A month after the seminar ended, Roberta Tinsdale sent a formal dinner
invitation to the residence of Jeff and Melanie Watts.
Jeff, with that invitation in hand, drove eighty miles, pulling up to
what could only be called a mansion. He drove through the tall
wrought iron gates, which stood open, and up the horseshoe driveway,
between carefully tended rows of privet hedge. There was a tall
fountain, sparkling in the sun, across from the porch. He
parked, and walked up the steps, between fourteen foot columns of white
faux marble. He tried to just walk in, but the door was locked,
and he was forced to ring the bell.
Natalie, a servant girl, opened the door. Jeff wondered where Hugh, the butler was.
"Mister Watts!" said Natalie, curtsying. "Now nice to see you. I wasn't told you were coming!"
"I'm not here for long. I just need to pick up Melanie. We're going to a party."
"Oh!" said the girl, looking distinctly surprised. Jeff knew she
was aware of the strain between him and Melanie. Servants knew
everything. "She's out by the pool, I believe."
Jeff walked through the house, which took over a minute. Harvey
Spoonweather, Melanie's father, had wanted to make a statement about
just how important he was, and he'd done a pretty good job of it.
This place was fancier than the Governor's mansion.
Melanie WAS by the pool, in one of her signature black bikinis.
She thought black made her skin look paler, her eyes bluer, and her
hair more blond. Why she then lay in the sun, as often as
possible, to darken her skin, was a mystery to Jeff. She was
wearing sunglasses, so he couldn't tell if she was awake or not.
He went to stand over her.
"Jeff!" she almost, but not quite squealed. "What are you doing
here? Did you finally come to your senses? Are you here to
work for Daddy?"
Jeff's initial reaction to his wife had been for his penis to
stir. She WAS a beautiful woman. She had breasts as good as
Tiffany's, and a flat abdomen that fairly screamed to be filled with a
baby. She'd never consent to that, though. It would make
her fat, and ugly ... by definition. Her attitude, though,
overrode any possibility that his penis would continue to
stiffen. He suddenly realized that, if she stood and stripped
naked, he might not be able to get it up for her. That made him
sad.
"I came to get you," he said, calmly. "We've been invited to a party."
"A party?" There was a glimmer of interest in her voice.
She didn't take off her sunglasses, though, or sit up.
"What kind of party?"
"There will be dinner and dancing," he said. "That kind of party."
"Who'll be there?" she asked, as if that was the most important aspect
of going to a party. "It won't be all those dreary teacher
friends of yours, will it?"
"That doesn't matter, Melanie," he said, trying to keep his voice
calm. "We've been invited, and I sent an RSVP, and we're going."
"When is this party?" she asked, stretching in the sun.
"Tonight. You need to get up and come with me. Pack a bag. We'll be gone overnight."
"Tonight?" she asked, her voice rising.
"Overnight? Jeff, I'm not ready! I need to go to the
hairdresser, and shop for a gown. I can't go to a party tonight!"
"Get up, Melanie," he said, his voice tense. "We're GOING to this party, and we're leaving in fifteen minutes."
She did sit up then, but it was a result of outrage, and not because
her husband, whom she hadn't seen for four months, was standing above
her.
"I don't know what you think you're doing, Jeff, but ... AWP!"
She yelped as he reached down and, with strength that astonished her,
pulled her to her feet in one quick, violent movement. That she
landed on balance was luck, but she didn't know that.
"Do not talk, Melanie," he ordered. "Walk. Walk to
your room, wherever it is, and pack an overnight bag. Bring
whatever cosmetics you like, and pick one of the dresses you already
own. As I recall, you have a little red dress that I have always
thought you looked especially good in. Bring that one.
You'll have a chance to comb your hair, and put on makeup once we get
there."
He put his hand in the small of her back and gave her a gentle push
toward the house. She opened her mouth and he cut her off.
"Don't talk, Melanie!" he ordered again. "Walk."
She had never seen him like this. She had always been able to
dominate him, first with her looks, then with the promise of sex, and
finally, with her tongue. She'd needed a boyfriend, who
could be turned into a husband, because she couldn't get her
inheritance until she'd been married ten years. That was her
grandfather's fault. The sexual revolution had shocked him, and
he had made it plain, using his money, that none of his family would
engage in anything approaching "free love" or indiscriminate sexual
behavior.
His own children had already blown it, on that score, as far as he was
concerned, with the exception of his son, Harvey, who successfully
navigated the rules, and inherited the five million dollars his father
had set aside for him. Harvey's brother and sister still lived in
trailers, on the edge of an Indian reservation.
The remaining fifteen million in the old bastard's estate was reserved
for his grandchildren, could they match Harvey's behavior. At
present, technically, that meant that each grandchild who met the
requirements would receive two million, free and clear.
Once all of them had either completed the plan, or been disqualified,
the remaining money would be split evenly between the successful
contenders.
Melanie was Harvey's only child. She had six cousins, whom
she had never met, but knew a lot about. Private detectives kept
an eye on the trailer trash. Two of them had already cut
themselves out of the inheritance, and there were pictures to prove
it. They didn't know about those pictures, and wouldn't, until
somebody tried to claim their part of the inheritance. That was
to ensure that the other four didn't worry about surveillance, in hopes
they'd slip up too. Harvey and Melanie weren't all that
worried about anyone watching Melanie. The trailer trash couldn't
afford the rates that private investigators charged. Besides,
Melanie, though she didn't know it, had a low sex drive. Sex was
smelly, nasty business, that required showering carefully,
afterwards. Shopping was much more fun.
That was part of the reason Melanie was so welcome at home. All
she had to do was stay married for another six years, and she'd very
likely have more money than her father did.
Melanie found herself, to her continuing surprise, sitting in the
passenger seat of Jeff's 1995 Ford Escort, the only car he could
afford, after Melanie took theirs, leaving him to keep making the
payments. He had been so intent on getting Melanie into his car
and off the property, he hadn't even thought about the fact that there
was a much better car on the place, that he had every right to use,
than the old Ford. She couldn't remind him either.
