On the screen, the redhead was lying naked on the bed when the door to the rustic bedroom opened again, a female figure entered and approached her. For a split second the camera focused on the face of the new arrival.
“Why, it's you!” Archer exclaimed.
“In the flesh,” Stella admitted. “A couple of years younger or maybe five pounds fighter. But in the flesh, as you shall see.” The picture went topsy-turvy and blurred and went blank and then came on upside down, then right side up. “He dropped the camera.” Stella chuckled. “He was really shook up.”
“I don’t blame him. It’s a shock for a man to find out his wife rides sidesaddle.”
“Well, I’m not really a Lesbian.” Stella was defensive.
“What do you call it then?” Archer was responding as much to the close-up of Stella’s lips toying with the redhead’s bare nipple as to the conversation.
“Self-protection. Remember, Sammy was both horny and accident-prone. Every time he came near me, it was a disaster. I just wanted sex without anxiety. I was pretty inexperienced as far as men were concerned. Judging by Sammy, sex with men was something to be afraid of. That’s how I happened to get involved with Marlene.”
“Marlene?” On the screen Stella was undressing tantalizingly while the redhead watched and licked her lips and writhed slightly on the bed. Beside him, Stella’s thigh was pressed hard against his.
“That’s the redheads name. Anyway, I’m not sorry I had the experience. It was exciting. But I really do prefer men.” Stella’s hand fell all too casually on Archer’s lap, as it to prove her point. On the screen she wriggled out of her brassiere and held up her large breasts for the redhead to admire.
“You said Sammy blew the case. How?” Archer put his arm around her. She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her breast. On the screen there was a close-up as Stella dropped her panties.
“He never should have taken these pictures. When his client tried to use them as proof of his wife’s infidelity, Marlene’s lawyer threw the book at us. He claimed entrapment. You see, Sammy was the detective and I was his wife. He threatened to bring criminal charges against us. And he also pointed out that because of the relationship the evidence wouldn’t hold up in a divorce court. By the time that shyster got through, there was nothing for Sammy to do but return the fee and bow out of the case. At that both he and I probably got off easy.” Stella unbuttoned the front of her dress, shrugged the bra strap from one shoulder and pressed the aroused nipple of her naked breast into the palm of Archer’s hand. On the screen, Stella and Marlene were locked in an embrace, their breasts rubbing against each other, their derrieres grinding, their mouths opened wide to allow their tongues to duel erotically.
“But he kept the film.” Archer slipped his hand under the green dress. “Was that some sort of revenge against you?”
“No. They excited him. He liked to show them when we were alone and make love to me. They aroused him. Me too. If you see what I mean.” Stella stood up and removed her dress. She sat back down on Archer’s lap, facing the screen.
“I see what you mean.” Archer reached under her arm and reestablished his grip on her hard-panting breast. On the screen, Stella was lying face-down on the bed, the redhead astraddle her, the red triangle moving rhythmically with the movement of Stella’s buttocks and pressing deep between them.
Archer and Stella stopped talking. Both were absorbed in the film; both were absorbed in each other. After a moment Stella‘s hand reached around behind her and unzipped Archer’s pants. It groped in the opening and then fished out the object of its search. Archer tugged at the half-slip she was wearing and bunched it up around her waist. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Stella gasped as his hands reached under her and investigated her plump, burning bottom.
On the screen Marlene’s face was buried, the red hair fanning out over Stella’s thighs and belly. Stella’s lips were moving and her face was crazed with the building of passion. Her nails raked Marlene’s buttocks which, in her crouching position, hovered only inches above her visage. The pulsating of Marlene’s aroused clitoris was clearly visible.
Archer pushed Stella’s bottom up with his hands. She manipulated him so that when she came down again they were locked together. One of her hands was under him, tickling his full scrotum. One of his fingers strummed her clitoris as she rose and fell, reimpaling herself with mounting delight each time.
Both were facing the screen. There, Marlene and Stella were locked in a double kiss, mouth to nether-mouth, rocking back and forth, buttocks bouncing madly, breasts swaying, a wild and frenetic-wrestling match coming to its mutually satisfying conclusion.
Archer and Stella were also on the verge of a mutually satisfying conclusion. Stella released a wild cry and slammed down hard. At the same instant Archer strained and arched his body to meet her. One hand clawed at her breast for balance. They were, suspended there for a moment, and then there was a mighty release for both of them. At the same time-—
“Mommy! I’m thirsty!”
Stella leaped to her feet, pulled on the green dress and switched off the camera, seemingly all in one motion. Archer was still trying to orient himself when she reached down and zipped up his pants. “OUCH!” He was brought back to reality in a hurry.
“Sorry.” Stella seemed quite composed now. “What are you doing out of bed, Herbert?” she asked the ten-year-old boy standing in the doorway.
“Thirsty!” The boy looked curiously at Archer. “I want to watch the cartoons too!” he asserted.
“I said go to bed!"
“I WANT TO WATCH THE CARTOONS!”
From behind the boy there came a giggle and Archer saw a little girl about a year younger than the boy. “Me too!” A smaller boy appeared behind the girl. “We all do! We all want to watch the cartoons!” Suddenly the entrance to the living room seemed filled with children.
“What the hell!” Archer was thrown. “Who the hell are these kids?”
“They’re mine,” Stella admitted.
“Yours? How many are there?”
“Nine,” she told in a very small voice.
“Nine!” Archer was on his feet and heading for the door. “Where the hell did you get nine kids?”
“Where do you think? I told you Sammy was accident-prone. That’s what I meant. Nine kids in eight years. Every time he touched me I got pregnant.”
“Accident-prone, hell! He was a one-man population explosion." Archer slammed the front door behind him.
“WE WANT TO WATCH CARTOONS!” he could hear the children chanting. “WE WANT TO WATCH CARTOONS!”
CHAPTER FIVE
“We have to know the effects of our actions.” So sayeth the pragmatic philosopher. But we never can. It’s strictly a rule for the Sunday morning quarterback; it only operates in retrospect.
“We have to know the effects of our actions.” To be spoken with me by a Papa Dionne surveying the newborn quintuplets. To be spoken with terror by the bombardier of the Enola Gay looking back at the mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. To be spoken with resignation by a Lyndon Johnson studying the casualty reports from Vietnam.
“We have to know the effects of our actions. . . .” To be spoken by Llona, someday, when she became aware of what was happening to Archer as a result of her motivating his mother, his employer’s wife, and Olivia Valentine to meddle in his life. But it would be a while before Llona became aware of the Mother-Hornsby-inspired incident involving Archer and Stella Spayed. And it would also be a while before Llona could appreciate how the forces she had put in motion during her talk with Neva Holdkumb affected Archer. . . .
The immediate result was a conversation between Neva Holdkumb and her husband, E. Z. Holdkumb, Archer’s boss, the evening following Llona’s afternoon visit. Neva served up the delicious news that the Hornsbys were having “marital problems” along with E. Z.’s evening cocktail, a five-to-one martini liberally laced with wheat germ. The wheat germ was a side-product being pushed by the pharmaceutical company of which E. Z. Holdkumb was an executive. The Holdkumbs believed in backing up the company’s products in every area of their lives including——indeed, particularly!-—the most personal.