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"You were right, Stan. You were right all along!"
"Well, I'm not so sure it's such a clear-cut question of right or wrong!"
The psychiatrist sat comfortably in his chair while his patient, Helen
Randolph, lay extended on the couch beside him.
"Can you imagine him doing such a thing to me?" she asked. "Well ... "
"I'm through! I tell you I'm through with him. Through waiting for him to
treat me like a human being. Why I can hardly sit down!"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to find myself a man. Just like you told me to do!"
"Now Helen, that's not what I told you to do. I just said that there are
options. That you must not think of yourself as trapped. That other women
seem to solve their sexual problems by an extra-marital affair. That
sometimes this very affair is what changes the chemistry between man and
wife, making them mysteriously more computable, more compassionate. More
patient." "Oh, shut up! What it boils down to is that I'm going out to get
laid."
"If you want to put it that way." Stan was thinking that Helen's anger was
a good thing, her belligerence was finally going to bring her to a point
of real action which-whether right or wrong-would take her to a new point
in her problem and give her a new point of view.
"I'm sick of taking these lousy birth control pills for nothing!" Helen
declared. "It's depressing, to say the least!" Stan was silent. He
wondered what his wife was going to fix for dinner that night, wondered
how she would like getting it up the ass. What would it do to change their
relationship? She would probably guess that the idea had come to him
through one of his female patients and they would have a jealous scene. Oh
well. Helen Randolph was still talking. The 50 minutes was almost up,
thank God. He was very tempted to screw her himself. She was a
good-looking woman, no doubt about that, and it wouldn't be the first time
he'd done such a thing. She'd certainly hinted as much to him any number
of times.
But Stan was certain that such an act would ruin his relationship with
Mrs. Randolph. There were times when he had been able to have sexual
relations with a patient without it sending either one of them off the
deep end, but with Helen, he was sure that it would be a fiasco for a
number of reasons. One: he himself was too attracted to her. Two: she was
far too hysterical a type. Three: she would form an attachment to him that
might take years to break, whereas if she were to have an affair with
someone else, he could help her through its beginning, middle, and end.
"Are you listening to me?" Helen demanded. "Of course I'm listening. But I
see that time's up for today," Stan said, smiling and standing up. "Next
time I see you, I'll no longer be a virgin!" Helen said, her eyes still
betraying the anger she felt at her husband's harsh anal rape of the night
before.
"Have a good time. That's the main thing," Stan said, giving Helen a
friendly kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry, I will!" As she left the
psychiatrist's office, she was grateful for what she considered his
blessings in what she was about to do. Even though she hadn't told him the
details of her plan, she'd been thinking of it for some time. Ever since
Stan, himself, had shown her one of those filthy hippie newspapers. She'd
been profoundly shocked when she'd seen just what kind of things were
going on in the world, more or less openly. And her analyst had intended
her to know that there were other life-styles, other ways of sexuality.
Now, however, the beautiful blonde wife was planning on putting the paper
to good use. She was going to answer one of the ads. When she got back
home, Helen mixed herself a drink right away. The disturbed wife was
discovering just how comforting the soothing alcohol could be ... in the
absence of any other pleasures that she could find in her own home.
Holding the colorful Bloody Mary in her hand, she sat down on the bed in
her room near the telephone. Once more she brought out the underground
newspaper and turned it to the page that had interested her. The blonde
woman scanned until she reached the small ad again, and then her heart
started thumping, for it read:
Attractive bachelor, 37 years old, wishes to meet charming ladies for
mutual pleasure. Experienced in pleasing. Knowledge of French, gourmet,
interested in the arts. Call 324-8886 evenings.
It sounded so perfect. So very perfect! And besides, just calling wouldn't
do any harm, would it? If he sounded just awful, all she had to do was
hang up. Right? Still, just the idea of really calling that number gave
her the shakes. She paced up and down in her room, changed into a flowing
robe and continued to pace, imagining what the conversation would be like
when she called later on. She didn't dare to really imagine an actual
meeting, yet secretly she hoped that this would be the result of the
conversation. As her courage failed her, Helen thought. Why this is
ridiculous! I couldn't possibly do such a thing! Then at other moments she
would think, Why not? Why shouldn't l? Others do it! And besides, I'll get
back at Adam if it's the last thing that I do!
