The Brass Statuettes

The Brass Statuettes

By: Autumn Writer

Author’s note: “The Brass Statuettes” is a sequel to a short story that I wrote some time ago, “The Saga of Trudy and Frank”. You can read and enjoy this story without having read the forerunner. If you do you’ll understand this one, especially the first chapter, much better.

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Prologue

A man reaches out, grasping the final, sharp-cornered stone with bleeding hands and fingers. Exhausted, urging forth his last reserve of strength, willing himself up and over the final obstacle, he pulls his weary legs under him, thrusts up the aching body, pressing skyward. A hot, dry wind stings across his face—he does not care. He surveys what he has conquered: the view of the ground below, the spent bodies of competitors, impaled on lower tiers along the way, and those few sharing the view with him. He has struggled to the top of the pyramid, realizing his dreams and promise.

He is exhilarated, yet a bit self-conscious. As he can see all from his lofty perch, so too, can he be observed. He straightens himself, adjusting his appearance in every way, for whatever is seen says something of him. All must know how he has risen so high and why they should wish to be like him. That applies to his possessions. House, car, clothing, golf clubs, and desk spell out the details of his tastes, his standards, his desires.

His wife is his most important possession. He is the Alpha Male; they are the Alpha Pair. She must be beautiful, young and nubile. Of course, she will be intelligent and cultured. Above all, she is discreet, if not loyal. She runs in the pack with the other executive wives, blending in or standing out in accordance with the demands of a given situation. She is decorator and decoration. It is her duty to do what she must to defy time, age and over-indulgence. In return, she is granted security, luxury and a curious power.

There are such women nearby every boardroom and headquarters. They seek out, and are sought. Adorned with diplomas in Art History and French Literature; denizens of spas, salons and private gyms; they are perfect hostesses and skillful guests. They share their men’s beds and secrets. They share their fortunes, too—and are well-versed in the proper use of money for pleasure and power. They are the Trophy Wives—Brass Statuettes on a Walnut Base.

The Brass Statuettes

By: Autumn Writer

Chapter 1—Watering the Garden

Juana Hernandez stood in the hallway, not far from the French doors that opened to the veranda. Although that summer afternoon was a hot one, she wore her grey, cotton maid’s shift with the black trim and white buttons. She was a professional—never lowering her standards for anyone or any reason. The hot, Texas afternoon sun was reality, and her maid’s attire was part of her standards. The Señora of the house was on the veranda with her friends. From her position in the hallway Juana was able to hear her mistress’ summons without eavesdropping.

She stole a glance through a spotless pane. Her husband, José, worked in the garden. She wondered if the hot sun was too much for him. He bent to his work in the garden under his wide-brimmed straw hat. He kept his pace constant, neither allowing the heat to dog him, nor hurrying to complete his work more quickly to avoid exposure. The copper skin on his face was cracked and leathered from decades of afternoons toiling in the Texas sun. Juana and José had served the house for nearly thirty years. They lived in a small cottage on the edge of the grounds. To some, it may have seemed like a humble existence. To them it was their place in the world, sus puestos.

The house had changed hands a number of times in the three decades of their service. The new owners always chose to ask Juana and José to stay on after the change of title. It was a large house with spacious rolling grounds in the Texas style. Each family taking up residence in the palace was a little different—but the same in the important ways. They were always members of the corporate aristocracy—in chemicals or oil, or perhaps banking. Juana and José served the house, not the owners. Their obedience to the owners was just a part of their duties to the house.

Juana chose not to get to know the residents too well. They were, after all, just one in a line of succession. When they left there would be a new family and the house would still remain. By not knowing them she could avoid both judging and forgiving them. Wealth was always accompanied by more vice than virtue. It was a discipline instilled in her long ago. The younger maids, who came in from the city part time to assist her, didn’t quite understand the rule. They gossiped and giggled in their group until Juana heard them. She chastised them in Spanish, so that the Señora could not understand, and the young girls would go back to their cleaning and polishing.

“Juana! Bring some more iced tea.” She heard her mistress’ command, louder than was necessary. That had to mean that the hot, afternoon sun, coupled with the iced tea laced with vodka, were having the predictable effects on her mistress and her friends.

“Si, Señora Warner,” she yelled back with a sigh, rolling her eyes. Juana knew immediately that she had erred in allowing the inflection in her voice to betray her attitude.

“Bring more mint leaves, too,” she heard the Señora call after her as she turned for the kitchen. “And be quick about it.”

