Chris Simon

A real hot number

CHAPTER ONE

I knocked on the door. My mouth was dry and I could feel a tenseness in my stomach. The knock sounded hollow and it seemed to reverberate in my ears.

I listened for some sounds beyond the door. Faintly I thought I could hear a baby crying and some muted sounds of voices. After a moment I could hear softly padding footsteps walking towards the door.

The door cracked open, and a flood of bright yellow light spilled out. There was a man standing in the center of the light, peering out at me.

"Hello!" he said. "You must be Allen."

"Yes," I answered. "Allen Dawson. You're Kenneth Hill?"

"Ken," he said. He shook my hand firmly, and pulled me into the house. "Call me Ken."

He shut the door behind me, and I found myself standing in the hallway of a clean-looking middle-class house. To my right there was a living room filled with heavy Spanish-looking furniture.

"Here," Ken said. "Let me take your coat."

He was a short man, about five six or seven. He was older than I, and I judged that he must have been about thirty-eight or nine. He had a round full face, cracked in the middle with a white-toothed smile, and his hair was receding. His middle was somewhat thickened with a paunch.

"Yvonne will be with us in a moment," he explained, taking my coat and hanging it in the hall closet. "The baby woke up and she's putting him back to sleep. Wouldn't you know it would happen tonight. Always something."

I found myself not answering, but he didn't seem to notice. His chatter was easy and flowing and natural, as if he were thoroughly relaxed and truly genial. I felt awkward and uncomfortable.

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?" he asked. He guided me into the living room with a gentle pressure of his hand on my shoulder.

"No, no," I said quickly; perhaps too quickly. I was grateful for a chance to say something. "No trouble at all. Your instructions were very explicit."

He chuckled warmly. "That comes through practice," he explained. "I've directed many people here."

"Oh," I commented, awkwardly.

"Say, Allen. How about a drink? What will you have?"

"Scotch. With ice."

He left me sitting on the living room couch and he turned towards a portable bar in a far corner of the room. As he walked away from me, I became aware of the way he was dressed. He had on an old, wrinkled sport shirt and a pair of gray slacks. His loafers clumped silently against the rug. I felt strangely overdressed in my suit and tie.

"Your first time?" he asked, bending his words over his shoulder towards me but not turning around. He clanked glasses and ice together.

"Yes," I confessed.

"Just relax. Take it easy. We won't bite. Not yet, anyhow!" He laughed at his small joke.

"Hell," he said. "Me and Yvonne have been doing this for nearly three years. You'll get used to it. Just relax and let yourself go; you'll enjoy yourself."

He brought the drinks over and handed me mine. I sipped it, immediately feeling the strong comfort of the alcohol sliding down into my stomach. I could feel myself relaxing.

Ken sat across from me in an over-stuffed arm chair with curved wooden arms. He sat with his legs crossed and he sipped his drink. It looked like orange juice.

"Are you married, Allen?" he asked. He was treating me as though I had just dropped over for dinner. His manner was casual and relaxed.

"Yes. But Patti – my wife… doesn't…"

"Some wives are like that," he helped. "Now take Yvonne. She's always liked sex. And it got worse as she got older. Instead of quieting down, she seemed to need it more and more. It was her idea to start swinging. I just couldn't satisfy her enough. She used to bleed me dry."

I could feel a stirring in my groin. The frankness of his conversation reawakened my imagination, and I recalled my reason for the visit. I could feel my prick growing hard and creeping up my thigh, pressed tightly against the crotch of my under shorts. I took another drink.

"Does she know you're here? Your wife, I mean."

"Well," I began. "Patti knows about the ads, but she's not living with me just now. She's visiting her sister in Smithtown. We've had some… marital problems." I felt strange confessing this to a total stranger.

"Sex problems?"

"Sort of." I could feel color flush in my cheeks.

"You should try to get her interested in swinging," Ken explained seriously. "It just might save your marriage. You would be surprised at the therapeutic effects of swapping-off every so often."

