Jennifer Collier: Some Very Lovable Neighbors

"No, honey," Mason continued as she ushered him in. "There'll be none of that, I promise you." He shut the door and leaned against it, smiling a faint, sardonic smile. "But they aren't going to get away with this, are they?"

Adie turned to look up at him. "No," she said grimly. "They aren't going to get away with it, Bob."

Mason's smile grew progressively larger. His eyes moved slowly over the firm, slim curve of the distraught woman before him, trying to maintain a hurt, gentlemanly expression while the fire was building ever hotter in his loins. You're going to be a good fuck, baby, he thought hungrily. You're going to be as good a fuck as my wife when I get through with you.

He said, "I think we could both use another drink, Adie, don't you?"

Adie sat next to Bob Mason on the three-cushion couch, her fifth drink – or was it her sixth? She couldn't really be sure how many she'd had in the car – clutched tightly in both her hands. Her mind was swirling with the pictures of what she had seen at Salmon Creek… Jack kissing Sue between the legs, kissing her – well, her pussy, no use mincing words now… Jack's large bloated penis almost completely consumed by the wet dripping lips sucking voraciously on it as if it were some gigantic peppermint stick… Jack's contorted lust-expressioned face and Sue's as they groveled in one another's private sweating parts…

God! God! It was all there in her mind as vivid now as it had been when she'd witnessed it. She felt a little nauseous, a little ashamed, but yet overwhelmingly angry; Jack had violated a sacred marital trust, the very essence of love and their relationship…

She didn't know what to do. Actually, she wanted to hurt him, do something to pain him as he had pained her… retribution… reprisal. But that was unthinkable, because the only kind of retribution or reprisal which this untenable situation warrented was doing the same thing – or at least the same type of thing – that Jack had done. In plain terms, it meant making love to another man, and she simply couldn't do that.

Or – could she?

No, no, no, no! her mind repeated, over and over. No, that's liquor talking, liquor and shame and hurt talking; I really shouldn't have had all these drinks… oh God, I don't know what to do! I don't know how to cope with a situation like this; who would ever have dreamed that I would have to?

Adie felt tears brim in her eyes, spill down over her cheeks. Crying wasn't going to do any good, she knew that, but she felt so wretched and miserable at that moment, so indecisive, that the tears were something of a defense mechanism to momentarily flood out the terrible hurt and still leave the questions unresolved. She let the tears flow freely, pouring from her eyes like cascading winter rain, sobbing brokenly without removing her hands from around the glass.

Dimly she was aware of movement on the couch beside her; dimly, she felt a hand touch her shoulder, an arm go around her and draw her close; dimly she knew the clean faint cologne smell of a man in her nostrils. But the arm was strong and the odor was not at all unpleasant, and she allowed herself to be pressed close against a firm supporting chest, lowering her head there and crying deeply, dispairingly.

Bob Mason felt the warm resilient body pressed tightly to his own, felt the firm rippling muscles of her shoulder beneath his encircling arm, smelled the heady fragrance of her hair and her body. Goddamn! Oh it was going to be good, all right; it was really going to be good! Bob Mason felt a throbbing ache in his balls, and the blood was beginning to pound hotly in his rising cock, making little tingling sensations race back and forth across the swelling head. Damn! He couldn't wait much longer, that was for sure. He had to have her pretty soon now because if he didn't, he was going to blow his whole load in his pants, sure as hell. But he sensed that she was open and ready for a suggestion now – she was ashamed and a little drunk and mad as hell – and that it wouldn't take much to convince her what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander.

Mason began to whisper softly against her hair, letting the soft strands tickle his nostrils, intensifying the warm pleasant ache in his now-almost-fully-erect cock. At first the words were soft, mesmeric, quieting sounds, consisting of "shhh, honey" and "don't cry, now, don't cry" and "everything will be all right, baby, you'll see." He took the glass from her fingers and placed it on the coffee table; almost immediately she raised her hands and clutched at his polo shirt, bunching the cloth between her spasmodic fingers as she wept against him. He knew that the words, his nearness, were having an effect on her – though of course she couldn't be realizing it at the moment, would realize it only later when his forthcoming plays would have sent her beyond any recall. She was trusting him now, trusting his words and trusting the touch of his arm about her shoulders… just the way he wanted it.

Mason began then to stroke the satiny skin of her shoulder and upper arm, gently, comfortingly. And in the same tone of voice that he had been using but with different words now he intoned, "Don't think about it, honey. Don't think about the way your husband and my wife looked there on that blanket, the way their faces looked in the sunlight.

Don't think about what they were doing, licking and sucking one another, touching one another. Don't think about your husband and my wife, honey; don't think about it at all…"

Mason could feel the firm warm breast pressing against his rib cage, could feel the nipple hardening somewhat there, and he smiled as he continued to talk. His words were having the desired effect on her; she was thinking about Jack and Sue of course, just as he had known she would. She was seeing them mentally as they had looked there at Salmon Creek, sixty-nining… and the images were in turn causing unmistakable, if unwanted, arousal in her own body. Almost ready now, he thought; she's almost ready now…

Despite her tears, the tortured confusion of her mind at the events of the afternoon, Adie was beginning to slowly experience an almost dreamy torpor as she remained enveloped in Mason's strong gentle embrace. His words seemed to flow like soft warm butter into her ears, soothing, hypnotic; she was aware that he was telling her not to think of what she – they – had seen, of Jack's and Sue's joint infidelity but the vision was nonetheless there, unerasable, brought into crystal clarity by his soporific voice instead of dimmed into her subconscious. She didn't want to think about it, God knew that, but she just couldn't help it… she just couldn't help it. She sobbed into the thin material of Bob Mason's polo shirt, finding a certain security in his masculine nearness and the gentle stroking of his hand on her bare shoulder and upper arm.

And strangely, perversely, the images in her brain were starting to have a certain physical effect on Adie as well. She could feel twitching excited sensations deep within her belly, and her vaginal orifice begin to secrete droplets of lubrication, moistening her panties under the black stretch slacks, causing her to open and close her thighs, open and close them in a gathering sexual rhythm. Her nipples hardened under the sleeveless jersey. She tried to will her body to cease its tingling ardor, but the images were too vivid – and Bob Mason's maleness was too close, too exciting… yes, exciting was the right word, Bob was really quite an attractive man, certainly not repulsive in any way, and so kind and gentle and good…

Mason felt Adie Rolfe trembling beneath his arm, trembling with something else now beside the racking sobs of her misery, and he thought exultantly: Now's the time! She's ready, she's really ready… oh Christ, I'm going to throw a fuck into her that she won't soon forget! I'm going to shove it all the way up into her belly until she screams for me to cum, and then I'm going to fill her up with boiling hot sperm! She'll throw rocks at her old man when I'm done fucking her, goddamn right!