Every time she had opened her mouth, he'd been right there, telling her
to shut it. She'd finally had enough of his new assertive
behavior.
"I'm not going ANYWHERE with you, if you keep treating me like THIS!" she'd shouted.
"Melanie," he'd said, his voice serious. "You're my wife, even
though you're not acting like it. You ARE going with me to this
party, and you WILL behave yourself and act like you're having a good
time, or so help me, I'll file for divorce!"
He had no idea he'd played the only card he had in his hand that
trumped any of hers. Her attitude after that surprised him,
but he was so relieved that she actually packed a bag and got in the
car with him, that he didn't worry about it.
As they left town, she asked: "Where IS this party?"
"It's in a town called Glenns Ferry," he said. He had to speak
loudly, because the windows were down. The AC didn't work in his
car.
"Glenns FERRY!" yelled Melanie. "That's clear over in Elmore
County!" Harvey Spoonweather had built his mansion on the
outskirts of Boise. It would take them hours to drive to
Glenns Ferry.
"Yes, it is," said Jeff, staring straight ahead.
"Why are you doing this to me?" whined his wife, trying to capture her blond tresses and keep them from whipping in her face.
"We're married, Melanie," he yelled. "You're my wife. Married people have a social life!"
Melanie, reminded that she was, in fact, married, subsided. She
figured out how to let the seat go back and tried to go to sleep.
Talking to Jeff was something she'd never figured out how to
do. All he ever wanted to talk about was fixing society's
woes. She already knew now to do that. Money.
Money fixed everything.
Roberta had planned the party for a Sunday evening, because that was
when the people she wanted to come to this party would most likely be
available. She prepared the guest list carefully. She
knew some of Phillip's business associates, and chose one couple from
that list. She invited another man she knew her husband wanted to
do business with, and assumed that man would come, just to see what
Phillip would offer him. She added Jeff and his wife, per their
plan, and stopped there. Eight for dinner was a manageable
number, and it was likely that the two couples invited for "cover"
would leave early. That would leave Melanie and Phillip with time
to kill, and, hopefully, talk. She had everything that she
intended to have when Jeff and Melanie arrived. They were
supposed to come early, just in case.
She looked in the mirror. She wasn't going to gussy herself
up. She'd wear a modest dress, and very little makeup. Jeff
wouldn't care, and Jeff was the only one whose opinion she really cared
about.
She stared at the woman in the mirror. Were they really
going to do this? Could they pull it off? Was this
the stupidest idea in the world?
She sighed, and left, to check everything one more time. On
impulse, she went to the den, where Phillip was surfing the net.
Even on Sunday, he'd started trying to find business opportunities,
doing research on companies he might want to buy into.
"Our first guests will be here in an hour or so," she said. "Jeff
- the one I met in Arizona and told you about - he and his wife will
arrive early. They're coming from quite a distance, and she'll
need some time to get ready."
"Um ... OK," he said, staring at the screen.
"We have an hour ... if you're feeling ... frisky," she said, half
hoping, and half dreading his answer. She felt conflicted ... she
really owed him the chance to ... reclaim her?
"Maybe later," he said, still staring at the screen and clicking the mouse. "Maybe after the party."
"Maybe," she said softly. Then, she left, to check everything one more time.
Roberta was the perfect hostess when Jeff dragged Melanie to the
door. He had her bag in his hand. His was still in the
trunk.
"Come in, come in!" said Roberta brightly, looking only at
Melanie. "You poor thing. I'm so sorry this was so far away
from your home, but I so wanted to meet you." She glanced
at Jeff, who nodded once, letting her know that he'd informed Melanie
about how they'd met, and how, when he'd left his wallet at the center,
she'd covered the cost of his dinner one night. Coming to the
party was her way of letting him pay her back. Jeff
had thought it was a pretty flaky story, but that was the way Melanie
thought. Tit for tat, and throwing money around was something she
understood well.
Roberta took the bag from Jeff.
"Nice to see you again, Jeff," she said, almost dismissively.
"Let me get your lovely wife somewhere where she can freshen up and
relax. I have the iron warmed up, so we can freshen up her dress
too. Phillip's busy making money, so you'll meet him later.
Make yourself comfortable. I'll get you something to drink when
Melanie is all settled."
Roberta led Melanie off, already chatting animatedly, and Jeff, with a
huge sigh of relief, sat down in the living room. Exhausted
by the tension of getting things this far, and still on track, he dozed
off within ten minutes.
They were on the time table, and that alone gave Jeff and Roberta hope
that things would go well. Melanie had time only to get
ready. Roberta took her to the guest bedroom, pushed her into the
shower and then helped her put her hair up. She ironed the dress
while Melanie applied her makeup, and then left to get ready
herself. She woke Jeff, kissed him firmly, but quickly, and told
him to go get dressed with his wife.
Jeff carried his suitcase into the bedroom as Melanie was putting on the finishing touches.
"I think I'm gaining weight or something," she moaned, pulling at the
front of her dress. It was startlingly red, and the neckline
plunged to well below her full breasts. There were diamond
shaped cut-outs on the sides, and almost no back at all.
The dress itself announced that there was no bra ever made that could
be worn with it. Her nipples punctuated that statement. She
had shoes to match, of course, and had brought the diamond necklace her
father had given her for her last birthday. It was worth seven or
eight thousand dollars, and the matching dangly earrings were worth
another four grand.
She looked fabulous.
"See?" she said, trying to cover more of her breasts. The edge of
the dress threatened to show her areolas, which Jeff knew were pale
pink, and actually lighter than her tanned breast flesh.
Jeff was suddenly aware that, at some time or another she must have lay
in the sun naked, since there were no tan lines in sight. He
wondered how she did that with servants all over the place, half of
them male.
"You look beautiful," he said, meaning it. She'd always been
beautiful, and he'd always been amazed that she'd chosen him, when
there were so many better looking men around. It had made him
feel proud, at first.
"When did I gain all this weight?" she moaned. "Will there be
dancing?" she asked. "I'll have to be careful if I dance anything
fast. My boobs could pop right out," she complained.
"Stand up and shake a little, and let's find out," he suggested, only half joking. "You know I love to see your breasts."