"I don't think…" I thought of Patti, but I couldn't imagine her screwing with some strange man. I tried to imagine her naked body under the swelling weight of Kenneth Hill's stomach. The scene was perversely exciting.

"You learn to appreciate your wife better," he continued. "You don't take her as much for granted. And you regain that lost spark of spontaneity in your marriage."

I knew I wouldn't even know how to ask Patti to join us. When things hadn't been working out for us, I remember how I threatened her with placing a sex ad. "Go ahead," she said. "Enjoy yourself. Just stay away from me."

"Well," someone said. The voice interrupted my reverie. It was a feminine voice.

I looked up and saw a woman entering the living room. She was younger than Kenneth Hill by at least ten years. She had long dark hair and a tall, somewhat thin body. Her shape was excellent, and she had a pair of firm, full breasts. She was wearing a printed blouse and a short blue mini skirt.

"Ah," said Hill, standing up. "We've been wondering where you were."

"I couldn't get him back to sleep," she explained. She looked at me, a full, searching look.

"Is this our guest for the night?" she said. Her lips were full and sensual, covered with a dully glistening film of wetness.

"Dear, this is Allen…"

"Dawson," I helped. "Allen Dawson. I spoke to you last week, you remember. About your ad."

She smiled and I could see her teeth. She licked her lips with her tongue. "Oh yes, I remember your call, Allen. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

There was an awkward silence, and I didn't know how to fill it. I still wasn't used to the situation and the frank honesty with which they were discussing it.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, too," I said finally. I felt my face color at the same time that I felt my hard-on stretch another inch or two.

"Let me get you a drink, dear," Hill said to his wife. He got up and walked towards the bar. I could see the bulging trace of an erection poking through his pants as he walked. He made no effort to hide it. "Your usual?"

"Yes, dear," she answered. She walked fully into the room and joined me on the couch, sitting at the other end. I felt the swell of the cushion under her weight as she sat down, and I could smell the faintest trace of her perfume wafting across the small distance that separated us. For the first time I noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra, and I saw the pinched tips of her nipples scraping across the print pattern of the blouse.

"Why don't you take your jacket off and loosen your tie," she said.

I looked up from her breasts and saw that she was looking right at me. She smiled and I realized that she knew I had been staring at her breasts.

"Yeah." Hill echoed. "Make yourself at home." He handed his wife her drink and then sat back in his chair across from us, leaving us both together on the couch.

"Good idea," I feebly agreed but really didn't. I slid forward on the cushion and loosened my tie. Then awkwardly, I unbuttoned my jacket and slipped it off my arms. I tried not to stand for fear of revealing my erection. I folded the jacket in half and placed it on the couch beside me, between Yvonne and I, and it seemed to separate us like a wall. I unclipped my cuff links and rolled up my shirt sleeves.

"Are you married, Allen?" Yvonne asked.

I explained to her what I had told her husband.

"That's a shame. It's too bad we couldn't all get together. I'm sure Ken would really love to fuck your wife. She sounds perfectly lovely."

My balls stirred and my mouth grew dry. I pressed my lap upward slightly, feeling the tightening pleasure of my erection against the material of my pants. Pleasure flushed through my loins.

"That's Yvonne," Hill laughed. "She jumps right into the heart of the matter. No pussyfooting around where sex is involved."

"No," I said, "that's quite all right." I understood his explanation as a form of apology for his wife's bluntness. "I'm only sorry that it couldn't be that way."

"No need to apologize, Allen," she said. "Ken is very understanding. He enjoys it this way as well, don't you, dear?"

He laughed and blushed.

"Ken loves to see other men making love to me," she explained. She turned and looked at me. She held her drink in her hand, and as she leaned forward to place it on the table, the tips of her fingernails just barely brushed across the swell of her breast. It was a very erotic move, and I knew it had been no accident.

"We're really getting into this in a hurry, aren't we," Ken said. His voice was still genial and smiling, but I thought I could sense the faintest tremble of excitement in his tone. "Perhaps we should begin."

"Good idea," Yvonne said.

