Some of the themes or activities in Switch may be offensive to some people — check the story codes first, please. Story codes and more information about Switch can be found on Switch Page.

Chapter One

Sunday, September 21, 1958

Johnny slept. Maeve slumped over him; the sheets had fallen on to the floor off the side of the bed, the Pendleton wool blanket at the foot.

Maeve leaned on her elbows and watched his face. She brought a hand up to him and stroked his forehead. There was only one light on in the room, a brass lamp by the bed. Boldly patterned curtains hung from ceiling to floor along the wall opposite the bed. The bedroom door was open; the hall was dark but lights from another room shone on a wall in the distance.

He needs a different aftershave, Maeve thought. She stroked his forehead and one temple. His black hair was damp with the oil he used for its dressing, his hair fell away from his face in clumps.

Maeve slapped his cheek lightly, "Johnny?"

He opened his eyes, he smiled. His hand lifted from the bed and stroked her back.

"Johnny?"

He smiled, his cute, dumb smile. "Maeve."

"I need to go back home."

He nodded.

"Ronald will be calling at nine."

He sighed.

"I want you to do something for me." She started to rise from his chest. She kissed him quickly and sat up. She looked about the room.

He mumbled, ". . . thing." His eyes were closing.

She got off the bed and stepped lightly from the room. She came back a minute later with her purse and her stockings. She sat down on the bed and opened her purse; she pulled out a typewritten sheet of paper.

"Wake up, Johnny." She gave his leg a shove. She rustled the paper. "Are you awake?"

He nodded.

She handed him the list. "Our schedule for next week." She stood up and started to gather her clothing. She went out of the room and came back with her dress and shoes. Her belt was somewhere in here, she thought. She bent to look under the bed.

"Is this a joke?" She heard him sit up on the bed.

She popped her head up above the level of the bed. "No." She bent down again. "Do you know what happened to my belt?"

"In the kitchen I think." He dropped his feet onto the floor and stood. "This is a joke, right?" He left the room and came back with the belt dangling from his fingers. He stood at the door and looked at her. "Damn, but you're beautiful." He came in and dropped the belt on the bed. He bent for his underwear.

She crossed the room quickly and slapped his rear hard. "No joke. That's the schedule," she said angrily. She shoved him. He almost fell over.

"Maeve? What are you —?"

"No joke Johnny. That's the schedule." She sat on the bed. "I want you to drive me home."

"OK," he said. He gathered his clothes and crossed the room. He set them on the blond maple dresser, bent again to put on his underwear. He stood straight and looked at her.

Maeve's long, permed black hair framed her perfect face, raven-haired beauty, he'd seen written somewhere; it fit her. She was beautiful, she had a beautiful body. Tonight, when he'd had her, he couldn't figure how he'd been so lucky.

He'd moved into the area only a few weeks ago. The firm had transferred him from the West Coast. This city was small and parochial, he thought. He liked living on the water, but there was no nightlife to speak of, there really weren't many people his age in the community.

Then he met Ronald and Maeve at a cookout at a neighbor's. They hit it off right away; they were the same in many ways, from liking the same label of scotch to feelings about the current administration. Johnny found it nearly impossible, then, not to stare at Maeve; she looked like she stepped off a movie screen into real life. She looked to be in her early twenties. Her husband Ronald was much older, nearly fifty, and in insurance. He traveled; Ronald seemed to be hardly ever at home.

Maeve had been on his doorstep this evening. She'd called the night before, said Ronald was out of town again. She said she was bored; she asked him if he wanted to go out to eat Sunday night. He'd said that sounded great. Tonight he had heard the doorbell ring; he answered, and saw her there, wearing a dress and jacket, wide belt cinching her waist, accentuating her large breasts. She held a basket in her hand. Smoked mullet, wine, French bread, she had brought dinner and smile that sent his heart hammering. He stepped back and she came in.

Within minutes he found himself making love to her, within minutes of the first kiss, they were on the floor in the kitchen, her dress hiked up, she wore no underwear, and he was thrusting madly.