She glanced at him in the mirror, and her voice went into the sing-song
voice that always made him wince. "Pookie's so naughty, wanting
to see my boobies," she almost chanted, like he was a five year
old. "Pookie knows he can't play with them right now. We
have a party to go to! Maybe Pookie can play with them
later, if Mamma isn't too tired." Her face had never
changed at all, and she hadn't maintained eye contact with him,
brushing an eyebrow with one finger, instead. Her voice went back
to normal. "Where are we staying tonight, anyway? I hope
it's not some ratty motel. Do they have a decent hotel in this
town?"
"You know," he said, feigning astonishment, "I never even thought about
that! Stupid me!" He slapped his forehead with the
palm of his hand. "I'll have to ask Roberta about that."
"She seems nice," said Melanie, touching up her lipstick. "At
least she has good taste in perfume," she said, looking at the bottles
arrayed on the dressing table.
Jeff bit off a snarl, and got dressed. Before he was done,
Melanie stood. She never even looked at him while he
dressed. "I'm going to go mingle," she said, walking out the
door. "Don't be too long."
Melanie was a hit with all the men, and she was in her element.
Her party persona was bright, cheerful, and flirty. The women,
most of whom she put to shame, hated her immediately. The men,
trying not to make it obvious, seemed to always have some need to talk
to her about this or that thing. It got worse, depending on your
outlook, when Jeff let drop what her maiden name was. All of them
knew who Harvey Spoonweather was. While the mining empire his
father had reined over was long gone, the money it had generated was
not, and they were like sharks, with chum in the water, when they found
out she was his daughter. Roberta had chosen dinner guests
well. The women made sure that, after dinner, the party was very
short indeed.
When only the two couples were left, Roberta went to the kitchen, to
"freshen drinks". She came back, an annoyed look on her face.
"I'd have sworn I got four bottles of wine. We drank two, but I
can't find the other two. Those others might have pooped
out on us, but the party's just starting. I'm going to run out
and get more wine, darling. I won't be gone but a minute."
Jeff took his cue and stood up.
"Want some company?" he asked. "I didn't think the others would
be interested in teacher things, at dinner. This might give us a
chance to catch up on what's happened since the seminar."
"That would be nice," said Roberta, looking only mildly
interested. "Will you two be all right while we're gone?
Should we all go together?"
"I'd love to be able to chat with Melanie," said Phillip,
beaming. He was looking straight at Melanie's breasts as he
spoke. "I have some ideas that just might interest her father,
and I didn't want to talk about them during dinner."
"Well, then, Darling," said Roberta brightly, "chat away. Pick
some music so we can dance when I get back. When we get back."
She corrected herself as if she'd just remembered Jeff was going
along. "We never dance any more," she said, sounding pouty.
"Music," said Phillip, staring at Melanie's nipples. "Sure."
The wine Roberta was "going to get" was in the trunk of the car, along
with a blanket and two pillows. She drove to a dirt lane, that
led off into a wooded area. There was a gate, but she got out and
opened it, drove through, and closed it again.
"This is property owned by one of Phillip's business associates," she
explained. "They have big plans to develop it someday, and are
waiting for the value of the land to rise."
Beyond the thin line of woods was pasture. There was a big oak tree that shaded the ground in a thirty foot circle.
"Phillip brought me here one time to show me how much money he'll make
when they develop this land," she said. "I saw the
tree, and wanted to come back for a picnic. Somehow, it
never happened."
"Too bad," said Jeff, looking at her. "It's a nice place for a picnic."
"Nice enough for a picnic," she said, getting out. She took the
blanket and spread it out on the thick grass under the tree. Jeff
brought the pillows. By the time he got there, she was down to
her bra and panties. She gave him a smoldering look and
dropped them, and then lay down, spreading her legs, and pulling at her
nipples.
"Speaking of picnics ... see anything you want to nibble on?" she asked.
He did, and he nibbled with delight, her hands stroking his hair as she arched under him.
"I had a period when I got home," she moaned. Jeff was too
busy to say anything. "I'm ovulating right now," she
panted. "It would be very dangerous if any of your sperm
got in me tonight."
Roberta, acutely aware of the feeling of Jeff's sperm, seeping out of
her pussy, almost forgot to take the wine into the
house. When she remembered, she turned to see it in
Jeff's hands, and smiled at him.
Inside, they found Phillip and Melanie in the den, where Phillip was
showing her development plans for the very land his wife had cuckolded
him on, only fifteen minutes before. Melanie was bent over, as if
she was looking at the plans, or would know what they meant.
Phillip was looking at her cleavage. He could see all the way to
her navel, and his prick was stiff as a board.
"We're back," called out Roberta, gaily. "Let the party begin!"
She poured wine, and told Phillip to turn on the stereo. He
hustled over to the machine. It was obvious he hadn't chosen any
music while they were gone. He sorted through CDs, rejecting
some, and selecting others.
"Fast or slow?" he called.
"Both," said Jeff. Melanie shot him a glance, but then smiled. He wondered what that meant.
The first selection was fast, and before it had gone fifteen seconds,
Jeff knew that Melanie was trying to make her breasts "pop out", as she
had put it. They did, or at least the right one
did. She giggled cutely and put it back, only to gyrate
even harder, until it happened again. Jeff looked at
Roberta, who was frowning. She saw him looking, and her
frown turned to a smile. He wondered what that meant too.
When that song was done, Melanie giggled some more and said: "I
guess slow would be better. This dress isn't cooperating."
She drained her wine glass. Roberta filled it again.
It only took two more songs, and Phillip took the bait.
"Might I beg for a dance with your lovely wife?" he asked Jeff.
"If I might dance with YOUR lovely wife," said Jeff gallantly.
That turned out to be something they hadn't thought clearly
about. While neither Jeff nor Roberta minded if the other
two danced as closely as possible, they hadn't realized what being in
each others arms would be like, in this situation.
The first thing Roberta said, into Jeff's ear, when they started
dancing was "You want me? ... over her!?" Jeff wanted to do
was put his hands on Roberta's buttocks. He stopped himself, just
in time. He whispered back: "Yes." She ground her
hips against his, and then pulled back, blushing. Both of
them wanted to kiss each other. In the process, they almost
didn't pay any attention to the others.
