The Brass Statuettes
By: Autumn Writer
© Copyright 2007
Author’s note: “The Brass
Statuettes” is a sequel to a short story that I wrote some time ago, “The Saga
of Trudy and Frank”. You can read and enjoy this story without having
read the forerunner. If you do you’ll understand this one much better.
*************
Prologue
A man reaches out, grasping the
final, sharp-cornered stone with bleeding hands and fingers. Exhausted,
urging forth his last reserve of strength, willing himself
up and over the final obstacle, he pulls his weary legs under him, thrusts up
the aching body, pressing skyward. A hot, dry wind stings across his
face—he does not care. He surveys what he has conquered: the view of the
ground below, the spent bodies of competitors, impaled on lower tiers along the
way, and those few sharing the view with him. He has struggled to the top
of the pyramid, realizing his dreams and promise.
He is exhilarated, yet a little
bit self-conscious. As he can see all from his lofty perch, so too, he
can be observed. He straightens himself, adjusting his appearance in
every way, for whatever is seen says something of him. All must know why
he has risen so high and why they should wish to be like him. That
applies to his possessions. House, car, clothing, golf clubs, and desk
spell out the details of his tastes, his standards, his desires.
His wife is his most important
possession. He is the Alpha Male; they are the Alpha Pair. She must
be beautiful, young and nubile. Of course, she will be intelligent and
cultured. Above all, she is discreet, if not loyal. She runs in the
pack with the other wives, blending in and at the same time standing out in
accordance with the status of her mate.
She is decorator and decoration. It is her duty to do what
she must to defy time, age and over-indulgence. In return, she is granted
security, luxury and a curious power.
There are such women nearby every
boardroom and headquarters. They seek out, and are sought. Adorned
with diplomas in Art History and French Literature; denizens of spas, salons
and private gyms; they are perfect hostesses and skillful
guests. They share their men’s beds and secrets. They
share their fortunes, too—and are well-versed in the proper use of money for
pleasure and power. They are the Trophy Wives—Brass
Statuettes on a walnut base.
The Brass Statuettes
By: Autumn Writer
© Copyright 2007
Chapter 1—Watering the Garden
Juana Hernandez stood in the
hallway, not far from the French doors that opened to the veranda.
Although the summer afternoon was a hot one, she wore her grey, cotton maid’s
shift with the black trim and white buttons. She was a professional—never
lowering her standards for anyone or any reason. The hot,
She looked out a spotless
pane. Her husband, José, worked in the garden. She wondered if the
hot sun was too much for him. He bent to his work in the garden under his
wide-brimmed straw hat. He kept his pace constant, neither allowing the
heat to dog him, nor hurrying to complete his work more quickly to avoid
exposure. His copper skin was cracked and leathered from decades of
afternoons toiling in the
The house had changed hands a
number of times in the three decades of their service. The new owners
always chose to ask Juana and José to stay on after the change of title.
It was a large house with spacious rolling grounds in the
Juana chose not to get to know the
residents too well. They were, after all, just one in a line of
succession. When they left there would be a new family and the house
would still remain. By not knowing them she could avoid both judging and
forgiving them. Wealth was always accompanied by more vice than
virtue. It was a discipline instilled in her long ago.
The younger maids, who came in from the city part time to assist her, didn’t
quite understand the rule. They gossiped and giggled in their group until
Juana heard them. She chastised them in Spanish, so that the mistress
could not understand, and the young girls would go back to their cleaning and
polishing.
“Juana! Bring some more
iced tea.” She heard her mistress’ command, louder than was
necessary. That had to mean that the hot, afternoon sun, coupled with the
iced tea laced with vodka, were having the predictable effects on her mistress
and her friends.
“Si, Señora Warner,” she yelled
back with a sigh, rolling her eyes. Juana knew immediately that she had
erred in allowing the inflection in her voice to betray her attitude.
“Bring more mint leaves, too,”
she heard the Señora call after her as she turned for the kitchen. “And
be quick about it.”
She already had a fresh pitcher
of iced tea ready in the refrigerator, and fresh mint leaves in a jar.
She also thought to bring more ice and a set of clean glasses, though not
specifically asked to do so. She was a professional, after all.
