Beth looked up at her and smiled. "I guess I'm never sorry, or ashamed, for anything I do. In that respect, I suppose I'd make a good whore, wouldn't I?"
"No… no, I'm afraid you wouldn't, darling," Vickie replied, surprising her.
"No…? And why not? I've got all the qualifications, haven't I…?"
Vickie nodded, the amber eyes in her classic face sparkling. "One too many, as a matter of fact, darling. You'd like your work too much and consequently go broke!"
Beth laughed outright as she sat up! "Would you like a drink, Miss Davis… in the living room? I expect that my husband is due home anytime now, and we might make for a better appearance out there… if you know what I mean."
"Right on, Mrs. Durke. My throat is parched…!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was customary for Beth to crawl quietly out of bed at an early hour. She did this for two reasons, number one: she very much enjoyed the first rays of daylight, their fresh tranquillity pleasantly warming her; and number two: to avoid any ruttish sorties Jay might wake up entertaining. This morning, she had a third reason: to jot down a few notes of memorable experiences which were bidding to be recorded somewhere, somehow.
She chose the back verandah where the sun played until midmorning, a notebook she'd pilfered from her husband's studio, and her green bikini for attire. Some two hours passed in luxurious privacy as she wrote in a smoothly legible hand, journaling the cause, events, and results of these past few days in her life. They were the same mental reflections which had allowed her fitful sleep and stimulating dreams all through the night; yet, remarkably enough, she was not tired, and anything but upset.
In fact, Jay Robert Durke's curvaceous young wife could never recall feeling quite so complete, nor as femininely "looked after". She smiled to herself at the last thought. But it was true! She had never before known such ultimate physical contentment. Had it been Vickie, or Lancer… or the combination of them both? The venture with young Jerry Adams had excited her to no end, and there was hardly a doubt in her mind but what further sensual experiences were going to happen between them, though these, like the first, would be erotic thrills of the moment and probably spontaneous. Which left only the one avenue yet unexplored… Stan Wilson!
She still had only to think of him, envision his handsome virility, and the blood began to hotly charge through her. God, though she wasn't sorry, she could never think of herself as lesbianistically inclined… and how could one categorize one's feelings towards the loving of a brute animal? An idolizer of beastiality? Again, Beth laughed to herself, making a notice of her immediate perceptions.
Somewhere in the course of her erotic escapades throughout the past seventy-two hours or so, she had recognized the personal sensation of different loves, all firing in their own right, intricate emotions of overwhelming pleasure that never infringed on those of their loving counterparts. That had truly been the secret moment of revelation, hadn't it…?
"Beth…? Hey, baby, where are you?"
Unhurriedly, the pony tailed, blonde young mate closed her note book and slipped it beneath the cushion of her metal chair. "Out here, Jay… back verandah," she replied, glancing at her watch to see it was eight o'clock, time for Stan to leave for his store.
The big man scuffingly emerged through the doorway, his long greying hair standing on end, his bearded face like an unkempt bird's nest. He yawned, scratching at his protruding belly and ribs beneath the purple dressing gown she'd given him last Christmas.
"Damn… I was looking for you, doll… all over the bed," he announced with a grin. "Had one of those yard-arm situations that call for a woman's loving attention."
She thought of asking why he didn't go to the bathroom, but instead, said, "The mornings are too nice to waste, Jay. I just can't pass them up… a holdover from the farm, I guess."
He dropped heavily into a chair and yawned again, scratching at his head. "Man, I drank a boatload last night. I need a pound of bacon and half dozen eggs to absorb it. Lots of hot coffee, too, hon." He looked over at her. "Was I all right when I came home?"
"You were fine, darling. I led you into the bedroom, helped you undress and you faded quietly away, like the Arab. Then, Vickie Davis went home."
He gaped at her. "What the hell, was she here?"
Beth nodded and smiled. "Don't you remember trying to kiss her, hello?"
The big man squirmed. "Hell no!" he said, combing his wild hair with his fingers. "Did I, honest?"
"You did, lover man."
"She wasn't sore or anything… was she?"
"No, of course not. Any fool could see you were stoned out of your mind. She simply laughed, let you kiss her, then she left."
"But she wasn't uptight, or anything?" he repeated.
"No, Jay. Really. She just laughed. Lord, she knew you were high as a kite," Beth said with a smile, remembering the way Vickie had kissed her warmly on the lips and said, "Pass this on to him, if you can, lady."
"Shit, I didn't think I was that bad!" he said, regaining his feet. He walked to the doorway, then pivoted to look at her. "You're not mad, baby…?"
"Mad? Of course not. Only dogs and other such animals go mad, anyway. You should know that, husband. You're the writer," Beth said, standing up from her chair and remembering her notebook. She would get it later…
"Yeah… well… maybe that's just a subterfuge. I'm really a satyr! You ever consider that fact?" he teased, grinning.
"Yes… but I don't believe you're anything that a good shower won't cure this morning, big daddy. Remember, we've lots of work to do. You're already three days late…"
"I know… I know. Okay. Get the grub on, baby… I'll be with you in a jiffy… and… and incidentally, this satyr loves you…"
Beth felt it all the way from her heels, an emotion for this massive gentle, boisterous man which she could never, never deny! She said: "I love you, too, Jay Durke… Now, get to hell in there and take a shower!"
Beth remained loyal to the typewriter throughout the morning and a good half of the afternoon, working in the presence of her middle-aged husband, and as usual, caught up in the racy theme and sequences of his story. She smiled to herself when sometime around three o'clock his machine began to slow down and she gathered that Sara Wilson had made one of her exhibitionist appearances. Shortly, his fingers ceased to move over the keys entirely and he complained of hitting a snag he'd have to think out. He decided he might take a little walk around the yard for a bit of mental exercising, to which she had merely nodded and gone on with her work.
Once the back door had slammed behind him, Beth waited a few more minutes before going to their bedroom where she could see her bearded mate standing beside the house near the hedge, ogling the bikini-clad brunette who was going through some wild positioned antics in her struggle with a rose bush she was evidently set on digging up and replanting elsewhere. It occurred to the young blonde wife as she watched her vivacious neighbor that the petite Sara was a sensuously striking girl, a fact she'd never before given much thought to. Yes… yes, she was… with all of the alluring, well balanced curves a girl of her dainty structure needed to be classified as lovely. And it was her lot in life to legitimately occupy the bed of Stan Wilson, an enviable position, Beth covetously mused…
The jangle of the telephone interrupted her jealous meditation and she picked up the bedroom extension.
"Hello…"
"Beth… Mrs. Durke…?" the unmistakable male voice stammeringly questioned, sending immediate little sensations of excitement rippling through her.
"Yes… this is she," Beth replied, forcing calmness into her tone as she thought: how timely could one get?