It wouldn't have mattered.
Melanie had her eyes closed, with her hands on Phillip's
shoulders. His were on her back, sliding slowly up and down the
exposed skin there. She could feel the expensive weave of his
suit coat against the skin of her chest. What he'd spent
for that suit would buy ten of the kind Jeff wore.
Phillip's face was in Melanie's hair, and he wasn't looking at his
wife. He was too busy feeling the hot, soft orbs pressing
into his chest, so much different than what he felt when his wife
danced with him. He had gone soft, dancing with Roberta,
but was hard again now. Melanie didn't seem to mind shoving
her breasts against him, but he was trying not to press his boner
against her. When he accidentally brushed her with it, during a
turn, she didn't jerk back, or say anything. Her hands moved on
his shoulders, just a little, almost a stroke. When the
song ended, both were breathing hard.
"That was nice," she said, looking up at him with wide, blue eyes.
He wasn't sure ... it could have been his imagination ... but it almost
felt like she shoved her hips forward ... just a little ... as she said
it.
Two songs later, it was Jeff who suggested that they switch partners
again. He and Roberta made sure they talked about teacher
things, loudly enough to be overheard, during that dance. When it
was over, Roberta said "Go ahead again, we're still talking."
It was obvious that there was significant chemistry between the two
unsuspecting spouses. Phillip's hands dipped lower and lower,
toward the but crack that Melanie was displaying, and which, along with
the diamond cut-outs on her sides, suggested that, besides not wearing
a bra, she wasn't wearing panties either. That he had an erection
was plain to her, and it was just as plain to him that she didn't mind,
as her loins continually bounced against his. She swayed, too, so
that her big breasts rubbed against his jacket. In the
middle of the song, he broke away from her, took his jacket and tie
off, and then resumed dancing. Her nipples had grown, and
now he could feel those through his shirt.
It was at that point, with things going perfectly, according to plan,
that the plan ran out of steam. Jeff and Roberta had paid
particular attention to getting things this far. But that's
where they hadn't been able to extend the plan any farther. Now
that the scene was set ... the play was unfinished.
In any normal scenario, they could only dance so long, and then the
spouses would retire to separate bedrooms ... and the party would be
over. Jeff and Roberta didn't want the party to be over, but they
hadn't figured out any way to move things forward either. The
last thing Roberta had said was "We'll figure something out."
It was the thought of that, that galvanized Jeff, and made him ... improvise.
When the song ended, he let go of Roberta, and went to the other
couple, who were still pressed together. Phillip looked at him,
and with a crooked smile, said "Your wife is a divine dancer."
"I wouldn't know," said Jeff. "She doesn't dance with me like that."
A flicker of alarm flashed into Phillip's eyes, and he pulled away from
Melanie, his heart accelerating, as adrenaline was produced in is body.
"Let's talk about that, for a second," said Jeff, leaving his arms
hanging at his sides. "It seems, that while we were at that
seminar that we attended, that Roberta and I fell in love. We
didn't mean to, but it happened. It's real, and we're both
interested in pursuing a quiet, civilized divorce, and getting married
to each other."
You could have heard a pin drop.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Phillip's voice was low, and
harsh. He looked at Roberta, who was standing wide-eyed, four or
five feet away. This hadn't been part of the plan.
"He's telling the truth," she said, her voice soft. "I want
a divorce. You don't love me. You only think of
business. When you danced with Melanie ... you haven't held me
like that in as long as I can remember."
Phillip looked at the woman at is elbow. She was frowning.
Even frowning she made his prick hard. But that didn't
matter. What mattered was alimony, and the expense of divorce
lawyers, and the possible damage to his reputation. If he
couldn't control his wife, people would assume he couldn't control
their money either.
"That's ridiculous," he snorted. "You can't have a
divorce. I won't stand for it!" he blustered. He
thought of something. "And even if you tried, I'd win. You
just admitted you had an affair with this man! You'd get
nothing! You'd be lucky to leave here with the clothes on your
back," he snarled.
"Even when I show the judge the pictures of you and Cynthia, having
sex?" she asked. Her voice sounded nervous, and with good
cause. Cynthia was his secretary, and there were no
pictures. There was only her suspicion ... firm belief ... that
he had been cheating on her with Cynthia. Still, her belief was
so strong, it allowed her to bluff.
"What are you talking about?" his voice sounded hollow.
"I hired a private investigator," she said, her voice stronger
now. "After I smelled her perfume all over your clothes. I
have pictures, Phillip."
Phillip, knowing that he was boffing his secretary long, deep, and
continuous, had no trouble believing that there might be documentation,
even though he thought he'd been discreet. He tried
throwing himself on Roberta's mercy.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "It
was just that once, and I was gone from home - I missed you so much -
and she seduced me."
The shock of hearing confirmation of what she believed, but didn't want to believe, snapped something in Roberta.
"I have three sets of pictures, Phillip," she said forcefully, calling
his bluff, with even more bluffing of her own. "In three
different places, Phillip! They offered me more, but I said
three sets should be enough!" she almost yelled.
Phillip looked around, and sat in a nearby chair.
"But honey, this could ruin us!" he moaned.
"Don't you 'honey' me, you bastard!" she yelled. "Just let me
go. I don't want anything. You can keep your precious
money. You'll still be a millionaire by the time you're fucking
thirty!" She was crying now, and Jeff couldn't help but go to
her. He took her in his arms, and looked at Melanie. She
was still frowning, but hadn't said anything, thus far.
He wondered what THAT meant too.
"I can't divorce you," she suddenly blurted.
"Sure you can," said Jeff. "You don't even live with me any
more. I don't know why you married me in the first place, Mel."
"You don't love me either!" she said harshly. "If you did, you'd come
work for Daddy, and we could live like people SHOULD live!"
"You know I love teaching," said Jeff. "You knew I was going to
be a teacher when you married me! I thought we were getting
married because we loved each other ... not how we were going to live."