Juana returned with her trayful
of supplies. “I wose teenking dat chu would be niding more ice, too,
Señora,” Juana declared in her Mexican accent as she stepped onto the
veranda. “And, ‘eer are some clin
glasses.”
“Fine, Juana,” her mistress
acknowledged. “Just set it all over there on the bar.”
“Weel dee Señora take a nap
before dee deennair?” the servant inquired.
“No!” the mistress snapped
back. “That will be all, Juana. You can leave us now.”
Juana shuffled away. She
nearly shook her head in sadness, but held back. It would have been,
after all, an act of judgment to do so, and that would have presumed closeness
that she was determined to avoid.
“¡Es borracha, otra vez!” she
said silently.
“¡Ah, Señor Alvin; el povrecito!”
She returned to her windows, out
of sight of the women seated around the circular table on the veranda.
“That maid of yours has some kind
of attitude, Gloria,” Juana heard one of them say.
“She acts likes she’s the queen
of the house,” another added.
“I know, I know,” Gloria
sighed. “If it were up to me I’d have fired them both long ago.
But,
“Don’t let her get under your
skin, Gloria.”
“That’s good advice,
Brenda. Now, be a dear and pour me a glassful of that special iced tea.”
“Sure thing, Gloria.
Anyone else?” Brenda asked as she rose from the
table. The two other women held up their own empty glasses, shaking them.
Brenda dropped the ice and mint
leaves into the bottom of the clean set of glasses. She poured in the
vodka and tea and set the full glasses on the tray that Juana left and placed
it in the middle of the large table. Each woman took a glass and eased
back into their chairs.
“You did that without spilling a
drop, Brenda,” Ashley joked. “You must’ve fallen behind us in your
drinking.”
“Practice and training,” Brenda
replied. “I can be totally soused and carry a tray of food or drinks
anywhere. It’s a skill that often comes in handy.”
“It was a lovely dinna’ pahty Friday night, Gloria,”
Darlene, the most youthful of the quartet said in her
“Careful—accent,” Gloria
admonished the young woman.
“Oh, you’re so right,
Gloria. I do need to shed this way of talkin’. Sometimes I slip
when I’ve had a drink or two. But the fact remains; I did so enjoy the
party.”
“When you’ve had a few drinks is
when you need to remember it most,” Gloria said. “I know it’s hard.
It was hard for me when I moved here from
“It was your first, wasn’t it?”
Ashley said, already knowing the answer.
“Well, Ah just loved it!” Darlene
replied. “All the beautiful gowns, the lights, the music; it was all so
grand!” she gushed.
“And all of the important
people,” Brenda added.
“Ah suppose so,” Darlene admitted
with a slight pout.
“Don’t be so glum about it,”
Ashley retorted. “Those old geezers are the contacts that make sure that
our dear husbands keep on VP-ing in this grand
company.”
“And keep that cash rollin’ in,”
Brenda agreed.
“So, who’s the man with the pot
belly and no hair?” Darlene inquired.
“Jim Sweeney,” Brenda
answered. “A retired oil company executive.”
“Well, that Mr. Sweeney thinks
that he has one foot in my bed and one hand in my panties,” Ashley
proclaimed. “He took liberties more than once while we were dancing.”
“And I saw you there in the
corner with him, letting him think exactly that,” Brenda laughed.
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”
Darlene demanded; her eyes were wide.
“Probably not,” Ashley answered
in honesty, “but one never knows when one’s talents can serve one’s needs.”
Darlene gasped.
“It’s part of your wifely duty,
dear,” Brenda admonished. “A little secret favor— someday, it might be that
final push that puts your husband over the top.”
“And you, right along with him,”
Ashley added.
“Come now, Brenda,” Gloria
scolded. “Don’t get Darlene all upset. That kind of thing isn’t
usually necessary. You just have to make a guy like Sweeney think he has
a chance to bed you. That’s usually enough.”
“And that you would just love him
to, if only…” Ashley added with a fake romantic swoon.
“And let your husband think it
was his leadership and analysis that got him the job,” Brenda put her last two
cents in the pot and all the women shared the laugh.
Darlene leaned back in her chair,
appearing unsure.
