John Kellerman - A girl_s best friend

She slept open-mouthed in her drunken stupor, her luxuriant wealth of long, coal-black tresses fanned crazily over the silk of the pillow, her pleasing, firm breasts rising and falling in an even slow tempo with her breathing. Simply loving a man or woman was not enough. The Goddamned word alone was too deceiving! Or was it just too misused? Yes, she loved him, just as he loved her, but she hadn't loved him enough to want him as Randi had wanted him!

Or, had that been his fault, too? No, not entirely, he realized, still, he'd been, at least, as much to blame as was she.

Both of them were guilty of letting it grow stale between them. He'd tried to substitute money and luxuries for his sexual failings, while she in her damned near-nymphomaniacal drive, had obviously given up with him rather than suffer frustration and unfulfillment any longer. And Christ almighty, could he blame her for that? Not now, maybe before, but not now… after spending a night with Randi… a night of orgiastic abandon so debased and wanton that now it hardly seemed possible it could have happened!

Oh Christ, if only there was something he could do! Some way he could change it all, scoop these precious people up and carry them off to some faraway place where no one could ever find them… and they'd have each other. Just each other! God almighty, what was he saying? What was he thinking?

He shook his head suddenly as if to throw off the cobwebs of subconscious lust that had been slowly webbing his licentious brain ever since… maybe before, Randi! His Katie! That's who he was thinking of! His own sweet and beautiful Baby! Damn, he ought to burn in the fires of hell for even conceiving such thoughts! But he couldn't help it… he couldn't! Nor could he get out of his mind the warped idea that Lee and Jan too often looked at one another with forbidden desire in their eyes!

He'd seen them, watched them. He had studied the little mannerisms his lovely wife displayed so affectionately around their son… and… and he couldn't help but wonder if Jan had noticed his own permissive hands when he was next to Katie!

Goddamn! What was going to happen to them, all of his beautiful, beloved family? What would Jan say when he told her what he had to… what he'd planned and wanted to explain last night at the club, before she'd gotten completely out of hand? Would she be willing to help him? God knows he'd be more than willing to forgive any indiscretion of hers.

He could understand the circumstances that had driven her to them. But would she understand his plight and help him in the only way she could? Or… or would she just desert him. Just let him sit and wait for them to come and get him?

A cold tremor ran the length of Gil Martin's frame. He tried to shake it off. He'd even lost track of time, but the sun was streaming through their window. A few minutes ago… or was it an hour, he'd heard someone in the hallway and a door close. One of the twins, no doubt.

He looked at his watch, 7:45. Christ, he couldn't lay there any longer. Maybe… maybe, if he went and talked to Jenkins again. Or at least, stalled him off. But that wasn't going to help him at the bank. And Jan was still too loaded to try and make sense with.

Fuck! Fuck! How had he ever gotten himself into such a situation? Why hadn't he quit when he was ahead? Greed, avarice, that's why! Loot! Money! Bread! He'd wanted it, and Jenkins had assured him the racetrack was going in there… he'd gotten the information from Senator Wentz, himself! Oh God! He had to do something!

He looked over at the slack face of his sleeping, lovely wife.

"Jan," he spoke softly, placing his hand on her rib cage and gently jostling her. "Jan?"

"Hungh… wh… what? Mmmmm… let me sleep… so tired, Honey… so tired," she mumbled, never opening her eyes as she turned her back to him and thrust her bottom upward toward his face, the sheet falling away to reveal her luscious buttocks.

Gil sighed heavily, then covered her. He turned onto his back again and reached for a cigarette, lighting it.

It was futile, anyway, he decided, letting the smoke breathe from his lungs. He'd overplayed his hand, and now he had to pay for his losses. It wouldn't take long… ten years… fuck it! He'd go prune his rose bushes, enjoy some of it before they took him away! At least, he always had his memories, and he'd never forget that Randi.

She'd held his face cradled in the soft, sweet-smelling hollow of her neck, while his one hand gently stroked her left breast. Slowly, she eased her legs down on either side of him, forming a protective berth between her thighs where he might lie, their damp pelvises and drenched genitals caressing each other's lovingly.

"What a real man you are, Lover," she whispered. "I mean real… no fraud. God, I haven't cum like that in ages."

"You're just being kind," he said, wanting to hear more.

"No! It's the truth! Generally, I only pretend. It's easier that way… just to play make-believe, get them off quicker and finish it!"

Gil brought his face from the soft silken flesh of her neck and laid his cheek onto her shoulder. He looked up at her eyes that were staring at the ceiling. He said: "Are you a prostitute, Randi?"

She smiled slowly, still not looking at him, although her soft hand continued to tease his hair.

"That's a nasty term for what I'm supposed to be," she replied. "But I guess it gets decidedly to the point. Once, I was a singer… an excellent one, too, or so considered at the time… a contralto with perhaps a season or so away from the Met. Would you believe that, Gil Martin?"

She made a cynical sound of laughter.

"Then… then, I met my future husband. Frankly, I despised him from the first moment I laid eyes on him, but he was relentless. He made me sick and I told my manager that, but he… he was a weak man… and I was weaker. You see, I was born into the poverty of the West Virginia coalmines. I never wanted to see those days again. So, I listened and was married secretly. Few people know about it, and most could care less, I'm sure… unless it made the spread of some sordid front-page."

She sighed heavily.

"The trouble with my husband is that he's nothing less than an animal… a depraved, vicious animal. He not only believes in promiscuity, but he demands complete loyalty… else he destroys you! And… and I don't want my parents to know the truth… even being the unimportant little people they are there in Wilksbrake… I don't want them to know… It would break their hearts… Now, do you understand, my Lover?"

Gil continued to stare up at her lovely face. He could see the tears dribbling down her cheeks and raised a hand to wipe them away.

"N… No, Baby… not quite. You're saying… saying that you do this because you have to?"

"Y… Yes… I have to," she answered him. "But I find that I'm one of four other wives who are, one way, or another, forced into this international game, but truly, it's not all as bad as it sounds. We live in unbelievable luxury, have the finest of everything, and meet the most fantastic people… like you, Lover."

"I know now that you're making fun of me," Gil made a grunting sound.

"Oh God no, Darling! I'm not!" she replied quickly, twisting onto her side to hug him to her. "I meant it… every word I said… honest, Darling! Please… please believe me?"

She had pulled his face tight to her; it was still in the hollow beneath her chin, but her magnificent breasts had bulged up to near-smother him. Her fingers played in his hair and he could feel her long sensuous body working against his own as he lifted his face for air.

"Who? Who is he?" Gil gasped.

"Who? I thought you knew, Darling," she said, easing down into the bed until her lips were even with his. "Him… Darrel… Darrel Jenkins. That gargoylish bastard God sees fit to let live on His earth!"