"You don't understand!" she said, getting loud. "I CAN'T get a divorce!"
"Help me understand," he said. "You could have any man you want."
"I can have any man I want," she agreed, "but I can't get my inheritance if I get a divorce."
"What inheritance?" asked Jeff, confused. "You never told me about any inheritance."
That's when it all came out. She explained it all, even
though she wouldn't have, unless she had to. She even told him
about the secret pictures of her cousins, breaking the agreement by
fucking around, trying to make him understand how much money was
involved.
"Don't you see, Jeff? All we have to do is stay married for
six more years and we'll be ROLLING in money!" Her nipples
were spiked again, and one areola was clearly showing, because she was
breathing so hard, thinking of all that lovely money.
"I don't want the money," said Jeff. "All I want is Roberta."
Both Melanie and Phillip, who was breathing pretty hard too, and whose
mouth was literally watering at the thought of all that money, stared
at Jeff like he'd sprouted another eyeball, maybe in his forehead.
"HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT MONEY?!" screamed Melanie.
"Calm down, everybody," said Roberta, stepping forward. "Let's
all sit down and discuss this like adults. There has to be an
answer." Roberta, once Bob had taught her how to, was pretty good
at finding options that most people wouldn't have looked
for. She had an idea now.
"What is there to talk about?" asked Melanie, looking at her rival, and almost sneering.
"You want the money, and I want Jeff," said Roberta. "What if we could both have what we want?
"How?" Melanie's greed created interest.
"In six years, after you get the money, you can get a divorce, right?"
"Yes," said Melanie. The ease with which she said that hurt Jeff,
somewhere deep inside. He knew, now, that there was nothing left
between them.
"Phillip has been sleeping with his secretary," said Roberta, "which is
completely unacceptable." She looked at him, and he had the grace
to look sheepish. She could see interest in his face too,
though. "I wouldn't have been attracted to Jeff if you
hadn't cheated on me first, and I can't stay with you because we both
cheated," she said to him. She turned to Melanie. "So,
I propose that you become his secretary," said Roberta.
Both Phillip and Melanie blinked. Roberta went on before they could speak.
"You'll live with him ... here ... unless, of course that isn't
acceptable to one of you. I doubt that. You were rubbing
yourself all over him, and he couldn't keep his tongue in his
mouth." She said it with no disgust in her voice. After
all, she and Jeff had done the same thing. "You can help him with
his business dealings ... your father may be interested in some of his
ideas. He has good ideas, and he WILL be wealthy some
day. I'll live, and teach, with Jeff, in Dover.
We all do that for six years, and then there will be quiet divorces,
and you two can do whatever you like."
She sat down. She couldn't believe all that had come out of her mouth.
Melanie looked at her, then at Phillip, and finally, last, at her husband.
"That's insane," said Phillip, "but it might just work."
Melanie looked at him appraisingly. He was frank in his
examination of her too. She was even better looking than Cynthia.
Melanie, ever the schemer, wasn't stupid, though.
"What about you two?" she asked. "You can't just live together. People there know he's married."
"Roommates," said Jeff. "I'll tell them our marriage didn't
work out. They'll never know there's actually no divorce
yet. She'll be a new teacher, and will need a place to
live. I'll rent her the spare room. We'll just be
roommates. People will expect us to ... become close."
"How do you know she can get a job there?" asked Melanie, suspiciously.
"You've seen the town," said Jeff. "It's why you left. They can never find enough teachers."
"True," said Melanie. She looked at Phillip again. "You do have some good ideas," she said, grudgingly.
"If I had access to some capital, I could accelerate my long term
plan," he said, looking at her nipples again. "We could be a hell
of a team."
She gave him a smile that would have hurt Jeff, had he not already known she didn't really love him.
"I've been bored to tears, at home," she said. Then, ever
practical, Melanie turned back to Roberta. "What now?" she
asked. Her hand went to her hair ... a primping motion.
Roberta knew she wasn't primping for Jeff.
"You two have plans to make ... things to talk about. Jeff
and I have things to talk about too. As ... hostess ... I
must offer you the best I have. That would be the master
bedroom ... if you're staying here tonight."
There it was. The offer to trade spouses had been made. It
wasn't in the traditional vein of wife-swapping, but it was
wife-swapping, none the less, and blatantly so. Phillip looked at
Roberta with interest. Had she shown this side of herself,
previous to this, he might have been more interested in
her. He liked the devious twist of her
solution. He looked at Melanie ... at the areola which was
now clearly showing. She was Harvey Spoonweather's
daughter. For him, the choice was obvious.
Melanie saw the look. She was bored, which was common,
these days. And she was horny, which was unusual.
Maybe she could control this one more successfully than she had
Jeff. She looked at Jeff.
"You don't want the money?" she asked, still thinking he was crazy.
"Not a cent," he said, taking Roberta's hand.
Melanie looked back at Phillip.
"Well," she said brightly, "I did bring a bag."
Phillip's thinly disguised attempt at gallantry, when he said "Let me
show you to the master bedroom, and get you settled," was almost
laughable. He never came back. Roberta started
cleaning things up, out of habit, and to see if he would.
Jeff helped. When it was clear that anyone in his right mind had
had more than enough time to show a guest to the master bedroom, and
come back ... if he was going to. Jeff approached Roberta from
behind, and put his hands on her hips.
She took them and pulled them to her breasts, and leaned back against him. Then she turned.
"It's sad, in a way," she said.
"I know," agreed Jeff.
"Why do I feel so happy ... if it's so sad?" she asked.
"Maybe it has to do with the fact that you're ovulating," he said.
"I'm ovulating," she repeated, her eyes going unfocused. They cleared, and took on a smoky cast.
"Did you remember the condoms?" he asked. Jeff had warned
her that Melanie would never let him have sex without a condom.
The thought of having children terrified her, even though she was on
the pill. Sex, between Melanie and Phillip was something Jeff
felt was necessary ... in the hopes that it would bond the two even
further.
"There's a box lying on the bedside table," said Roberta. "I put them there myself."
"Here's hoping they use them all," said Jeff, leaning forward to kiss her.