“Look, Darlene,” Gloria went on,
“it’s part of the executive game. You don’t have a choice whether you
want to play. Just being here makes you a player.”
“But, why can’t…”
“Because that’s the way it is,”
Gloria interrupted. “Sex and power just go together—like wine and
cheese.” The older woman peered over the top of her sunglasses to make
sure her pupil was listening. “Don’t look so sad,” she went on, wearing a
wry smile. “Sex is fun, after all. No one said that we can’t enjoy
our work.” The last remark brought another round of tittering, except
from Darlene who was adapting to her new code.
“If you say so, Gloria,” Darlene
mumbled into her drink.
“I do say so,” Gloria replied
sternly. “Do what you have to do. Don’t do anything for free and be
sure to keep your secrets secret.”
“Not secret from us, of course,”
Brenda quipped. They all laughed again. Even Darlene finally joined
in. The sun was merciless and Brenda made the fresh drinks strong.
They would have laughed at anything.
“By the way, Darlene,” Gloria
said, “your gown the other night was lovely. It so suited your petite
figure”
“Oh, thank you Gloria,” Darlene
answered with a self-conscious blush. “Your gown was…”
“Just make a few improvements
next time,” Gloria cut off the young novice. “The rule of two’s,” she
explained. “Double the cleavage; spend twice the money on the gown; divide
the extra fabric around your derriere by two. It will pay off double,
believe me.”
“I had on a little thong under
mine the other night,” Ashley declared. “Why bother going to the gym if
you can’t flaunt it once in a while?”
“It was just me underneath,”
Brenda confided. “Panty lines would have ruined it.”
“Oh, mah goodness!” Darlene exclaimed. She covered
her face in embarrassment, giggling and blushing at the naughtiness of it.
Ashley took a big swallow of her
drink. “You had your set on display as usual, Gloria; that’s for sure.”
“It wasn’t by accident, dear,”
Gloria acknowledged. “
“That,” Brenda snorted, “you so ably
did.” She set down her empty glass.
“
“Voila, as
“I noticed that none of the men
looked me in the eye when they were talking to me,” Gloria asserted with a
chuckle, “except for Frank Bennett—he’s so straight-laced.”
“They may not have looked you in
the eye, but they won’t forget you,” Brenda slurred, slumping down in her chair
and pulling the brim of her hat over her eyes.
“I would have never guessed
underwires,” Ashley admitted.
“They make them out of plastic
now, so they can move with you, instead of you with them. They’re really
pretty good—a modern technology breakthrough,” Gloria informed the others as
Ashley poured more elixir into the empty glasses. “I think that our
husbands’ company actually makes the plastic—or has something to do with it.”
“To plastic!”
Ashley hoisted her glass in a mock toast, spilling a little. The others
followed suit, laughing in their derision.
“Speakin’ of husbins,” Darlene
asked, “shouldn’t ours be headin’ home right about now? Aren’t we afraid
they’ll see us in this slightly tipsy condition?”
“Mine’s gone to
“
“Something to
do with bankers and Wall Street. They left this morning.
Then,
“Speakin’ of Frank Bennett, what
did y’all think of Trudy’s gown the other night,” Darlene asked.
“Certainly no
underwires in that!” Ashley put in.
“Didn’t need any,” Brenda said,
still slumping in her chair. “She never does; there’s nothing to hold
up.”
“Poor Frank,” Ashley
mocked. “Do you think he knows how deprived he is? Does he ever
wonder what a real handful feels like?”
“I don’t think he does,” Brenda
answered for the others.
“Maybe one of these days, I’ll
let him sample a handful of mine,” Ashley mused. “And while he’s doin’t that I’ll get my hands around somethin’ that belongs
to him.”
“Keep dreamin’,
girl,” Brenda warned.
“Well, he just makes me think
that he’d be a real handful in the sack,” Ashley continued, “and I could be
just the one to put him through his paces.”
“It was disgusting!” Gloria
declared. “Did you see how all the men’s eyes just followed Trudy around
the whole time? That includes our own dear husbands, mind you.”
“Maybe they were in a fog and
thought Trudy was a lighthouse,” Brenda quipped.
“They just couldn’t believe how
homely she is,” Ashley said.
“Imagine—wearin’ royal blue in
the summer,” Darlene sneered.