"Suits me," I echoed, just to say something. It was still strange, but the raw, unchecked sexuality that filled the room was beginning to affect me. I could feel myself becoming excited at the thought of making love to Yvonne.

"I'll set up the projector," Hill said. He got up and left the room. I could hear him walking somewhere towards the back of the house.

"Projector?" I asked. I looked at Yvonne.

"Home movies," she said. "Very special home movies."

She slid around and faced me at an angle. She placed her arm across the back of the couch, and rested her right breast against the back cushion. The orb flattened against the material, swelling fully and reminding me of a very ripe fruit. She slid her legs up so that one was crooked on the edge of the cushion, revealing a great expanse of whiteness of her inner thighs. The legs were parted slightly in an open invitation.

"We often take home movies of our… guests," she said.

My eyes followed up the gentle curve of her thighs, past the firm roundness until they were halted by the tautly stretched material of her skirt's hemline. But in between her legs, just below the hem, I could see the dark shadows of what lay above. Shadows that I would soon possess.

"I think you'll like these movies," she said. She stretched her legs, and ran her hand slowly up and down the exposed flesh of her thigh. I could feel perspiration running down my collar and I unbuttoned the top two buttons.

I agreed. "I have a feeling I'll enjoy the movies."

We were staring at each other, looking into each others' eyes. Her face was unmasked, and there was no way that I could misunderstand the burning glint that smoldered in her eyes. She licked her lips slowly, running her tongue sensually around the outer edge of her mouth.

Our visual communication was momentarily interrupted as Hill reentered the room. The smile was faded from his face and he seemed to be breathing harshly. Perspiration made the bald spot shine, and I noticed that his zipper was half-open. I couldn't be sure, but I suspect it had been closed when he left. His hard-on seemed larger, and it poked like a tent pole against his gray slacks.

"Have this set up in a moment," he said. He carried the screen into the room and placed it almost parallel to me. He struggled with it a moment before it opened.

My drink was still in my hand, almost completely untouched from the first sip. I brought the glass to my lips and swallowed the liquid. It splashed in my stomach in a single gulp, spreading additional warmth against the one that was already growing there.

The projector was assembled in a few more seconds, and Hill removed several rolls of film from a brown paper bag. The reels were numbered, and he stacked them neatly beside the projector.

"All set?" he asked. His voice cracked.

We mumbled that we were.

"Get the light, dear," he said to Yvonne.

She reached behind her and snapped the lamp twice until the light was out. I shut the lamp on my side also. The room was dark.

Hill switched the projector on, and a brilliant square of light cut through the darkness and filled the screen.

"I don't think you'll be able to see from there," Hill said to me. "Perhaps you better move down a bit… closer to my wife."

I lifted my coat and placed it on the other side of me. Then I began to slide across the softness of the couch, moving closer to Yvonne. I stopped when I was almost touching her, and I could feel the billowing presence of her body near me. She shifted slightly, touching me, and I felt a stab of electricity bolt through my body. Her perfume was in my nose and I inhaled it deeply. I sat back in the couch.

Hill thread the machine. It was self-loading so all he had to do was insert the lead of the film, and the projector did the rest. The air was filled with a mechanical clicking noise, and the solid square of light began to dance on and off.

A blurred image appeared on the screen. The image cleared, and I found myself staring at Yvonne Hill. She was sitting on the couch, but there was another man next to her. It wasn't her husband. He, I realized, must have taken the pictures.

The man was kissing her, and he had his open hand on her breast. In the picture she was wearing a sweater and another mini-skirt. The man's body was pressed across her top, and her legs were spread out stiffly in front of her. They were open slightly, and you could almost look up her skirt. The man's hand was vigorously massaging the tit through the sweater.

I felt Yvonne stir next to me. "Oh," she said, softly, and she pressed the fat part of her thigh against my leg. It was soft and warm, and she began to rub her leg up and down.

"That's Bevins," Hill explained. "Edward Bevins. I used to work with him."

I wondered whether he knew the names of all the men who had fucked his wife.