you would
“Yes… yes,” she heard herself say. but it was from miles away. And then she felt her temple and forehead being rubbed and contentment flow through her… and she began to drift farther and farther into the nether world. It was an escape from her life with her husband, abandonment of her travails and woes, total denial of herself and her inner conflicts. There was a small warning voice in the back of her head saying that she should stop, she should get up and leave… but it was too far away and she disregarded it.
“You need understanding, Jill,” the mesmerizing intonations of Harry Sommers continued in her ear. “Understanding and a different kind of love. A gentle love, a painless love.”
“Yesssss”.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Jill… so beautiful. Soft skin like velvet to the touch. You like my touch upon it, don’t you? Yes, you do. I can tell that you like my touch… let me touch your body and massage it as I am your head.
“Yes… please yes… “ Jill replied thickly, still not comprehending his words, but only his hypnotically wonderful sound.
And then Harry moved his hands across Jill’s smooth white throat and down her shoulders and along her sides, carefully avoiding her full upthrust breasts. Then, slowly, he insinuated a finger, then two, then all five under the edge of her sweater and began to rub the flat plane of her naked stomach in a circular motion. Then upwards, across her rib cage and then tentatively brushed across the cotton cups of her brassiere. Then back down to her belly and below… a grazing touch in the triangle of her tightly closed thighs.
Jill moaned slightly, and if she had been more conscious she would have reacted with righteous indignation at this blatant disregard of her modesty. But now her mind was asleep, and her young, sensually aware body, long overdue for it’s say in her life, began to automatically respond to his caresses. Her hips undulated slightly, and she unconsciously squirmed her firmly rounded buttocks down against the couch cushion. Lovely she thought, so lovely… so nice… and then Harry parted her sensuously-curving thighs and slowly slipped his hand up between her legs, rubbing and kneading the soft, still panty covered vaginal mound. Jill began to squirm more freely and tiny beads of working perspiration broke out on her forehead, and her dazed mind said nice… Tom is so nice to me for a change.