Barry grinned wryly. “Well, I’m not sure I can pull it off.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I can’t seem to get started on the thing. The first couple of Chapters are extremely important, and I can’t get them flowing. I must have written seventy-five pages in the past three weeks, of which I’ve salvaged maybe four or five.” "What seems to be the problem?” Goren asked with genuine concern.
Barry told him-about the Department of Public Works, and the telephone ringing, and the power lawn mowers whining. Goren clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“Sounds like you need to get off in the wilds somewhere for a few weeks.”
“That’s just what I need,” Barry answered. “Trouble is, Kim and I aren’t exactly the richest people in San Francisco at the present time. Most of the publisher’s advance is gone, and we have a home to maintain. I just can’t afford to rent, much less buy, a mountain retreat for the length of time I’m going to need.”
“Then what will you do, Barry?” Lynn asked in her musically soft voice.
“Grin and bear it, I guess,” he replied. “Maybe, one of these days soon, I’ll be able to get into the book; if that happens, all the goddamned noise in the world won’t affect my work.”
“You will, dear,” Kim told him.
Barry grinned his wry grin. “Wifely faith. Ah, what would we creative geniuses do without it?”
Goren laughed. “Behind every great man, there’s a great woman,” he said.
“And vice versa,” Lynn put in.
They all laughed, and the rapport between the two couples was fully established. They spent the next hour and, a half discussing a various and sundry number of things, losing all track of time, each enjoying the company of the others. When midnight came, the party began to break up. Barry reluctantly looked at his watch, saying, “Hell, I didn’t figure it to be this late. I’ve got to be up with the roosters tomorrow for another shot at the typewriter.”
“I thought you were going to let it simmer for a couple of days, honey?” Kim said teasingly.
“Do you believe everything I say?”
“Of course.”
Barry shook his head in feigned wonder.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“I’ve wondered about that myself.”
Goren’s hearty laugh punctuated their conversation. “Listen,” he said, taking Barry’s hand, “talking with the two of you had made a pleasant evening out of what started out to be a huge bore.”
“Same here,” Barry told him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack. And,” he added gallantly, “your most lovely wife.”
“That goes for me, too,” Goren said, his eyes moving over Kim again in that admiring way until she blushed lightly with pleasure.
“What say we get together one of these days?”
“Sounds delightful,” Kim said enthusiastically.
“Do you play bridge?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Fine! We’re a couple of tenacious players, Lynn and I, but we don’t play for blood. We’ll make it a foursome one of these evenings soon, if you’re amenable.”
“That we are,” Barry said.
“Are you listed in the bock?’ “No,” Kim responded. "What with all the calls we’ve been getting, we had our number changed to an unlisted one.”
“If you’d rather not give it out-”
“Oh no, not at all,” Kim said quickly, looking at Barry. He nodded. She gave the number to Lynn, who wrote it down in a small, red leatherette notebook from her purse.
“Just don’t call between seven and noon,” Barry warned. “Kim just picks up the receiver and puts it back down. Cardinal rule: no talking of any kind between seven and noon.”
Goren chuckled. “Right.”
They got their coats and bid one another good night at the door. Roy Tatum, more than a little drunk by this time, pumped Barry’s hand enthusiastically, urging him to be sure to give “me and the missus” an autographed copy of his book when it was published. Barry said that he would, and Kim and he went quickly to where their car was parked in front. The Gorens, with Jack driving the dark green Lincoln Continental, waved as they pulled away from the curve.
As Barry helped her into their two-year-old Ford, Kim said, “Aren’t the Gorens the nicest people?“
“Yes,” Barry agreed. “They certainly are.”
“I’m going to fuck Kim Sutton,” Jack Goren said, “And you, my dear, are going to help me do it.”
Lynn smiled, stretching languorously on the front seat of the Lincoln. “Of course, darling,” she answered. “After all, Barry Sutton is a handsome and desirable man. I’m going to enjoy getting laid by him just as much as you’re going to enjoy fucking the lovely Mrs. Sutton.”
“Goddamn, but you’re the hottest woman I ever knew,” Goren said with some pride. “You just love cock, don’t you, baby?“
“Just like you love pussy, sweetheart.”
Goren took one hand from the steering wheel and put it on her firm, soft thigh, just at the point where the blue shift rode high on her lap. He began to stroke the feathery surface lightly. She slid over next to him and, without preamble, laid the palm of her slim hand on the crotch of his sports slacks. His prick hardened instantly at her touch through the material, and Lynn said, “Mmmmmmm, daddy’s ready, isn’t he?” in a teasing voice.
“Daddy’s always ready,” Goren said. “Just like mommy.”
Lynn began to stroke his cock lightly with her palm while his hand moved higher along her thigh. She breathed into his ear hotly, saying, “How do you propose to get next to the nice Sutton couple, lover? They don’t exactly strike me as swingers, so the direct approach would seem to be out.”
“True,” Goren said. “But I’ve got a plan.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when we get home.”
“Tell me now, lover,” Lynn said. Deftly, her fingers found the zipper of his fly and worked it down quickly. The throbbing length of his huge rod pushed the thin folds of his underpants out through the fly opening, straining for escape.
But Lynn kept it imprisoned inside, stroking the rigid tool with knowledgeable fingers; she knew how to torment a man in many ways: by touch, by word, by manipulation of her own body. Goren was breathing faster under her agile ministrations, and Lynn shivered anticipatorily. Oh, she was going to give him a ride when they got home, all right-she really was! She could feel her cunt begin to seep warm, moist fluid, soaking the thin silk of her panty briefs, and she ground her smooth formed buttocks down against the pliant leather of the seat. “Tell me the plan, lover,” she repeated.
“We’re… ohhhh… almost home!” Goren panted. And then, “Damn you!“ as her hand rubbed more tantalizingly over his prick, using the material of his underpants to taunt and rub the blood-engorged glands into near-explosion. His own hand went higher along her thigh and his fingers found the dampness of her crotch. He waggled a finger inside the leg band, dipping the tip into the secret juices of her warm, slightly throbbing vagina, causing a low, soft moan of sheer animalistic pleasure to escape her throat. “How do you like that, you little prick-teaser?” he hissed breathlessly.
“Ohhhh, lover!“
His forefinger found the quivering miniature phallus of her aroused clitoris, moved with provocative slowness back and forth across its sensitive surface until his wife was grinding her hips faster and faster down against the seat, her loins surging upward against his finger as if trying to beckon it to plunge deep inside her vaginal cavity. Goren whispered, “You’ll wait until we get home, won’t you, baby?”
“Aaaggghhhh, hhmmmmmm!“ she groaned. “Yesssss, I’ll waittttt!”
Goren grinned triumphantly, and eased his finger away from her clitoris, took it out from beneath her panties and let his hand rest on her thigh. She allowed her fingers to remain on his still-hardened cock, but they weren’t moving now; her eyes were closed and she leaned against him, letting the sensations his probing, questing finger had caused ripple through her deliciously.
The Lincoln’s headlights picked up the large, Colonial style home-in San Francisco’s ultra affluent Sea Cliff-which they owned. Goren brought the large luxury automobile into the driveway and upward into the spacious two-car garage next to Lynn’s canary yellow Triumph TR-6, shut off the engine and the lights.