The second time was more relaxed, on the bed here, their clothes off, food and drinks forgotten. He'd never had a woman like Maeve before. Not in high school, not when he was in the service in Germany, not afterwards back home, He had never been this consumed by sensation. His heart was still beating madly, his vision jerky. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen clothed; she was the most beautiful undressed. He'd never seen anyone like her in Playboy, certainly never in a stag film, never in real life. She took his breath away as his eyes again began to trace her curves, her graceful neck, her shoulders, her torso with two high, pointed breasts, slender waist, impossibly slender. He thought his fingers of both hands could completely encircle her. Her flat stomach, well-placed navel, her hips, her sex, he'd never seen a shaved woman before. Shaved legs and underarms were expected, he wasn't a beatnik, didn't like beatnik girls, but never a shaved — he wasn't sure what to call it, snatch, pussy, cunt. Her legs were long, sinuous, descending from real hips. Her ankles were slender, not thick, her feet arched. He looked back at her face.

"Awake yet?" she asked.

"I'm awake." He picked the shirt from the dresser, put it on over his undershirt and began to button it. He watched her.

Maeve stood up and walked across the room, not toward Johnny, but diagonally; she turned, and crossed to the other corner. She was still naked; her nylon stockings hung from her fingertips. She watched him.

Johnny was tall. Not exceptionally tall, his six foot height was accentuated by his lean, erect stance. His hair was cut close to his skull on the sides. She'd seen him use his fingers to comb his hair. His brown eyes, strong chin and soft voice were a surprising combination. Johnny dressed well. That appealed to her. He wasn't fat or old, he wasn't yet thirty, she thought. He was intelligent but not a smarty pants. He didn't have his head in the clouds. He didn't smoke, which was unusual, she didn't either. She had never seen him drunk; he seemed to be a person who would enjoy himself at a party, not get red faced and loud. Johnny drove with an offhand nonchalance that appealed to her; she liked men who didn't have to wrestle their cars.

She stood in front of him, held out the stockings in her hand. "Tie me up." She spoke sharply.

"You're joking. Right? When you're dressed, I'll take you home." He opened a drawer to find another pair of studs for his shirt.

"It's no joke, Johnny." She shoved the stockings at him. "Tie me up. You're going to tie me up, walk me out to your car," she shook the stockings again, ignoring the look on his face. "You're going to walk me out to your car, naked, put me in your trunk, drive me home." She pushed the stockings at him, let go of them. They slid down his stomach, onto the floor. "You're going to open the trunk, take me out, take me inside my house." She sat down on the bed. "Ronald will call, I'll talk with him. He'll know I'm OK. We will say we love each other. I will hang up. You will then push me over the back of the couch and screw me, you randy bastard." She smiled. "Then you'll untie me." She smiled broadly. "If you're half the man you think you are, you'll screw my ass, drag me tied to my marriage bed, and keep me as a slave to your lusts all night long. You will say, 'Shut up bitch,' and slap some sense into me. If you were a real man you would fuck your whore good."

"Maeve —"

"Or." She walked across the room again. "I go home by myself. On the way, someone rapes me. When I finally get back home, distraught, my clothes ripped, I will call the police. I will tell them everything, I will tell them, sobbing, 'I know who raped me.'" She stopped, turned and walked back to her previous spot. "I don't think they'll like how you beat me, how you cut me." She stopped, she turned and looked at him. "You'll find I bruise easily. In the future, be careful of my arms, legs, neck, where clothes don't cover." She started walking around the room, gathering her clothes. "I think it will be my testimony and the physical evidence that will put you in prison for a long time. Everyone knows I've never cheated on Ronald."

Maeve stopped and looked at Johnny. Her shadow covered him; she stood between the lamp and the dresser. He ran his fingers through his hair. He stared at her, he looked away, he looked at her again. She could see his eyes move across her body another time. She liked the way men looked at her, hungry, almost gleeful (as if they had won a prize), or shy. Johnny was shy.

"Which will it be?"

"God, Maeve."

"My way, or jail?"

