Robert Jenkins

Wide open wife

CHAPTER ONE

The night was so warm that the door of the bar had been left open. Something vaguely country western-rock was on the juke box, spilling loud sound into the neon-lit night as a man and a woman came out the door.

"My car's over here," the man said, one arm slipping around the woman's waist. She let him lead her, moving voluptuously against his encircling arm, but there were many little clues in their behavior that indicated they had just met – the man's quick glances and the cautious breeziness of the woman.

The car was a large station wagon, the rear two-thirds of it jammed with boxes and cases. "I'm a salesman," he explained as he ushered her into the front seat with almost exaggerated courtesy, then went around and got in the driver's side.

"By the way… I didn't catch your name," the man said as he shut his door and turned to look at the woman.

"I didn't throw it your way," she said coolly. There was a short silence during which the man digested her answer.

"My name's Tom," he finally said. "Tom Preston. And you're…"

"I'm your pick-up for the night," she said curtly. "I don't like names. I've forgotten yours already."

"Hey… what is this?" the man asked, trying to laugh off her barely friendly manner. "You with the CIA or something?"

"Uh-uh," she replied. "I'm just a horny woman who had you pegged for a good fuck – which I could really use. If you've got any thing else in mind, if you've got some macho plans for dissecting my personal history and tacking it up on your trophy board, forget it."

"Jesus Christ lady," the man replied. "When do you whip out your razor and start slashing?" One of his hands had been inching along the seat toward the woman's shoulders, but it froze in place. He drew a little toward his side of the car. The woman noticed, and her voice softened.