“It’s not that,” Gloria corrected
her pupils. “The men don’t care for any of that. They watch her because
they like her. They’d like us to be just like her, too—all smiley and
nice. They like her because she’s not one of us. She talks to them
like they’re just regular people and she doesn’t join in with us wives.
She’s what we were like before we got these higher responsibilities.”
“Well, she did look gorgeous in
that simple gown, being so tall and slender,” Ashley said.
“No, it’s ‘cause
they like her!” Gloria insisted, raising her voice. “And, they don’t like
us. They need us—but they don’t like us. Trudy’s got them wrapped around
her bony little finger, and we just can’t have it any
more.”
“You tell ‘em, Gloria,” Brenda
intoned, her eyes half-closed.
“If the men are gonna’ like
Trudy, she’s got to be made to be just like us!” Gloria commanded. “I
won’t play second fiddle to that flat-chested, homely giraffe!”
“How are we supposed to
accomplish that?” Ashley asked.
“That’s the part I haven’t got
yet,” Gloria admitted. “But, if we don’t figure it out soon, our men will
be having us be just like her, and none of us can do that.”
“Imagine ending up in divorce
court for having big tits,” Brenda mumbled from beneath her pulled-down hat
brim.
“It’s happened for less,” Ashley
warned. “I guess it depends on you pre-nup.”
“What kind of silly name is
‘Trudy’, anyway,” Darlene asked, but no one heard, or no one bothered to
answer.
*********
As Darlene and Ashley rose to
take their leave Gloria and Brenda cast each other quick glances. “Be
careful driving, girls,” Gloria called to the women over her
shoulder. “The sun is so hot,” Gloria turned to Brenda, “It
makes the vodka seem stronger than it really is. I wish they would use
their drivers.” Juana cast a furtive glance at the women as they tried to
steady their feet under themselves before staggering out and getting behind the
steering wheels of their cars.
“They’re afraid the drivers will
tell their husbands,” Brenda countered. “Besides, the drivers are on call
at the office.”
Gloria shrugged. “Enough of
that; let’s finish our drinks by the pool.”
It was late in the afternoon;
José and his helpers had finished for the day. The pool was to the side
of the veranda, about thirty feet away. Along side was an out-building
that served as a changing room and mini gym. As the two women stood up,
the effects of the alcohol hit them as it had their friends and they stumbled a
bit descending the few steps of the veranda.
“Did you bring your suit?” Gloria
asked.
“I always do,” Brenda
replied. “I put it on under my skirt and blouse. I’m always ready
to go in the pool when I’m at your house.”
Brenda set her drink on a small
table next to a chaise lounge, and her necklace and sunglasses alongside her
drink. She quickly stripped off the tee-shirt she was wearing to reveal a
bikini top. Two combs held back her honey-colored hair in place, but she
removed her dangling earrings.
Her bikini top was bright red,
which highlighted her fair-skinned breasts spilling out over the top. She
was very proud of them. They weren’t as big as Gloria’s, of course, but
they were plenty big and stood up by themselves on her broad-shouldered
frame. They were all hers—nothing added. She enjoyed the way they
were looked at when she had them out on display.
Women gazed at them in envy; men
in longing. If she liked a man, or if she wished him to want her, she
would treat him. First, profiles; then, a strategic bend at the waist
face- on to the target always did the trick. She’d casually look away to
allow the man to get a proper eyeful while staying discreet. She
pretended not to realize that her nipples were stiff and pressed through the
fabric. The excitement of it all made the little buttons send out their
message, without the necessity of touching them. She allowed Gloria the
pleasure of claiming to have ‘the best tits in the place’. Brenda knew
better and for the time being, it was enough.
Of course, there were men who
helped themselves without permission. They were men whom Brenda disliked,
or who hadn’t the standing to over-presume—usually plant managers, or staff
people visiting from the field. She knew how to handle them. There
would be the enticing display. Gradually, a man would loose himself,
allowing his eyes to linger a few seconds too long, or venture too close.
Sometimes he would manifest his interest in an involuntary, physical way—a very
unfortunate mistake at one of Gloria’s pool parties. Brenda would allow
more and more. All at once she would snap her head around, catching the interloper
in mid-gaze. She would stare at him for a few long seconds; then she’d
throw her head back and laugh, erasing the man’s dignity and hopes all at once.