"I didn't save any for us to use," she said, in a little girl voice. "And I'm ovulating."
"Pity," he said. "I'm willing to take a chance."
She pulled him toward the guest bedroom.
"Me too."
The next morning, Melanie came down wearing one of Roberta's light
robes. It wasn't closed, and she was naked under it.
Roberta was fixing breakfast.
"I hope you don't mind. You said to make myself at
home," said Melanie cattishly. Now that she'd had half a
dozen orgasms, her cruel streak was coming out. "When are
we going to do the switch thing?"
"I'm ready to leave with Jeff right now," said Melanie. "We can rent a truck and take my things with us."
"Good," said Melanie. "I want to move my stuff in right away."
Twelve long hours later, Roberta followed Jeff into his
house. The first thing she did was throw the few things
Melanie had left there, in a pile on the floor. Then she took a
shower with Jeff. Then she took him to bed.
Moving her stuff in could wait.
Just about everybody had to get through the next school year before
residences could change. Contracts had to be honored.
Tiffany and Roberta were the exceptions.
Roberta simply went to her school and told them she was moving to take
care of her very ill mother. She didn't feel bad about lying.
Tiffany, delighted when Chuck showed up right on time, two weeks after
the seminar was over, set about getting pregnant. They failed the
first month, but she missed the next period after that one.
The way she told Chuck she was pregnant is worth mentioning.
They lived two and a half hours apart, and saw each other about every
other weekend. One evening, when he wasn't expecting her, Tiffany
rang his doorbell. It was hot, and all he was wearing was a pair
of gym shorts. It was dark outside, and his porch light wasn't
working, so he simply opened the door, to let the interior light
illuminate whoever was there. Who was there ... was Tiffany
... with her pompons. She was wearing a spandex top, with the
letters "FMH" ironed on it between her breasts. The top came to
just below her breasts and her nipples telegraphed themselves through
the white fabric, on either side of the letters. By this time,
Chuck was aware that her nipples were only erect when she was very
excited, and he noticed they were erect. Around her hips was a
pleated skirt, blue and white. She was wearing white tennis
shoes, and her hair was in a pony tail.
"Good evening, Sir," she said brightly, shaking her pompons. My
name is Tiffany, and I'm collecting for the Retired Cheerleaders of
America program. Would you like to make a donation?"
Chuck grinned, and folded his arms across his chest.
"Well ... Tiffany, did you say? ... I don't know about that. I don't have a lot of money."
"Oh, Sir!" she squealed. "That's perfectly all right. We're not collecting money."
"What are you collecting?" he asked.
"May I come inside?" she asked sweetly. "I'm sure I can explain it to your satisfaction."
He held out his arm, pointing toward the living room, and she went to
sit primly on the edge of the couch, her knees securely together.
He closed the front door, and walked toward her.
"What are you collecting?" he asked, leering at her.
She leaned back. "We're opening a sperm bank," she said, her
voice high. She flipped the skirt up over her midriff, exposing
her bare pussy. She spread her legs.
"Would you like to make a deposit?" she asked, reaching to pull her pussy lips apart.
"I believe I might," said Chuck, pushing his gym shorts down.
"Oooooo, you have such a big one," she whined. "I bet you'll make a really big deposit."
"Anything for the RCA," he panted. He leaned over her.
"By the way," he said, lowering the tip of his prick to her open pussy. "Why does your shirt say FMH instead of RCA?"
"Oh, that," she cooed, as he started in her. "The letters on my top stand for Fuck Me Hard."
He did.
She talked about him being better than the basketball team. She
told him he was better than the football team. She said he was
even better than all the coaches.
"Oh, you're on the pill," gasped Chuck, trying to figure out what this part of the game was for.
"Nooooooo," she whined.
"Don't you worry about getting knocked up, fucking all those men?" he panted.
"I don't have to worry about that," she moaned, thrusting up against him.
"I don't get it," he finally admitted.
"They can't knock me up," she panted back. "I'm already pregnant by my boyfriend."
Though Jane didn't know it, she took a page out of Tiffany's
playbook. When she confirmed that she was pregnant, she went
shopping. The white blouse was easy, as were the white knee
socks. She couldn't find patent leather, flat-heeled shoes, with
a strap and buckle, and had to settle for white tennies.
The skirt, black and white checkered, that came to a point about five
inches above her knees, she had to order on the internet.
Like Tiffany, she went to see Roger unannounced, and at night, when the
neighbors wouldn't be as likely to see how she was dressed. When
he answered the door, dressed in a light robe, she used the voice she
had practiced, over and over, until she could finally use it without
breaking into giggles. It made her sound very
young. She had a wad of gum in her mouth, and remembered to
chew it vigorously.
"Hi, Mister Zee," she said Brightly. A lot of his students called
him that. "I know you probably never saw me at school, or
anything, but I'm Jane. I'm trying to earn some money
babysitting. I thought maybe I could baby-sit for you."
Roger stared. Her hair was in dog ears. As she stepped into
the light, he gulped. He could see the dark circles of her
areolas through the white blouse.
"I ... um ..." He was not, in any way, shape or form, prepared
for her appearance. He felt himself spring to attention. If
he hadn't been wearing boxers under the robe, his prick would have
parted the robe and pointed right at her. "I ... well ... you see
... I don't have a baby for you to baby-sit." He had
a sudden cold feeling as he realized he'd blown it.
"Oh," she said, sounding sad. Then she brightened. "That's
OK. Couldn't I just practice taking care of a baby, then."
Roger tried to adapt to the situation. "You want to practice ... here?"
She looked at the ground and put the toe of one shoe down, swinging her ankle around on it, like she was shy. "Uh huh."
Roger got it then. "Jane," he said softly. "Does your mother know you're here?"
"Uh uh," she said, shaking her head. Her dog ears flopped.
"She's visiting my aunt Sophie. I'm home all alone this weekend,
and I got bored, so I thought I'd try to make some money."
"Well, I suppose you could practice. I could pay you a
little. Not as much as if you actually babysat for me, of course."
"OK," she said brightly.
Roger was lost again. Where did the game go from here? He improvised.
"So, what do you want to practice first?" he asked.