"Maeve —"

"Jail it is." She gave him a last look, turned on her heels, left the room.

He caught up with her in the hall. "Maeve?"

She didn't stop or turn to look at him. She went into the kitchen and picked up her bra and shoes. She stood with the bundle of clothes held to her chest, her bag hung from her wrist. "Well?"

"Your way." He shut his eyes and slumped against the counter. "Maeve. Your way."

"Good." She let the clothes fall to the floor. She tossed the bag onto the counter. She held her hands out in front of her. "Well?" she smiled. "Johnny?"

He opened his eyes.

"Are you going to tie me up with my hands in front or in back?" She put her hands behind her back. "Think carefully." She turned around. "Don't forget the schedule."

"This is a joke, right, Maeve?"

"No joke Johnny. We have a busy week ahead of us." She stood waiting. "Or else I call the cops."

She heard him leave the kitchen. When he came back with her stockings and began to tie her hands behind her back, she smiled.

It was cool outside. Johnny had gone out to his Chevy, opened the trunk and looked around. He felt as if a thousand eyes were watching him. Streetlights illuminated the neighborhood. Most houses had low plantings against their structure, not much else between the home and the street except grass. It was a quiet neighborhood. He could see television blue in the windows, he guessed they were watching the Ed Sullivan Show. He hoped they were all watching the Ed Sullivan Show.

Johnny spread a blanket in the trunk, looked around another time. He went to his front door, opened it and tried quickly to move Maeve to the car. Halfway there she became reluctant and started to struggle. She opened her mouth and looked like she was going to start to scream. He pulled her close to him, he put his hand across her mouth, and rushed her to the car. He could see headlights down the street. Two blocks away? He could not tell. Maeve had gone limp in his arms. He pushed her into the trunk, swung her feet up and over the edge, shut the lid quickly and stood there as the car passed.

Johnny had to go to the bathroom. He rushed back to the house, flung open the front door, slammed it behind him and made it just in time to relieve himself. He sat on the toilet afterwards and tried to think. He was shaking. His skin was clammy, covered with sweat. He knew Maeve's house was set back from the road, trees and bushes shielded it. He tried to prepare himself for the next step.

Johnny left his house, he locked the door, adjusted the large grocery bag with her clothes in his arms, and walked to his car. He hoped Maeve could breathe in the trunk.

Maeve and Johnny sat on the couch, her hands were tied behind her back, he was facing across the room; she watched him and smiled. The telephone rang. He swung his head around.

"You'll have to hold it." She smiled. "Remember? I told you to think about how you tied me up." She watched him frantically grab the telephone receiver beside him, wildly swinging it toward her. She backed her head away so as not to be hit by the receiver. She held her ear up against it.

"Ronald?"

Johnny watched the telephone start to walk across the table, pulled by the cord. He used his other hand to hold it still. He tried to quiet himself.

"Dear, it's so good to hear from you." Johnny listened to her voice, how she used it like a musical instrument, each syllable, each phrase was precisely sounded so as to give it particular meaning. She sounded like she really was excited to hear from her husband, Ronald. "Oh, it's not been bad here, I miss you already." She listened. "I'm so terribly lonely without you." She paused. "I don't know how I'll be able to sleep alone in our bed tonight." She paused, she lowered her voice. "I'll be so cold and lonely without you." She listened for a moment, then laughed. "Do you really think so?" She listened. "I don't know, I find ladies' groups boring." She looked at Johnny and rolled her eyes. "Well, if you think the local gardening group is the answer, I will." She listened a moment longer, laughed. "He didn't?" She paused. "You'll be good, won't you?" She paused. "I've heard about those conventions." She laughed. "Just for me?" Johnny's arm was starting to hurt. "All right then." She laughed. "I love you." She paused. "Bye." She paused. She said to Johnny, "You can hang up now." She laughed. "The poor old fool."

Johnny replaced the receiver on the telephone. He looked at her.

"You weren't so shy earlier," Maeve said. She laughed. "I'm all yours. Here. Or we can desecrate the sacred marriage bed." She leaned up against him. She nuzzled her hair against his cheek. "You really need to change your aftershave. The scent is cloying."