“I’m fixin’ to finish this drink
before I go in for a swim,” Gloria said as she sank into a chaise and watched
Brenda finish undressing. “You go right ahead.”
Brenda kicked off her sandals and
unbuttoned the wraparound skirt. “That
“It the drinks,
Ah giss. They make me forget t’ hold it
back,” Gloria answered. “They make me feel like Ah’m still a day-bu-tant
ag’in, back in
Brenda didn’t answer; she knew
better. A little joke or quip taken the wrong way would not soon be
forgotten and would have a price. It was best to say nothing. She
slipped into the clear water. The coolness helped take away some of the
buzz from the one or two, too many drinks. She slowly made her way to the
opposite end of the pool doing a relaxing breaststroke. The coldness felt
so good on her prized breasts as they pushed the water
out ahead of her.
As she finished the lap in the
shallow end she turned and saw Gloria easing herself into the water, now
stripped of her clothes and in her one-piece suit. Brenda started out on
the return trip to the deep end. Gloria waited for her.
She took her time finishing her
lap, taking her time. Near the end, she submerged for the last few
strokes, to where Gloria waited. As Brenda surfaced, she rubbed herself
on the other woman, bringing breasts together. She broke the water and
their faces were inches apart.
“If you want to dry off, I’ve got
some towels in the exercise room,” Gloria whispered.
Brenda didn’t answer, only backed
away and hoisted herself out of the pool. Gloria always insisted that
they pretend these sessions popped up, spontaneously. Brenda knew it was
a predictable outcome; it was going to happen from the moment she took her seat
on the veranda hours before. Gloria climbed out using the ladder in the
corner. Brenda followed her to the small mini-gym near the pool.
Gloria locked the door behind them.
The little gym was well
appointed. In addition to a rowing machine and stationary bike, there was
a massage table and a leather couch and matching easy chairs in the corner with
wall-to-wall carpeting all around.
Gloria moved to the massage table
and leaned back against it. She was slightly shorter than Brenda, and an
unknown amount of years older. She had large breasts and a trim figure
meticulously tended. Her hair was bright blonde, not her true
color. Brenda had seen it all before.
The two women embraced and shared
a kiss. Brenda felt Gloria’s tongue slip between her own lips. She
allowed Gloria to play there for a while until she snaked out her own tongue
and licked around Gloria’s lips. As she did, she felt her bikini top
unsnap. They broke the kiss and Gloria pulled the straps from her
shoulders. Brenda reached out to reciprocate and bare Gloria’s breasts,
but her mentor stopped her.
“Wait, you know I like to do you
first,” Gloria whispered.
Brenda allowed the older woman to
cup a breast in each hand, rubbing her thumbs over the nipples. Brenda
closed her eyes as sensations came to her. She felt the pleasure of them
being tenderly lifted, the kisses and nibbles on the sensitive areas.
Mostly, she savored another person, even a woman, appreciating and savoring
them.
It wasn’t that Brenda preferred lesbian
sex to the usual kind—she could see no harm in it. After all, girls
danced with one another as teens when no young males had the courage to venture
to the dance floor. In those learning days they practiced kissing one
another as they huddled behind locked bedroom doors as
they tired of Tiger Beat and Cosmopolitan. It was necessary, lest they be
embarrassed when, at long last, the real thing finally
came their way. They learned then that there were times that a woman just
knew how to do some things better. Their young men assumed them to be
more experienced than they were. That led to less gentle moments at the
breaking of virginity, and from that moment they saw sex as it was and was
meant to be. It was a short step to more intimate things with those who
knew their bodies best. It was so much safer than sex with a boy—or a
man—when pregnancy loomed in her youth and other hurts in adulthood.
“Everyone needs to get off now
and then,” she said to herself as she felt Gloria’s lips on her own, a
signal that it was time for giver and receiver to switch roles.
She reached for the straps of
Gloria’s suit and this time the arms were passively held aside. The
one-piece was wet, so it stuck to Gloria’s skin and took some effort.