She already had a fresh pitcher of iced tea ready in the refrigerator, and fresh mint leaves in a jar. She also thought to bring more ice and a set of clean glasses, though not specifically asked to do so. She was a professional, after all.

Juana returned with her trayful of supplies. “I wose teenking dat chu would be niding more ice, too, Señora,” Juana declared in her Mexican accent as she stepped onto the veranda. “And, ‘eer are some clin glasses.”

“Fine, Juana,” her mistress acknowledged. “Just set it all over there on the bar.”

“Weel dee Señora take a nap before dee dee-nair?” the servant inquired.

“No!” the mistress snapped back. “That will be all, Juana. You can leave us now.”

Juana shuffled away. She nearly shook her head in sadness, but held back. It would have been, after all, an act of judgment to do so, and that would have presumed closeness that she was determined to avoid.

“¡Es borracha, otra vez!” she moaned silently. “¡Ah, Señor Alvin; el povrecito!”

She returned to her windows, out of sight of the women seated around the circular table on the veranda.

“That maid of yours has some kind of attitude, Gloria,” Juana heard one of them say.

“She acts likes she’s the queen of the house,” another added.

“I know, I know,” Gloria sighed. “If it were up to me I’d have fired them both long ago. But, Alvin likes them; what can I do?”

“Don’t let her get under your skin, Gloria.”

“That’s good advice, Brenda. Now, be a dear and pour me a glassful of that special iced tea.”

“Sure thing, Gloria. Anyone else?” Brenda asked as she rose from the table. The two other women held up their own empty glasses, shaking them.

Brenda dropped the ice and mint leaves into the bottom of the clean set of glasses. She poured in the vodka and tea and set the full glasses on the tray that Juana left and placed it in the middle of the large table. Each woman took a glass and eased back into their chairs.

“You did that without spilling a drop, Brenda,” Ashley joked. “You must’ve fallen behind us in your drinking.”

“Practice and training,” Brenda replied. “I can be totally soused and carry a tray of food or drinks anywhere. It’s a skill that often comes in handy.”

“It was a lovely dinna’ pahty Friday night, Gloria.” Darlene, the most youthful of the quartet said in her Georgia accent. She hadn’t quite been able to lose it, regardless how hard she tried. “It was all so perfect.”

“Careful—accent,” Gloria admonished the younger woman.

“Oh, you’re so right, Gloria. I do need to shed this way of talkin’. Sometimes I slip when I’ve had a drink or two. But the fact remains; I did so enjoy the party.”

“When you’ve had a few drinks is when you need to remember it most,” Gloria said. “I know it’s hard. It was hard for me when I moved here from Dallas.”

“It was your first, wasn’t it?” Ashley said, already knowing the answer.

“Well, Ah just loved it!” Darlene replied. “All the beautiful gowns, the lights, the music; it was all so grand!” she gushed.

“And all of the important people,” Brenda added.

“Ah suppose so,” Darlene admitted with a slight pout.

“Don’t be so glum about it,” Ashley retorted. “Those old geezers are the contacts that make sure that our dear husbands keep on VP-ing in this grand company.”

“And keep that cash rollin’ in,” Brenda agreed.

“So, who’s the man with the pot belly and no hair?” Darlene inquired.

“Jim Sweeney,” Brenda answered. “A retired oil company executive.”

“Well, that Mr. Sweeney thinks that he has one foot in my bed and one hand in my panties,” Ashley proclaimed. “He took liberties more than once while we were dancing.”

“And I saw you there in the corner with him, letting him think exactly that,” Brenda laughed.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Darlene demanded; her eyes were wide.

“Probably not,” Ashley answered in honesty, “but one never knows when one’s talents can serve one’s needs.”

Darlene gasped.

“It’s part of your wifely duty, dear,” Brenda admonished. “A little secret favor— someday, it might be that final push that puts your husband over the top.”

“And you, right along with him,” Ashley added.

Come now, Brenda,” Gloria scolded. “Don’t get Darlene all upset. That kind of thing isn’t usually necessary. You just have to make a guy like Sweeney think he has a chance to bed you. That’s usually enough.”

“And that you would just love him to, if only…” Ashley added with a fake romantic swoon.

“And let your husband think it was his leadership and analysis that got him the job,” Brenda put her last two cents in the pot and all the women shared the laugh.

Darlene leaned back in her chair, appearing unsure.

“Look, Darlene,” Gloria went on, “it’s part of the executive game. You don’t have a choice whether you want to play. Just being here makes you a player.”