Finally, her courage increased by three more Bloody Marys, Helen at last
went to the telephone. With a trembling finger, she dialed the number in
the advertisement, holding her breath as she listened to the connections
being made. There was the familiar clicking, and then a pause and finally
the ring. It was ringing! Panic-stricken, Helen was about to hang up when
someone answered. "Hello!" The deep melodic tones of a masculine voice
replied.
Suddenly all the ingrained social instincts in the nervous blonde took
over, and it was no longer a question of hanging up. "Uh ... Hello. I ...
uh ..."
"Are you answering my ad?"
He really sounded all right. Not like a mad rapist or anything at least!
In fact, his voice was rather pleasant. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am."
Helen didn't quite know where to go from there. But the man took over. "My
name is Andre, Andre Dupres. What's yours?" "Uh ... Helen ... Helen
Lyons!" Lyons was her maiden name, so she wasn't actually lying. Suddenly
the scientist's wife felt a thrill of adventure. It was like being young
again. Truly young, when everything was an adventure. In those days, she
would do nothing but talk with her girlfriends about boys, wondering what
they were really like and full of hopes and dreams of what they might be
like!
"Nice name," the unknown man was saying. "And pretty voice. I'll bet a
pretty face goes with it!"
"Well, I ..."
"Don't be modest."
"I wasn't being ..."
"It doesn't matter. I'm sure you're perfect just the way you are! Would
you like me to tell you a bit about myself?" For some reason Helen found
herself feeling that she was perfect. Why not, after all. Here was someone
who didn't know her, had not had time to assess all her faults, her little
idiosyncrasies. Someone for whom she just might be perfect! The confused
but oddly excited housewife found herself listening with rapt attention to
Andre's life story, and by the time he had finished, she truly felt that
she knew him, or at least that she knew him well enough so that she felt
comparatively safe in meeting him, as he suggested at a coffee shop in
Greenwich Village not far from his apartment on Houston Street. Helen hung
up and realized that she was trembling from head to foot. She had only
told the man her name and the color of her hair and eyes. She had said she
would be wearing her red coat, brown boots and gloves. The blonde
housewife jumped up and squealed with joy. She was free! Young again. She
was having an adventure!
* *
Helen took a taxi. It wasn't all that far, and she probably could have
taken the bus. She made it a point never ever to take the subway. It was
far too depressing, not to mention dangerous, being underground, unable to
see the light of day, or in this case, the dark of night. The taxi was
warm for the weather was turning quite cold. The driver was pleasant in
that he didn't speak to her at all. With a great sense of expectancy, the
blonde wife looked out the window at the passing New York night life, the
neon signs flashing, the people. As the cab reached the Village, Helen
looked attentively at the dating couples, the kids walking arm in arm,
arms around waists. It was like another world to her, and she suddenly
wanted to be part of it. She looked for women of her age, perhaps her
middle class background, and found many. By the time she stepped out of
the cab after tipping the driver lavishly, as thought it would bring her
good luck, Helen felt as though she had completely left behind her the
restrictions and problems that her husband represented. It was a good
feeling. Heart pounding, the voluptuous, love-starved blonde adjusted her
hair nervously as she approached the Pussy Cat Cafe. She peered inside the
steamy pane glass window before entering. There at a corner table she saw
the man she was certain was Andre. She caught her breath. Could that be
he? He wasn't too bad looking, rather distinguished, fortyish, balding,
reading the Village Voice as he'd said he would be. He looked completely
safe! That was the main thing.
She entered the cafe and immediately the man at the corner table looked
her way. He smiled broadly, and she smiled nervously back. Then she made
her way to his table. They sat having coffee and brandy for some while
discussing music, the theater, movies, and Helen was impressed at how
well-informed Andre was. When he suggested that they go to his apartment
around the corner to watch a special program on the Arts on the
educational television channel, Helen thought it would be nice to go.
After all, she was an adult. She could take care of herself. Willingly,
and feeling very daring indeed, Helen went along with the handsome
Frenchman. She was a trifle embarrassed at finding that he was slightly
shorter than she was when he stood up. But he amicably took her hand and
placed it on his arm as they walked the short distance to his apartment
building.