Brenda worked it down, deciding to go the rest of the way right away. It
suited Gloria, too. As Brenda tried to roll the spandex over the hips,
Gloria took over. She peeled off the suit and threw it aside.
Brenda hooked her thumbs in the waist of her bikini bottoms to pull them down
to match, but Gloria stopped her with a gentle touch on the hand.
“Not yet—we’ll get to it later,”
she promised.
Brenda looked at the nude woman
before her, the large breasts hanging, available; below was the beckoning
thatch of pubic hair, darkened with wetness from the swim. It marked the
gateway—to many things. It meant pleasure and release for one; it was
favor and indispensability for the other.
She didn’t really know how old
Gloria was. She was certainly younger that
Gloria’s nipples had hardened;
she panted in anticipation. Soon Brenda would pleasure them as Gloria had
done for her. She decided, however, to change the routine that day.
She wrapped her arms around
Gloria and kissed her, open-mouthed, with soulfulness. Two sets of
breasts met as the space between them closed together. Brenda’s draped
over Gloria’s with the difference in height. Gloria wrapped her arms
around Brenda’s neck, but otherwise let herself be served to the coming
pleasure. The kiss continued. Brenda reached down and cupped the
vulva; it made Gloria moan. It fit neatly into her hand; she moved it
with a slow, rotating motion. Gloria pressed herself into Brenda’s hand
harder and spread her legs a little to allow access. Brenda dipped a
finger between the folds, taking some moisture from the interior and spreading
it on the clitoris. All the while she kept her grasp of the vulva.
Gloria pressed herself again
against Brenda’s hand, a demand for more. She grasped her arms tighter
around Brenda’s neck. She was panting heavily, issuing little purring
sounds.
The sensation of breast on breast
was a pleasant one that Brenda was determined to enjoy. She knew Gloria’s
routine. With the earlier decline to remove the bikini bottom, Brenda
already knew that it would be only a one-way delivery of release on that hot
afternoon. It wasn’t always that way, but it was often Gloria’s choice,
especially when she was upset about something. The earlier tirade over
the uncooperative Trudy Bennett had enabled Brenda to predict what would
happen. The contact of breasts would have to be enough.
Brenda pressed ahead with the
task that she knew so well. She placed her mouth over Gloria’s again, not
from affection, but to suppress spoken commands. She was willing to serve
the mistress, but coveted the final freedom to do her job as she knew it
without instruction. Through the joined mouths, Gloria issued stifled
mews to express gratitude for her pleasure.
Brenda felt Gloria’s legs open
just a little wider, a sign to her that she was performing as expected.
Gloria’s hands pressed her down at her shoulders. Brenda knelt before
her, the slippery slit and matted hair inches from her face. Without hesitating,
she grasped the buttocks and pressed her face in. Her tongue found
Gloria’s special place. From above, came a gasp, then another. A
pair of hands pressed the back of Brenda’s head. The hips flexed and
pressed, adjusting the angle and pressure. Brenda kept to the task
without tiring. As each minute passed, Gloria’s sounds and pressing told
her that her escape was not far off. Soon, Brenda was holding her up with
her arms thrown around her pelvis as Gloria gradually lost control.
Inside, Brenda smiled because she knew that was just how it was supposed to
be.
After a while, Gloria released
her hands from the back of Brenda’s head. Placing them under her jaw, she
gently pressed up, signaling Brenda to stand.
“Finish
me, darlin’,” Gloria commanded and begged. She hopped up on the massage
table and lay down on her back. Her legs were bent at the knees and
spread wide. Her feet were planted at the edge of the table.
“Shall I get the harness?” Brenda
suggested, hoping anew for her own chance at release.
“No—no,” Gloria answered in a
raspy whisper. “Just eat me!”
The command disappointed
Brenda. She would have enjoyed doffing her bikini bottom and mounting
Gloria for the grand finale. It was Gloria’s afternoon, however, so
Brenda complied.
She wedged her hands under the
pelvis and pulled herself down to the wet vulva. She thrust out her
tongue and thrust in hard. Gloria grunted and pressed up her hips.
That made Brenda attack with greater vigor. Pressing—thrusting; it was a
pendulum, swinging faster and longer on each stroke, until Gloria drew in a
deep breath and kept pushing herself into Brenda’s face. The moment
arrived. It ended with a quick, high pitched cry. Then, Gloria
eased her self back down, slowly relaxing, spent and temporarily satisfied.