Johnny stared at his toes.

Maeve stood up, turned around, then fell across the couch, so her knees were on the seat and her body was across the back. She waited. "If you don't fuck me, I'll scream." She paused. "I don't think we're so far my neighbors couldn't hear me." She laughed.

Johnny stood up and faced her. He unbuckled his belt, he unfastened his pants; he unzipped them and let them fall to his feet. He unbuttoned his shorts and let them fall. He looked at her.

Johnny felt no desire; he felt anger, shame and an urge to hurt her. He pushed her against the couch; he handled her, felt her ass, her stomach, her breasts on the other side of the couch. He touched her ear, her neck, he felt a desire to squeeze her neck, instead he pushed his cock into her, he didn't care which hole, he hoped it hurt, and shoved. He shoved again, harder, he grunted, he climbed onto the couch and leaned over her, his right hand covered her mouth, the left hand mauled her breast. He shoved deeper. She squirmed against him. She was shaking her head. Her body was undulating under him, her breasts swaying into his hand, against his hand, her rear pressed into him. He shoved hard, repeatedly. He pulled her head up, his hand still over her mouth. Her tied hands and arms moved against his stomach. He felt himself start to come; he shoved himself as hard as he could against her and held her tight. She was still shaking her head, her legs were trembling. When he was done, he climbed up off her; she hung limply over the couch back. He stood, he stared at her. He was shaking all over.

Maeve slumped into the couch. She had tears in her eyes. Johnny could see where his fingers had left red marks on her chest and her face.

Johnny kneeled on the floor; he leaned his face on the couch, by her feet. He was sobbing.

Maeve moved her foot against his face; she used her toes clumsily to stroke his cheek, the shell of his ear. She said softly, "That was great. You know how to use your whore." She pulled her foot away. "I need to go shopping tomorrow and get you new aftershave."

Johnny turned his head so his face was no longer buried in the couch, so he was facing her. Her feet were large before him. Her legs were bent, he could see her wet pussy, her ass, she was slumped on her side, her breasts almost obscured by her knees, her face. She smiled. "We're going to have a great week together."

He started to stand. "You're joking, right?"

"Johnny, I never joke about important things." She swung her legs off the couch and sat up. "If you untie me now, the bruises on my wrists won't be so prominent tomorrow." She twisted her torso and held her hands out to him. She looked away from him as he untied her hands. The knotted stocking was not easy to untie; he had to work at it for several minutes. When he was done he let the stocking fall, and stood up. He started to walk away after he pulled up his shorts and pants. He didn't bother zipping up or tucking in his shirt.

He was almost to the front door when he heard her say, calmly, "You're spending the night, aren't you?" She paused. "You won't forget the schedule, will you?"

He stood still.

"Johnny," she said. She was coming up behind him. "Don't do anything foolish. It'll be over in a week." She touched his arm, he shook her off. "Dear Ronald will be back, everything will be back as it was." She touched him again. "You don't want to do anything foolish."

He stood still. He was looking at the door, it seemed to recede from him. Everything was receding from him.

"Show me you agree with a kiss. Won't you seal it with a kiss?" She took her hand from his arm. He thought she had stepped back.

He turned around. She stood before him. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, he could see the marks his hand had made on her face, her hair was in disarray, clumps stood out. She was incredibly beautiful, she smiled at him.

He bent and kissed her.

He wasn't sure if he had hated anyone so much before. Her hand felt sweet on his shoulder. Her tongue was insistent and fluid, strong and demanding.

Go to the next chapter.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four |
Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | The Schedule

The first part of Switch: a novel is Switch.
The second part of Switch: a novel is The Babysitter.
The third part of Switch: a novel is Comes the Bride.
The fourth part of Switch: a novel is The Revolver.

Disclaimer: Some of the things the characters do in this story are seen as offensive or frightening (even terrifying) by some if not most people. Please don't surprise anyone. Always ask first. Have an agreed upon safe word even if you don't do BDSM.

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