“But, why can’t…”

“Because that’s the way it is,” Gloria interrupted. “Sex and power just go together—like wine and cheese.” The older woman peered over the top of her sunglasses to make sure her pupil was listening. “Don’t look so sad,” she went on, wearing a wry smile. “Sex is fun, after all. No one said that we can’t enjoy our work.” The last remark brought another round of tittering, except from Darlene who was adapting to her new code.

“If you say so, Gloria,” Darlene mumbled into her drink.

“I do say so,” Gloria replied sternly. “Do what you have to do. Don’t do anything for free and be sure to keep your secrets secret.”

“Not secret from us, of course,” Brenda quipped. They all laughed again. Even Darlene finally joined in. The sun was merciless and Brenda made the fresh drinks strong. They would have laughed at anything.

“By the way, Darlene,” Gloria said, “your gown the other night was lovely. It so suited your petite figure”

“Oh, thank you Gloria,” Darlene answered with a self-conscious blush. “Your gown was…”

“Just make a few improvements next time,” Gloria cut off the young novice. “The rule of two’s,” she explained. “Double the cleavage; spend twice the money on the gown; divide the extra fabric around your derriere by two. It will pay off double, believe me.”

“I had on a little thong under mine the other night,” Ashley declared. “Why bother going to the gym if you can’t flaunt it once in a while?”

“It was just me underneath,” Brenda confided. “Panty lines would have ruined it.”

“Oh, mah goodness!” Darlene exclaimed. She covered her face in embarrassment, giggling and blushing at the naughtiness of it.

Ashley took a big swallow of her drink. “You had your set on display as usual, Gloria; that’s for sure.”

“It wasn’t by accident, dear,” Gloria acknowledged. “Alvin’s the CEO; I’m his wife. It’s up to me to sport the best tits in the place!”

“That,” Brenda snorted, “you so ably did.” She set down her empty glass.

“Pierre knows what I like and just how to do it,” the mistress of the court explained. “That’s where the ‘spend twice as much’ rule comes in. Trim a little fabric here and there, some underwires, the right color and some sequins. Pierre knows just how to do it.”

“Voila, as Pierre would say,” Brenda breathed out with a tiny slur.

“I noticed that none of the men looked me in the eye when they were talking to me,” Gloria asserted with a chuckle, “except for Frank Bennett—he’s so straight-laced.”

“They may not have looked you in the eye, but they won’t forget you,” Brenda slurred, slumping down in her chair and pulling the brim of her hat over her eyes.

“I would have never guessed underwires,” Ashley admitted.

“They make them out of plastic now, so they can move with you, instead of you with them. They’re really pretty good—a modern technology breakthrough,” Gloria informed the others as Ashley poured more elixir into the empty glasses. “I think that our husbands’ company actually makes the plastic—or has something to do with it.”

“To plastic!” Ashley hoisted her glass in a mock toast, spilling a little. The others followed suit, laughing in their derision.

“Speakin’ of husbins,” Darlene asked, “shouldn’t ours be headin’ home right about now? Aren’t we afraid they’ll see us in this slightly tipsy condition?”

“Mine’s gone to New York with Frank Bennett,” Gloria replied. “Don’t worry about him.”

“New York?” one of the women queried.

“Something to do with bankers and Wall Street. They left this morning. Then, Alvin’s going on to Europe and Frank’s coming back day after tomorrow.”

“Speakin’ of Frank Bennett, what did y’all think of Trudy’s gown the other night,” Darlene asked.

“Certainly no underwires in that!” Ashley put in.

“Didn’t need any,” Brenda said, still slumping in her chair. “She never does; there’s nothing to hold up.”

“Poor Frank,” Ashley mocked. “Do you think he knows how deprived he is? Does he ever wonder what a real handful feels like?”

“I don’t think he does,” Brenda answered for the others.

“Maybe one of these days, I’ll let him sample a handful of mine,” Ashley mused. “And while he’s doin’ that I’ll get my hands around somethin’ that belongs to him.”

“Keep dreamin’, girl,” Brenda warned.

“Well, he just makes me think that he’d be a real handful in the sack,” Ashley continued, “and I could be just the one to put him through his paces.”

“It was disgusting!” Gloria declared. “Did you see how all the men’s eyes just followed Trudy around the whole time? That includes our own dear husbands, mind you.”

“Maybe they were in a fog and thought Trudy was a lighthouse,” Brenda quipped.

“They just couldn’t believe how homely she is,” Ashley said.

“Imagine—wearin’ royal blue in the summer,” Darlene sneered.