"Well," she said, looking around. "My sister feeds her baby all the time. Maybe we could practice that."
"We?" he asked.
"Sure. You be the baby." she said, pushing him to the
couch. Her fingers somehow unbuttoned her blouse so quickly that,
as Roger started to sit down, it was buttoned, and as he looked up
after he sat down, it was open. Her naked breasts, with their
stiff nipples, strained towards his face. "And I'll be the mommy."
She put her nipple to his mouth, and he sucked at it gently.
"Mmmm I like that," whined Jane. "My sister holds her baby, but
you're too big for that. Maybe it would work this way."
She lay down on his lap, and pulled his head to her chest.
While he sucked at her nipples, he ran a hand up her leg, under the
school girl skirt. She wasn't wearing panties, and squealed when
his finger slid in her.
"That's where babies come from," she moaned.
"I know," he said.
"Are you sure you don't have a baby?" she moaned.
"I'm sure," he said. "Do you maybe want to practice making one?" he asked.
"I don't have to," she sighed, bucking up against his finger. "My boyfriend already made a baby in me."
The women stayed in close contact after the seminar, during the rest of
the summer. Roberta kept them apprised of what was happening with
her. There was great celebration when she shared with them that
she was now living with Jeff. When Tiffany got
pregnant, and then Jane, the women started making plans. It was
decided that a triple wedding was in order. It would have been a
quadruple one, but Roberta, of course, couldn't get married for
years. Those who WERE getting married thought it was only fair
that Roberta would be the Maid of Honor for all the weddings, and Jeff
would be the Best Man. The weddings were tentatively
planned for the following June.
Once they were in agreement about everything, the plan was for each of them to get their man to agree to it.
When Tiffany started teaching, she was a month pregnant, and informed
the administration that, per policy, and her due date, she'd be
teaching six months, until the middle January. The
principal just told her that, when school broke for the holidays, she
might as well consider herself done, since the kids didn't even come
back to school until the middle of January. When that time
came, she simply moved in with Chuck. He wanted to marry her
right away, but she made him wait for the others.
It was Woody, always gregarious, who happened on the information that
would reunite the group, or at least most of the
group. A member of a ballroom dancing club, he was
tipped off, at a club dance, that an opportunity might await in a
little town called Sweet Grass, Montana, which had a border crossing
into Canada. A club member informed him that contracts were
being let to build a whole new subdivision on one side of Sweet Grass,
to house the anticipated increase in personnel who ran the border
crossing. Delays at other crossing points, due to Homeland
Security, were resulting in increased traffic in little Sweet
Grass. Besides the agents, support personnel were needed,
including teachers. A new consolidated school was being built too.
Woody checked into it, and found out recruiting for teachers for the
new school wasn't going all that well. Money for the project had
been found in Federal coffers, but getting teachers to move to the
middle of nowhere, where it snowed a hundred inches every winter, and
temperatures were commonly below zero, was proving to be less
successful, even though a house went with the deal. As long as a
teacher stayed and taught, there would be no mortgage payment.
Theoretically, if a teacher stayed long enough, the house would become
his or her property.
Woody talked to Crystal. Crystal talked to the other women, who
talked to the other men. The pay was good. There would be
no mortgage. The current crop of babies, percolating in their
wombs, would be old enough when school started in Sweet Grass to be
taken care of by hired help. You could dress for the cold -
everyone in Idaho knew that already - and ... they could all be
together.
Everyone applied, and everyone was accepted.
Everyone was elated, but Crystal was worried. She hadn't
been able to get hold of Lori for two months now. The phone
had been disconnected, and her call to Lori's school had gotten only a
frosty "She's no longer teaching here. No, I can't give you a
forwarding address. That would violate our privacy policy."
Crystal didn't know what to do. She didn't have any idea how to
search for Lori. Throughout the eight months following the
seminar, Crystal had called her about once a week, and Lori had always
sounded chipper and upbeat. She always said she was doing
fine. She said teaching was going all right. She never
found a boyfriend, but didn't sound unhappy about that. She never
indicated there was any problem. Then, one Saturday in February,
she just didn't answer the phone. Two weeks later she still
hadn't answered the phone, and the disconnected message started.
It was Tiffany who found out what happened, and she found out by
accident. She called Bob, to tell him about the triple
wedding, and the fact that his oddball class were all moving to Montana
together. During the conversation, Bob blithely said "Lori will
be thrilled when I tell her."
Tiffany's voice had come back: "What? Lori? You know where she is?"
"Sure," said Bob. "She's sleeping right now, or I'd let you talk to her."
"She's THERE!?"
Bob sighed. "I told her to call Crystal. She said she was sure she could find the number."
"Bob, what the hell is going on?" moaned Tiffany. "We've been
worried SICK! She disappeared off the face of the Earth and
Crystal's been going nuts, trying to find her!"
"Calm down, and I'll tell you what happened," said Bob.
He then narrated how, when Lori left his house to move into the
apartment they'd rented for her by phone, she was already pregnant, but
didn't tell him. She later said that she was afraid he'd
feel responsible, somehow, and she didn't want him to feel beholden to
her. She'd done fine, initially, but, in the eighth month,
there were complications. She'd ended up in the hospital and,
broke and alone, had finally called Bob.
"You went and got her, didn't you?" moaned Tiffany. "PLEASE tell me you went and got her!"
"Of course I did," said Bob. "I had her transferred to a hospital
in Phoenix. She had the baby and she's doing fine. She
wanted to name him Zanzibar, of all things. Can you believe that?
She said she was trying to think outside the box." He chuckled.
Tiffany just sputtered into the phone.
"Anyway," Bob went on, "we finally decided on Timothy. When she
got out of the hospital, I just moved them both in here. I keep
trying to get her to marry me, but she's stubborn as hell,
Tiffany. She insists I'm only offering because I knocked her up!"
Bob heard a long, drawn - out sigh on the phone. "But she's OK?" asked Tiffany weakly.
"Fit as a fiddle."
"We were so worried," said Tiffany, her voice stronger.