Helen walked along with the near stranger, thinking how polite he was,
perhaps it was his European background, for he was half-French apparently
and had lived in the south of France for many years. She was also
wondering what she would say if she suddenly ran into someone she knew, or
her husband, What was that creep doing now anyway, she wondered. No doubt
he had not even come home yet, even though it was well past nine-thirty at
night. Andre's apartment was on the third floor. A walk-up, and Helen was
frankly disturbed by the sinister aspect of the building itself, but her
new boyfriend seemed to be trying his best to reassure her. When they
reached his apartment and he opened the door for her, she was pleasantly
surprised to see that the apartment itself was tastefully furnished, with
wall-to-wall carpeting, thick gray drapes, burgundy painted walls, and
soft pillows that were strewn about in lieu of a sofa. Various items of
sculpture were placed advantageously in the one-room apartment, and
crowded bookshelves indicated that Andre was a reader. The television set
was brought out from one corner, and the Frenchman turned it on before
going to mix a couple of drinks in the tiny kitchenette that opened up
like shutters on one side of the room. Andre encouraged the attractive
blonde housewife to take off her boots and relax her feet, and after a
moment's hesitation she did so. Then she reclined against a big pillow and
sipped her brandy and water while looking at the opening sequences of the
program.
But to her amazement when Andre came and sat down beside her, Helen
immediately found herself being caught up in the stranger's arms. She
protested, turning her head away when he tried to kiss her, and thinking,
Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into? "Don't fight, relax!" he told
her as they struggled together on the rug. "Relax! You'll like it,"
"Oh no ... no ... I thought we were going to ..." But Andre's mouth had
found hers. He was half-lying on top of her, using his weight to hold her
still enough to execute the kiss. Helen, in spite of her fears, found
herself responding to the stranger's passionate kiss.
Isn't this what you came for? Isn't this what you came for? a voice
resounded in her head in time with the wild beating of her blood at the
pressure points of her temples. At the same time, the pretty blonde wife
could feel her man-hungry body, so long deprived of a romantic reaction,
responding with a lewd impatience to the stranger's touches.
And then she was letting his hands run along the ripely heaving contours
of her breasts, stopping to play at the spot where the nipples protruded,
tweaking them rhythmically through the soft wool of her dress.
Andre moved swiftly to cover her clothed body with his, the hardness of
his thickening cock pushing into the flesh of the young wife's belly.
He kissed her wetly on the lips, forcing her mouth wide with his tongue,
and then rhythmically sticking it in and out of her mouth until Helen
realized that he was parodying the act of love with his thrustings between
her lips.
"OH!" She was excited. Very excited! And the scientist's wife wanted
nothing more than to love and be loved by this unknown person, this man
whom she'd met through an advertisement in a filthy underground paper! Oh
God, if her mother were alive, what would the old lady say if she knew!
She'd hemorrhage for sure! But Helen wanted it, wanted to be here in a
handsome bachelor's apartment, wanted to be writhing obscenely on the rug
this way! She was allowing him to leave her briefly, long enough to turn
on a red light nearby that cast a soft deep shadow over them, seemingly
the same color as the lust that the neglected wife had felt for so long.
She lay now with her head on a pillow, her eyes closed in mute submission
to whatever might happen next. Her ears seemed to be burning and every
part of her being was filled with anticipation. Then to her overwhelming
Joy, she felt her slender legs being slowly spread apart, and her breath
came in ragged rushes as she felt her lacy panties being slowly drawn off.
There remained her sheer silk stockings and the accompanying garter belt,
but her seducer did not touch them. The center, her hair-trimmed pussy,
blonde in color, was exposed in all its blushing glory, however, to
Andre's lusting eyes. The Frenchman could not restrain himself from
kneeling rapidly in front of the golden-haired triangle of Helen's
mouthwatering pussy. It was a beauty! He could almost tell in advance how
it would taste! The shape of it, with the sparse, gently curling blonde
hairs was consummately appealing to him, and he once more congratulated
himself on being able to predict the delectability of a woman's succulent
little cunt just by hearing her voice on the telephone.
He saw that Helen's eyes were closed and that she was offering herself to
him with a fervor that was almost religious. The woman's inner passivity
excited him even more. His face approached the pale silk of her cuntal
mound, the secret "vee" of her pussy, and eagerly Andre flicked out his
tongue, parting the thinly curling traces of pubic hair and penetrating
the already wetly pulsating slit of the adulterous wife's naked cunt.
"Aaah!" Helen cried out, jerking a little at the unexpected thrill of the
hotly searing contact. Andre held her legs spread wide apart and wormed
his tongue slowly inward, making a sharp little spear-shape with it. It
was soft and yet hard against Helen's sensitive cuntal flesh, and the
seeping secret warmth of her excitedly aroused vagina surrounded Andre's
protruding tongue. "Ooooooooh! Oooh! AAAaaaah! Ah!" Helen cried. "Oooh!"