Brenda laid her head on Gloria’s
belly, kissing the soft skin. She raised her hands to the large breasts
above to caress them. Brenda’s own breasts pressed between Gloria’s
thighs and she felt the pubic hair scratching the skin over her collarbone.
Gloria stroked Brenda’s temple in a gesture of thanks.
“Oh, that was so good, darlin’,”
she murmured. “I truly needed it—feel so much better.”
Brenda said nothing, just started
feeling restless in the uncomfortable posture.
“I’m so sorry that we didn’t get
to you,” Gloria apologized. “Next time, we surely must.”
“I have to get going pretty
soon,” Brenda answered. “I want to get home before Blake.”
Juana was cleaning up the veranda
and saw the two women come out of from the mini-gym together. Brenda
noticed her avert her eyes as she and Gloria passed. Brenda knew that
somehow the old woman had deciphered their secret. “Those inscrutable
Mexicans,” she thought to herself. She wondered how Gloria had
allowed the maid to exist in the house with such an attitude. “I would
have fired her long ago.”
*********
As midnight approached, sleep was
an invited guest, but would not come in. Trudy sat upright in her bed,
pondering her restlessness. She was alone; Frank was in
Her husband had been away on
business many times. As it was, his absence this time was only
two-days. Tomorrow night he planned to fly home on the red-eye. She
wondered why the emptiness of her bed affected her so much at this moment after
all these years of periodic aloneness. She never enjoyed solitude, as
some might. For Trudy, private feelings were for sharing.
The coolness irritated her a
little. She accepted air conditioning as a necessity in the
The cicadas were busy singing
their nocturne. Not even a whisper of a breeze stirred. The full
moon shone brightly, and it was the only light in the back of the house.
She and Frank spent many warm nights on this balcony, relaxing with a drink or
two before bed. She was starting to feel better already.
Below, a slight glimmer of moonlight
reflected from the water in the swimming pool. When she listened
carefully she could hear the quiet hum of the motor of the filtering
equipment. A smile spread across her face as she thought of her midnight
swim with Frank three nights before.
They had just returned from the
corporate soiree at Alvin’s and Gloria’s house. It had been Frank’s big
night as he was formally installed in his new post. She wore her royal
blue, halter-style gown that the other wives disdained so openly and silently
envied. She was sure that it pleased Frank. It was a warm night,
like this one. The house was empty; the girls were overnight at their
grandparents’ house.
Frank suggested a midnight swim,
and they both knew what that meant. He undressed her near the door to the
back yard. They made love in the black, cool water; it was a gift of
passion, and lust and pleasure. Even after nearly twenty years, they
never tired of one another. She could always predict his every move, yet
each time there was some new emotion or sensation. Perhaps it was the
confirming renewal of the old ones that provided the thrill. When
it was finished, they gathered up discarded clothing and marched to their
bedroom where they made love again. After that, sleep came easily.
“Frank would know what to do
with a woman who can’t get to sleep,” she said to herself, almost out loud,
still with the broad smile that such thoughts had brought to her.
She finally understood her
insomnia. Satiation gave birth to new longing. Trudy sighed.
Frank was in
A thought occurred to her.
A quick dip in the pool might cool her off; get her mind on something
else. If careful, she could do it quietly without waking the girls or the
neighbors. It would be just the ticket—she would do it. She
returned silently to her bedroom to prepare.
She carefully made her way
through the upstairs hallway and down the stairs, covered by her terrycloth
robe, towel in hand. She was careful to make no noise. If she woke
the girls, it would ruin everything. Trudy knew every step, every creaky
floorboard in the house. The girls would not wake up.
She was still remembering how
Frank disrobed her the other night. It was a sensual preparation, equal
in many ways, to the final act. She pondered his various lovemaking
styles—he had more than one. He was stocky and muscled, like a
bulldog. She loved it when he would seize and take her, primal and
driven. He would be determined and aggressive, losing himself to all else
but her. He was strong; and she would allow him to overpower her and have
his way. She was lean and strong, herself, so the voluntary surrender was
even more satisfying. He would surrender, too—not physically, of
course—but all the reserve that he guarded so carefully from all but
her.