"She promised me she was going to call Crystal. I had to go get
her stuff, and I threw it all in boxes. She was living in a rat
hole. If I'd known, things would have happened a lot differently,
and a lot sooner."
"She always told Crystal everything was great," said Tiffany. "She didn't call you at all?"
"Not once," said Bob. "She said she was trying to be independent."
"Wait 'til I get my hands on her!" growled Tiffany.
"She understands better now, believe me," said Bob. "I came down on her
pretty hard, once she was out of the hospital. But I can't get
her to marry me."
"You just let us take care of that!" said Tiffany. "When Crystal
finds out what happened, she's going to be furious. She may even
come down there!"
"Don't be too hard on her," said Bob. "She was trying to grow up
too fast. Like I said, I think she understands better, now."
"Tell me about the baby!" said Tiffany, her voice excited.
"Born the first of March, about two weeks premature, six pounds on the
button, hair that I'd swear came from Sasquatch, seventeen inches long
- the baby, not the hair - the labor was only seven hours. Did I
forget anything?" he ended.
"That will do for now. And his name is Timothy?"
"Timothy Gene Nivens," said Bob, proudly. "I insisted she put me
on the birth certificate, so he could be covered by my insurance."
"Call you back!" came Tiffany's short voice, and there was an abrupt click in his ear.
Tiffany didn't call him back, but Crystal did, about an hour
later. Lori, in fact, answered the phone. Bob listened in.
"Hi Crystal!" she said excitedly.
"I know," was mournful. It was mournful the next four times she said it.
"I'm sorry," said Lori, beginning to sniffle. "Things kind of got out of control."
...
"I KNOW, Crystal! Crystal! I had a BABY, Crystal!
He's so darling. He looks just like Bob and I love him so
much. We named him Timothy, and he eats like a horse.
He was so tiny and helpless when he first came out, but he's gained a
LOT of weight and he's grown SO much!"
...
"Of course I love him."
...
"But what if he just feels beholden to me? I don't want that."
...
"Yes, he's said that a lot of times."
...
"Yes, I believe him."
...
"You really think I should? That's a pretty big step."
...
"Oh, Crystal, having a baby was easy ... except for the problems, and
that was just because I was working too hard. They said it won't
happen again, as long as I take better care of myself. I
didn't get to see the doctor very much, because it was so
expensive. Bob yelled at me about that."
...
"Well ... if you think it's OK."
...
"OK, I'll ask him as soon as I hang up."
...
"OK, bye. NO! WAIT! I can't find your number. Give it to me again!"
She looked around, and jumped when Bob's hand appeared over her
shoulder with a pad of paper and a pen in it. She wrote the
number down and then said "Bye. I'll call you. I PROMISE!"
She turned around to look at Bob.
"Crystal yelled at me, like you did," she said, pouting.
"She did, did she?"
"Yes, and she told me I HAVE to marry you."
"She did, did she?"
"Yes. Do you still want to marry me?"
"More than anything in the world," he said softly.
"OK, then," she said, smiling. "I'll marry you."
He kissed her long and hard, and crushed her in his embrace, so that she was panting when he let her loose.
"Do you remember how I used to always ask you to have sex with me?" she sighed.
He nodded.
"Now that we're going to get married, we can make love."
"I've always made love with you," he said, surprise in his voice.
"You should have told me," she sighed, kissing him again. "I would have married you then."
Bob looked at her, stunned, but she didn't notice.
"I have to go feed Timothy," she said. "You want to watch?"
He nodded again, not trusting his voice to speak. He had a
long way to go with this woman. Communication would need to be
improved. He grinned wryly, as she took his hand and pulled him
toward their bedroom.
"After he's done, we can make love," she said.
Epilogue to the Epilogue
People filed into the room, looking around. Most of them felt
like they'd never been to anything like this ... even though they had
no idea what this was going to be like. Wives tended to sit close
to their husbands, as they looked around at the other nine couples
attending the Seminar on Human Interaction and Sexual Relations.
A pregnant young woman came briskly through the door, carrying a sheaf
of papers. She went to the head of the table. She was
dressed in a pair of nice slacks, and a pullover shirt that was
covering what the women in the room judged to be a belly that was about
seven months pregnant. Her shirt, in sparkly letters, said:
"Pregnant women do it, obviously".
"Good morning," she said, brightly. "My name is Lori
Nivens. Welcome to the seminar. My husband, Bob, will be
here in a bit. It's his turn to take care of getting our three
children to child care, but I'll get you started." She smiled,
looking around the room. "First, I want to congratulate you for
choosing to come here, to an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar
people. You'll get to know each other better ... as mates.
You'll also probably get to know everyone else in this room, better
than any other people in your lives, including your relatives.
This seminar is going to change your lives. I can promise you
that."
People stared at her curiously. She only looked like she was
perhaps twenty-one years old. If she'd had three children, and
was about to have a fourth, she'd been popping them out since she was
in High School. Most of the people in the room were
in their thirties. A woman raised her hand, and Lori looked at
her.
"Yes?"
"Excuse me, but aren't you a little young to be an expert on interpersonal relationships?"
Lori smiled. She'd heard it all before.
"I'm twenty-six, and I'm a teacher," she said, without a hint of
defensiveness in her voice. "You may get to hear my story while
you're here. That depends. But I can promise you that,
between Bob and me, you're going to leave here with a whole different
view of the world than you have right now."
She looked around the table again.
"For example," said Lori, looking around the room. "There are at
least four men in this room who are staring at my nipples right
now. I know this for two reasons. The first is that I made
sure my nipples were poking through my shirt before I came in
here. The second is that I know which four men were staring at my
nipples when I said that. The rest all stared at them before
that."
There was a rustle of activity, and the nine women in the room
stiffened, and looked at their mates. Nine men in the room looked
sheepish.
"So," said Lori. "Since staring at nipples seems like a universal
sort of thing for men to do, let's just start there. I can
explain what's going on in this situation, so you ladies can understand
that my nipples are not a threat to your marriage, even when I show
them off on purpose. Relax, ladies. By the end of the week,
when we're done here, your men won't be staring at my nipples any
more. They'll be chasing you around the hot tub instead."