Completely ignoring the program dealing with piccolos and bassoons that
unfolded on the television screen behind him, Andre savored her sexual
flavor, rolling his tongue about in the moist confines of the narrow
pulsing lips of her widely offered blonde cunt. He could feel the
voluptuous woman's whole body jerking and quivering with each teasing
stroke of his tongue up between her open thighs as he breathed deeply into
the widespread cunt, letting the flat of his tongue brush again and again
over the rising hardness of her tiny pulsating clitoris. "I love to kiss
it!" he muttered wetly into her ecstatically quivering cunt. "I love to
suck it! Let me suck your cunt good!" Helen moaned her complete assent.
She had never felt anything so good in her life. No one had ever done this
to her, although of course she knew about such things. This secret,
forbidden encounter was fulfilling her wildest dreams about what such a
thing could be like!
The soft trembling folds and crevices of her pussy responded willingly to
the kneeling stranger's expert tonguing, and he could feel her getting
wetter and wetter as she became more and more aroused. Now her
well-manicured fingers reached down and tangled in the thinning strands of
Andre's hair, tugging and pulling as the anguish of her desire mounted
moment by moment. Andre continued to mouth the moist area of the daring
wife's now hungrily-straining pussy, noisily forming a gentle sucking
action by pursing his lips, and creating lewd wet sounds that rose to the
burgundy-colored ceiling of his apartment. He licked at every inner morsel
of her wetly willing pussy, enjoying his sensual task as he waited for her
to reach completion by his mouth alone. Andre could feel his thickly
swollen cock tensed and hard, patiently waiting for the same moment. His
still hotly probing tongue worked steadily at the moistly clasping split
before him, worming upward into the tight opening of Helen's vaginal slot,
moving and slipping back and forth with a certain maddening persistence
over her desire-swollen clitoris. The sign that Andre had been waiting for
came when suddenly Helen shuddered, her ravaged young cunt unable to stand
another second of this sensually unrelenting attack. Her eyes opened
briefly to take in the picture of Andre reverently on his knees before
her, busily wagging his balding head obscenely back and forth down there
between her eagerly spread legs. Then a low groan came from deep in the
professor's wife's throat, and she began to screw her loins upward with
outright wantonness, moving her hotly flooded cunt upward into his face.
"MMMmmmm, OOOOOOhh, AAAAN DDDDDRRRREEEEE!" she moaned loudly, over and
over as little goose-pimples formed on the smooth surfaces of her soft
skin. Beads of perspiration had already covered her glistening forehead
and her hair was limp and damp around her head. This was far better than
she'd hoped, far more thrilling, more satisfying! Her silk stocking-clad
thighs strained and jerked as she locked her thighs upward and around
Andre's shoulders, pulling his head and his hungrily nibbling mouth and
tongue still closer to the inner turmoil that seethed deep in her wetly
climaxing cunt.
Then she was wailing, "I'm cumming ... cummiinng! Lick my pussy. Ah ...
ah? AAAAAHHHHH!"
The aroused young wife's shamelessly gyrating body thrashed crazily as her
hips ground upward against his tongue and face, her throbbing young
vaginal slit presenting all its innate softness, every fold and heated
crevice to the ravenous sucking and licking. Each delicate ridge of
Helen's nakedly presented pussy was melting into the stranger's mouth. The
wetness and warmth of his lips combining to set the blonde's whole world
to spinning, dazzling her with her tumultuous climax. A new rapture was
building and building and finally bursting at once softly and forcefully
seeping everywhere, transforming the dull normalcy of her existence into
something completely special and uniquely hers. Andre happily let his
latest prize patsy vent all her lust upward into his face, grinding his
hungry mouth tightly down onto her succulent cuntal flesh. Her second
orgasm struck in wave after wave of rhapsodic lust.
"Oh never, never before, never, never!" Helen muttered over and over.
Simultaneously, Andre felt the swelling of his already full to bursting
cock, and with one hand released the throbbing member from his pants,
without once missing a stroke with his tongue at the hotly straining split
of Helen's naked young pussy. His wildly excited penis quivered in the
air, and Andre made two strokes downward with his clenched fist, exposing
the hidden cockhead as his foreskin slid back.
As Helen all but inundated his face with her orgasmic juices, Andre came,
his white-hot semen jetting forth in violent jerks until his passion was
puddled on the rug like large pearls cast carelessly aside.
CHAPTER:
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