Roger Grayson - A Neighborhood Party

"You don't even know if you can talk to them, my dear boy. Didn't he kind of cut you off yesterday when you invited them over for a drink?"

"Yeah, he did," Harry winced in remembrance, handing the orange-colored drink down to Marsha and taking a seat beside her. "Gave me the impression he felt he was just a little too smart to mix with the likes of a used car salesman. He's been to college and all that. Even works in a bank as an investment executive, but it still don't cut no mustard with me."

"My dear, you're a very modest used car salesman. After all, you do own five agencies here in the County. That should make you just about the richest used car salesman in the country."

"Just a figure of speech," Harry smiled turning his glass up and draining a large swallow from it. "It doesn't seem to matter how far you go in this business, though, everyone still thinks you're just a salesman and there doesn't seem to be anyone any lower on the social ladder than one who sells cars no matter how rich they might be."

"I think it's just that put-on home-spun attitude of yours. You know, `I'm just a country boy type.' But you can't kid me, Harry. I've lived with you long enough to know that you push that image to the hilt."

"Never had a complaint in the business," Harry said. "Nobody likes to admit they've been had by a yokel even if you've taken the shirt off their back. They even brag to their friends about the good deals they get and then they come down to get their shirts taken off too. It's all one big merry-go-round. But we can't complain, can we? We're doin' pretty well."

"Mmmmm, Why do you think I left the chorus line in Vegas, my dear? Certainly not your good looks."

"Is it all money, baby? Is that why you've stuck around for eight years?" Harry grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on the back of her thigh, massaging the soft, sensitive flesh gently.

"Harry," she crooned softly, "Be careful, we've got business to plan out remember." She looked up at him coyly as he continued the teasing ministrations.

Marsha gritted her teeth slightly as she felt the old feeling drifting slowly through the tips of her nerves. She was lucky to have Harry for a husband and she knew it well. He was one of the wealthiest and most successful car dealers in the country and took very good care of her in spite of the flamboyant crudeness and periodic streaks of cruelty in his sometimes overzealous sexual demands. Not that she minded the latter, she mused, she was almost as bad as he was and perhaps that was what held them together. He didn't mind at all what she did as long as she didn't hide it from him and was there when he needed her. But, by the same token, he did whatever he liked also in the way of outside sexual activity but would never hide it from her. In fact, it had made their marriage more exciting than anything else and had brought them closer together. Then, there was the swap club too.

Yes, both by common consent had had their own little affairs but had never let them get beyond the physical stage. It was kind of like having your cake and eating it too and had added so much interest to their lives together that she could never want it any other way. She liked the arrangement they had with either being able to do as they pleased because she had seen so many of her friends lapse into a bored and almost unbearable existence without any variety in their lives at all. It wasn't pleasant watching people you had known as young, gay individuals suddenly wilting away into sad mechanical-like suburban night dwellers whose every action fitted into a slot or pattern that varied not one iota from one year to the next. She was grateful to Harry for salvaging her from this fate and really, in the beginning anyway, almost forcing her to accept the fact that life could be lived in a different manner than that accepted without question by the majority of society. She had to admit, it had taken some doing on his part to get her to participate that first time in the swapping thing that was so popular now but after the first time she hadn't complained about going to the meetings again. In fact, she rather looked forward to these little twice-monthly affairs now and planned her whole schedule around them. She absolutely made certain she had an easy day before the meetings so that she wouldn't be too tired to give her best. She even made Harry come home early from the office to rest up and take a nap so he, too, would be prepared for the long exacting evening.

"Oooohhh," she moaned suddenly as her mind returned to reality. Harry's hand had reached her buttocks again and he had run the tips of his fingers feather-like down the full length of the soft-white crevice sending chills of sensation rippling across her skin. "Are you crazy, man? You want to be eaten alive?"

"Eaten, yes baby, but not alive," he joked, twitching his fingers again into the slightly squirming crevice. "But don't get impatient, we'll come to that."

"Well, you just stop it and get me another drink. We've got some planning to do. You've gotten me all excited over our new victims and I want to hear your bright little plan to bridge this social gap you think exists."

"Just don't you worry, my little pet, I've got it all figured. Been thinking about it since that punk gave me the old brush-off yesterday. I think we might even be able to work it so they'll be our little donation to the club. You know we're due to cough up another couple next month and we haven't even started on it yet."

"That's right," Marsha frowned. "It is our turn. Has it been three months since we brought in Sue and Charley?"

"It sure has and you know the rules, bring in a couple every three months or you're out for good. We haven't been working on it. Here, give me your glass and let me fill it while I lay out the plan for you."

"Harry Burns," Marsha chided, "I think you're out of your mind. Even if you do con her into bed with you, which I doubt, unless you rape her, I don't think you'd ever get a couple like that to go along with a group swap. They're just too young and naive. Why, I bet they haven't even been married a year."

"Right you are, baby," Harry said as he rose to mix more drinks. "But that's the kind that when they fall, they fall hard. It'll be fun trying anyway even if we don't succeed and we will. Have you ever seen old Harry fail yet, baby?"

"No, I guess not," Marsha had to admit. He just seemed to have a way with him that brought him anything he wanted. Women were always repulsed by him at first just as she had been in the beginning, but sooner or later, he worked a way to get to them. And God help them once he did, she mused.

"Make mine a double this time, lover, I think I'm going to need it to keep from crying over the fate you've got planned for this poor little girl next door."

"Poor little girl, my tail." Harry responded sarcastically from behind the bar. "Have you seen that set of boobs she carries around in front of her? Man I can't wait to get my teeth into those."

"Well, don't get overly excited and bite them off." Marsha retorted, a bored tone in her voice. "That's known as the crime of mayhem."

"Mayhem, scayhem," laughed Harry. "It just might be worth ninety days in the hoosegow to get a nibble at those. I'd be willing to risk it anyway."

"Oh, shut up and bring my drink. I hate to see you get worked up this way over some other little slut and then take it out on me all afternoon. Come on and tell me this plan of yours so I can get worked up, too. You know, I just might enjoy teaching that poor innocent young boy a thing or two. I feel most motherly every time I see him."

"You're not that old, chicken," he laughed, walking to the window again with the full glasses in his hands. "Man-o-man, look at that tight little ass almost hanging out of those shorts. There oughta be a law against that."