Frank could make love sweetly and
tenderly. They might lie together for a long time, savoring the joining,
allowing time to bring climax to them like a zephyr in a garden.
Sometimes he would lie atop her; at other times it was reversed. Often
they would start one way and end the other. At the proper moment, she
would fill his ears with a song of delight and then he would fill her with a
low-pitched sigh of satiation.
Sometimes Trudy was the tigress,
capturing him and letting all things loose. Frank would be excited by the
challenge. At those times it was pure—an outburst of energy and
pleasure—exhilarating and, in its own way so relaxing. It was that way in
the pool Friday night after the soiree. Trudy’s thoughts turned back to
the present as she stepped quietly through the door to the outside and the
pool. Trudy supposed that way was the best, but would rather not have to
choose.
“I’d bet that Frank wishes he
was here instead of
She arrived at the pool and took
a quick glance behind her to check the windows of her daughters’ rooms.
They remained darkened; she was unseen. She let her robe fall from her shoulders
to the cement. She was nude. She looked down into the refreshing,
cool water. In a certain way, Frank was still in there. “Now I
know why I couldn’t sleep.”
The air touching her bare skin
was good as she stood motionless at the side of the pool. She was tempted
to touch herself, but fought off the urge. “I’ll save that for Frank.”
She lowered her long body down to sit at the edge of the pool.
The coldness of the water teased her senses as she dipped in her feet and
calves.
Without a sound, she hoisted
herself up on her locked arms and then silently let her whole body glide
silently into the water. She raised her hands over her head so that she
would sink all the way to the bottom.
Being nude always gave her a
different feeling when she swam and the darkness of the bottom blotted out all
distractions. The coldness brought sensation to every nerve, especially
her nipples and center as she lay on the bottom holding her breath. The
water enveloped her body, every fine, near-invisible
hair on her skin. She allowed the envelopment to overtake her and
it became like Frank taking her. She let herself to float to the surface
and rolled over to float on her back, relaxing her arms to dangle beneath her.
She took a deep breath for
buoyancy. Her chest heaved her breasts skyward, out of the water.
She felt them, and thought how they might have excited Frank, if only he were
there. Her legs dangled below her and they casually splayed apart.
The cool water invaded the opened crevices. She could not have contrived
the scene more perfectly. “Maybe he’s thinking the same thing right
now.”
She righted herself in the water,
easily treading in place. She was tempted once more to touch
herself. She stopped again. “I’ll save it for Frank,” she
repeated. It could never be as good as Frank. The thought of
it—of what was stored in her memory and her expectations—excited her. She
wondered to herself if she was wise to allow herself to dwell on it. The
reverie brought such vicarious pleasure—it was nearly real, but she feared that
she might never get to sleep in the state to which she had brought herself.
She swam to the side of the pool
She rested her arms in the
overflow channel and relaxed. An unexpected gush of pleasure suddenly hit
her. At first, it was confusing, and then she realized that she had
accidentally come to rest where the filtering pump jetted water back into the
pool. She started to move away, but hesitated. She was aroused and
that jet of water felt so good. “Just a few seconds,” she
thought.
She lowered herself a few inches
so that the full force of the water hit her just right. It was going to
be only a brief indulgence, but she stayed a few seconds more after that.
It was so hard to pull away.
“Oh, what the hell…” she
uttered to herself in final surrender. The magic water pummeled her
clitoris. She gave herself over to the unrelenting pleasure, thinking of
her and Frank in that same pool a few nights before. It wasn’t long
before she climaxed. She had never touched herself—just let the water’s
infinite fingers bring her to it. When it happened she buried her face in
the water’s breast to drown her cry of pleasure. It surely wasn’t her
best-ever climax, but it was enough to unloose that which needed releasing.
It was over; she was
satisfied. She lifted herself out of the pool and walked to where her
towel and robe lay waiting. She expected a twinge of guilt at having been
pleased in this way. She tried to feel it, but it just wasn’t there to be
felt.
“Well, I’m pretty sure that
Frank would have wanted me to.”
She toweled herself dry, put her
robe back on. She went back to bed, ready for sleep.
***********
TO BE CONTINUED