Chapter 1

It was a small party - ten couples and a few unattached men and women - and it was, to Adie Rolfe’s mind, rather a stuffy affair. Everyone seemed to be standing in little clusters, talking inanely of topics typical to cocktail parties: local and national politics, current fads and fashions, the Watergate, ad nauseaum. The hostess, a tall, statuesque blonde whose name was Luci Danton, circulated amongst the guests with a tray of various preferential drinks - and her long-sideburned husband, Tom, sat next to a slim redhead on one of the living room’s two couches, putting his hand on her knee almost possessively when he thought his wife wasn’t looking.

Adie stifled an involuntary yawn, knowing that Jack and she should never have accepted the Danton’s invitation. Jack had quit the Seattle Sentinal three weeks ago, and everyone in the paper knew why; as a consequence, minor reporters like Tom Danton thought it socially impressive to invite Jack Rolfe and his wife to their drab little parties. Yes, that was certainly the reason they had been invited; but they’d accepted anyway, knowing this, just to get out of their own house, to see some other faces, to talk with someone besides one another.

They had stayed home every night since Jack’s resignation - they’d turned down two other invitations to social functions - because Jack was trying desperately to get his novel started, working twelve to fifteen hours every day, writing fifteen or twenty pages but throwing most of them away in anger and frustration. It simply wasn’t going right, he had told her; the words wouldn’t jell. The reason for that was a combination of things: the Department of Public Works was putting in a new sewer main on their street, and the noise of jackhammers and heavy machinery and large trucks was deafening at times; the phone seemed to ring continuously with calls from friends, well-wishers, dogs barking, power lawn mowers whining destroyed whatever moments of silence were left. He’d given it up this morning, calling the whole idea an abortion, saying that he wouldn’t - couldn’t - write another line in that house; he had to get away, he’d said, somewhere where he could be alone, in peace and quiet, to collect his thoughts and coordinate his ideas into the cohesive format of the projected novel. And he had to do it damned soon, too; he’d already sold the book to a major New York hard-cover publisher on the basis of an outline alone, had been given a large advance (most of which was already spent on old bills and incidentals), and he had less than eight months in which to deliver the completed manuscript. It was to be a major, lengthy work, and if he was to meet that deadline he couldn’t afford to lose any more time getting started.

When the Danton’s telephoned invitation had come that morning, just after Jack’s remonstrations, he had told Adie to go ahead and accept, what the hell; they might as well get out of the house since it was no use in trying to continue the novel.

Luci Danton came around to where Adie and Jack were standing near the large fieldstone fireplace and asked them if they would care for another drink. Jack declined politely, and she moved off again.

He said to Adie, “I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t have stayed home tonight. I could’ve stared at the typewriter and you could’ve stared at me.”

She squeezed his arm, smiling up at him wanly. “I think we’d have had just as good a time.”

“I hate parties like this,” Jack said. “They’re so damned pretentious.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t heard an honestly intelligent statement all night.”

“Spoken like a true novelist,” Adie said in a gently chiding voice. “Mr. Hemingway, I presume?”

“Ouch!” Jack said, recoiling in mock pain. “Your barbed wit cuts deep.”

She touched the long, silky strands of her raven black hair in that unconsciously vain way women affect. “I was just teasing, honey.”

“I know you were,” Jack sighed. “How much longer do we have to remain at this abysmal affair, do you suppose? When can we leave without destroying our image?”

“Very shortly,” Adie said. “Can you take another half hour of this?”

“Must I?”

“You must.”

“This is a far, far better thing I do, as Hamlet said.” Jack muttered, taking a moody swallow from his double martini.

Just then, one of the couples whom they had been introduced to upon arriving at the party - Bob and Sue Mason - made their way over to where the Suttons were standing. Bob Mason was short and heavy-set, with a salt-and-pepper crewcut and dark, intelligent gray eyes. He gave the impression of having once been an athlete - he was broad-shouldered and thick-chested, and the material of his Madras jacket was stretched taut across his pectorals. Looking at him, Jack Rolfe thought that he probably worked out regularly in one of the local gymnasiums or health clubs. He had a broad, friendly, contagious smile and an easy-going manner. He was carrying, oddly enough, a glass of dark ale in one huge hand. His wife, Sue, was tall and lithe with brownish-yellow hair and huge, luminescent green eyes with tiny yellow flecks in the irises. She wore a clinging blue shift which hugged and caressed her slender, high-breasted body, accentuating the easy, natural sway of her tight-mooned buttocks. She was holding onto Mason’s arm and smiling warmly as they approached.

“Hello there, Rolfe,” Mason said heartily as they came up. “Lousy party, isn’t it?”

“Shall I be honest about it?” Jack asked.

“Sure.”

“Yes. It’s a lousy party.”

Mason laughed deeply, with good-natured, infectious amusement. He said to his wife, “I told you I was going to like this Rolfe, didn’t I, Sue? He’s a man after my own heart - honest and frank and totally lacking in the phony social graces.”

“Thanks - I think,” Jack said.

Mason laughed again. His eyes shifted to Adie, moving easily over her beautifully compact, perfectly symmetrical body in a way which was complimentary to Adie - not lecherous, but openly admiring. “How about you, Adie? What’s your opinion of this little affair?”

