Joseph Cirelli - Attack from behind

He could imagine himself unfastening those tight little shorts, cut-off jeans really, and as he looked at her photograph there in his hands, she seemed to come alive, smiling at him with that pert little come-on grin that she always had, her head cocked to one side as if she was sizing him up for a romp in her bedroom. She had one hand on her hip as she stared at him from the photograph as she had for years now, the same mysterious expression… and the same inviting young body, barely contained beneath her cut-off jeans and the tight-fitting T-shirt that somebody had sent her from San Francisco. It was silk-screened in day-glo colors and he remembered how she seemed to wear it day and night that last summer before she married Don; even at night, he would see her a couple of blocks away, frolicking with some of her young friends. One late summer's night, driving home from a stint on the swing-shift, he could see a group of teenagers down by the floating pier at Johnson's Pond. They were dancing in the moonlight to somebody's car radio, and he could clearly see the phosphorescent colors of Diane's California T-shirt as she wriggled to the latest surf music from the West Coast. He wanted to stop the car, to run down to the pond and grab her and take her away from those pimply-faced boys and show her what a real man was like. But he didn't. He drove on, like he had a thousand nights, home to his loveless marriage. Home to his unfaithful wife.

And now there wasn't even Louise to return to after a day's work. He missed her more than he liked to admit – after all, she had been around a long time. And despite all her faults, she could be a good woman and a loving wife when she wanted to be.

But she was like all the rest of them, slutbitches every one of them! Let a good-looking stranger with a fancy new car pass through town and they all start getting itchy drawers!

Red heard the car door slam outside and he hurried first to put away his prized photograph. There were few visitors at the Collins house – the executives never slummed with the production people like himself even though he was a foreman. And his men never bothered to come around, none too anxious, he guessed, to spend their off-work hours with the boss.

He slipped the time-worn photo into its resting place beneath the telephone and walked quickly to the door. Through the parted curtain that covered the glass front door, he could see a car parked at the end of his driveway and someone walking up the drive in none too great a hurry. He squinted, unable to make out who it was… Damn, it better not be somebody selling door-to-door. I'm in no mood for sales pitches tonight!

Suddenly his caller stepped into the pool of light cast by the porch light and his breath burst from his lungs as he realized who it was… His photograph had come to life, his dream girl was there at his door, alone.

It was Diane!

"Hi, Red… can I come in?" she said timidly, standing at the far edge of the front porch. She was wearing a pair of shorts, just like the ones in the picture, he convinced himself… and a stylish halter top that was perfect for her beautiful figure. She had sandals on, her feet almost bare… Like she used to be with those boys at Johnson's Pond!

"Yeah, sure… come on. I hardly expected you to be calling, Diane." He motioned her in and held the door, suddenly ashamed of the mess in his batchelor-kept home. "I apologize for the way everything looks, but I only have a maid one day a week. You know, that high-yaller gal that used to work down at the plant."

Diane nodded, her mind flashing with the lewd imagery of Red Collins and that mulatto girl that everyone talked about. She had been fired from the production line down at the plant for slipping off with the men workers during lunch breaks. The story was that she got caught with three men in the employee's bathroom.

"What brings you here, Diane?" he asked cautiously, feeling his way on unfamiliar ground. After all, it wasn't every day that Diane Willard graced his home. In fact, this was the first time ever!

He didn't sit down and he made no offer of a chair for his guest. "It's Don's job, Red…" she began. "Just like I said yesterday. He needs it, Red, awful bad, and I'm afraid it might be the end for us if he gets laid off now."

Red tried to conceal his grin. "Oh, come now… it ain't all that bad. There's other jobs."

"No, Red, there aren't any more jobs. Don's talking about going north to look for work. To some city full of strangers. And there's more… I think I'm gonna' have Don's baby. It's just an awful time for all this to happen."

"Tell it to Nixon, Diane… I didn't have nothin' to do with it. I just got my orders."

She managed a thin trembling smile. "But you could change the orders, couldn't you? I mean, you've got the say-so to keep Don on the job if you wanted to, right?"

He grinned openly now. "Yeah… I suppose I could, but there'd be a lot of static from the front office. Too many questions and nosing around, unless…"

Diane gulped hard, but kept her thin smile intact, though her stomach already knotted with revulsion. "Unless what, Red?" she purred.

He suddenly became very nervous and his fingers began to fidget with his belt buckle, a brass replica of a tractor cab, that one of the trucking companies had given him. "I think you know what, Diane. There ain't but one thing that would make me change my mind about laying Don off… and there ain't but one girl in Evansboro who could make me say that." He reached out to her shoulder and pulled the strap of her halter top down her bare arm.

Diane closed her eyes in shame and humiliation but she did nothing to stop him. He took the other side of the flimsy top and pulled them together, along her arms, tingling with goose bumps as her stomach churned with naked revulsion!

Red remembered her beautiful breasts, his mind rushing back eagerly to that night at the juke-joint when he had seen her naked to the waist. He tugged her halter lower and the rounded swell of her breasts peeked over the top, still in the overflowing cups of her brassiere. He leaned close to her, so close that his breath felt hot and moist on her bare chest, and as he pulled her halter down around her waist, he dropped his face to her breasts, his tongue sneaking wetly into the deep cleavage between her bulging boobs.

"R-Red, pleasseee! Get it over with, please! Please!" she mewled in gut-rending despair.

Suddenly, Red's face was inches from hers and she shuddered as he gasped and sputtered with rage, his breath reeking of booze an rising bile. "You listen to me, bitch! You came to me, remember? And this gets done my way or not at all. You want Don to keep his job, don't you?"

"Y-yes… yes!"

"Then put a little into it or the deal's off. I don't want no cold fish… I want a real woman. The woman I know you are Diane! I deserve that… I deserve all of it!"

He began to finish the savored task of undressing her, unhooking her bra and letting it slide slowly down her arms, just as it had on another night years before. The brassiere fell from her wrists to the floor and he planted a kiss on both her firm young breasts, lifting them with his palms and murmuring to himself as he hotly licked her pink crinkly nipples.

Diane nearly swooned from the vile wanton sensation on his thick wet tongue swiping between her breasts, but she suppressed the need to cry and plead for his disgusting act to stop, for she knew that she had to go through with it to save her marriage… she had to!

He opened the button at the front of her shorts and eased the zipper down gently, his fingers working their way inside her pants. He could feel the shiny elastic sheerness of her panties under her shorts and he knew that in a few minutes he would be peeling them down her long supple legs and she would be naked in front of him, stripped to the flesh like a golden Goddess!