The familiar use of her first name didn’t bother Adie at all; she found herself rather liking this large man. “The same as my husband’s,” she answered ruefully.

“Don’t really know why we came,” Mason said. “Something to do on a Friday night, I guess.”

“Same here,” Jack said. They had established a common bond and he, too, found himself liking Mason. And Sue, even though she hadn’t spoken as yet, struck him as being an intelligent, carefree soul like her husband. On top of that, she was damned attractive, Jack had to admit; very damned attractive.

They fell easily then into conversation. As both Jack and Adie had surmised, the Masons were witty, intelligent people, interesting to talk to. It developed that Bob was an electronics salesman for a large national company, extremely successful; so much so, in fact, that he was now semi-retired, working when he felt like it. Sue, in addition to being a housewife, dabbled in oil painting in her spare time. She was very modest about that, but Mason insisted that she was a tremendous talent, witness the fact that she had sold two of her seascapes for five hundred dollars each just last month.

The topic of conversation shifted, naturally, to the novel Jack was writing. The Masons had heard of it from the Dantons (no surprise there, Jack thought a little sardonically), and Bob was extremely interested in it. He asked, “What’s the book about? That is, if you don’t mind revealing same.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Jack said. “It has to do with student unrest on a large California college campus. At least, that’s the basic foundation of the book. I like to delude myself into thinking I’ve got something to say on contemporary youth - why they act as they do, what social, political, and historical precedents they have and will set, the long-range cause and effect of riots, demonstrations, dissent.”

“I have a few ideas on that subject myself,” Mason said. “But it sounds like a hell of a book, if you can pull it off. I don’t mean that at all derogatorily, you understand.”

Jack 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?” Mason asked with genuine concern.

Jack told him - about the Department of Public Works, and the telephone ringing and the power lawn mowers whining. Mason 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,” Jack answered. “Trouble is, Adie and I aren’t exactly the richest people in Seattle at the present time. Most of the publishers 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, Jack?” Sue 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,” Adie told him.

Jack grinned his wry grin. “Wifely faith. Ah, what would we creative geniuses do without it?”

Mason laughed. “Behind every great man, there’s a great woman,” he said.

“And vice versa,” Sue 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. Jack 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?” Adie said teasingly.

“Do you believe everything I say?”

“Of course.”

Jack shook his head in feigned wonder. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I’ve wondered about that myself.”

Mason’s hearty laugh punctuated their conversation. “Listen,” he said, taking Jack’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,” Jack told him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Bob. And,” he added gallantly, “your most lovely wife.”

“That goes for me, too,” Mason said, his eyes moving over Adie again in that admiring way until she blushed lightly with pleasure. “What say we get together one of these days?”

“Sounds delightful,” Adie said enthusiastically.

“Do you play bridge?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Fine! We’re a couple of tenacious players, Sue 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,” Jack said.

“Are you listed in the book?”

“No,” Adie 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,” Adie said quickly, looking at Jack. He nodded. She gave the number to Sue, who wrote it down in a small, red leatherette notebook from her purse.

“Just don’t call between seven and noon,” Jack warned. “Adie just picks up the receiver and puts it back down. Cardinal rule: no talking of any kind between seven and noon.”

Mason chuckled. “Right.”

They got their coats and bid one another good night at the door. Tom Danton, more than a little drunk by this time, pumped Jack’s hand enthusiastically, urging him to be sure to give “me and the missus” an autographed copy of his book when it was published. Jack said that he would, and Adie and he went quickly to where their car was parked in front. The Masons, with Bob driving the dark green Lincoln Continental, waved as they pulled away from the curve.

As Jack helped her into their two year old Ford, Adie said, “Aren’t the Masons the nicest people?”

“Yes,” Jack agreed. “They certainly are.”

“I’m going to fuck Adie Rolfe,” Bob Mason said, “And you, my dear, are going to help me do it.”

Sue smiled, stretching languorously on the front seat of the Lincoln. “Of course, darling,” she answered. “After all, Jack Rolfe 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. Rolfe.”

“Goddamn, but you’re the hottest woman I ever knew,” Mason said with some pride. “You just love cock, don’t you, baby?”

“Just like you love pussy, sweetheart.”

Mason 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 Sue said, “Mmmmmmmm, daddy’s ready, isn’t he?” in a teasing voice.

“Daddy’s always ready,” Mason said. “Just like mommy.”

Sue 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 Rolfe couple, lover? They don’t exactly strike me as swingers, so the direct approach would seem to be out.”

“True,” Mason said. “But I’ve got a plan.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home.”

“Tell me now, lover,” Sue 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 Sue 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. Mason was breathing faster under her agile ministrations, and Sue 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,” Mason 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 glans into near-explosion. His own hand went higher along her thigh and his fingers found the dampness of her crotch. He wiggled 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. Mason whispered, “You’ll wait until we get home, won’t you, baby?”

“Aaaggghhhh, hhmmmmmmmm!” she groaned. “Yesssss, I’ll waitttttt!”

Mason 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 which they owned. Mason brought the large luxury automobile into the driveway and upward into the spacious two-car garage next to Sue’s canary yellow Triumph TR-6, shut off the engine and the lights. He stepped out, zipping himself up, feeling the blood still pounding in his erect cock. Tease him like that in the car, would she? Well, just wait until they got inside! He’d do a little teasing of his own!