“It’s not that,” Gloria corrected her pupils. “The men don’t care about any of that. They watch her because they like her. They’d like us to be just like her, too—all smiley and nice. They like her because she’s not one of us. She talks to them like they’re just regular people and she doesn’t join in with us wives. She’s what we were like before we got these higher responsibilities.”

“Well, she did look gorgeous in that simple gown, being so tall and slender,” Ashley said.

“No, it’s ‘cause they like her!” Gloria insisted, raising her voice. “And, they don’t like us. They need us—but they don’t like us. Trudy’s got them wrapped around her bony little finger, and we just can’t have it any more.”

“You tell ‘em, Gloria,” Brenda intoned, her eyes half-closed.

“If the men are gonna’ like Trudy, she’s got to be made to be just like us!” Gloria decreed. “I won’t play second fiddle to that flat-chested, homely giraffe!”

“How are we supposed to accomplish that?” Ashley asked.

“That’s the part I haven’t got yet,” Gloria admitted. “But, if we don’t figure it out soon, our men will be having us be just like her, and none of us can do that.”

“Imagine ending up in divorce court for having big tits,” Brenda mumbled from beneath her pulled-down hat brim.

“It’s happened for less,” Ashley warned. “I guess it depends on you pre-nup.”

“What kind of silly name is ‘Trudy’, anyway,” Darlene asked, but no one heard, or no one bothered to answer.

*********

As Darlene and Ashley rose to take their leave Gloria and Brenda cast each other quick glances. “Be careful driving, girls” Gloria called to the women over her shoulder. “The sun is so hot,” Gloria turned to Brenda, “It makes the vodka seem stronger than it really is. I wish they would use their drivers.” Juana cast a furtive glance at the women as they tried to steady their feet under themselves before staggering out and getting behind the steering wheels of their cars.

“They’re afraid the drivers will tell their husbands,” Brenda countered. “Besides, the drivers are on call at the office.”

Gloria shrugged. “Enough of that; let’s finish our drinks by the pool.”

It was late in the afternoon; José and his helpers had finished for the day. The pool was to the side of the veranda, about thirty feet away. Along side was an out-building that served as a changing room and mini gym. As the two women stood up, the effects of the alcohol hit them as it had their friends and they stumbled a bit descending the few steps of the veranda.

“Did you bring your suit?” Gloria asked.

“I always do,” Brenda replied. “I put it on under my skirt and blouse. I’m always ready to go in the pool when I’m at your house.”

Brenda set her drink on a small table next to a chaise lounge, and her necklace and sunglasses alongside her drink. She quickly stripped off the tee-shirt she was wearing to reveal a bikini top. Two combs held back her honey-colored hair in place, but she removed her dangling earrings.

Her bikini top was bright red, which highlighted her fair-skinned breasts spilling out over the top. She was very proud of them. They weren’t as big as Gloria’s, of course, but they were plenty big and stood up by themselves on her broad-shouldered frame. They were all hers—nothing added. She enjoyed the way they were looked at when she had them out on display.

Women gazed at them in envy; men in longing. If she liked a man, or if she wished him to want her, she would treat him. First, profiles; then, a strategic bend at the waist face- on to the target always did the trick. She’d casually look away to allow the man to get a proper eyeful while staying discreet. She pretended not to realize that her nipples were stiff and pressed through the fabric. The excitement of it all made the little buttons send out their message, without the necessity of touching them. She allowed Gloria the pleasure of claiming to have ‘the best tits in the place’. Brenda knew better and for the time being, it was enough.

Of course, there were men who helped themselves without permission. They were men whom Brenda disliked, or who hadn’t the standing to over-presume—usually plant managers, or staff people visiting from the field. She knew how to handle them. There would be the enticing display. Gradually, a man would loose himself, allowing his eyes to linger a few seconds too long, or venture too close. Sometimes he would manifest his interest in an involuntary, physical way—a very unfortunate mistake at one of Gloria’s pool parties. Brenda would allow more and more. All at once she would snap her head around, catching the interloper in mid-gaze. She would stare at him for a few long seconds; then she’d throw her head back and laugh, erasing the man’s dignity and hopes all at once.

“I’m fixin’ to finish this drink before I go in for a swim,” Gloria said as she sank into a chaise and watched Brenda finish undressing. “You go right ahead.”

Brenda kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned the wraparound skirt. “That Texas drawl always seems to come back to you in the late afternoon, Gloria,” she advised her friend.

“It the drinks, Ah giss. They make me forget t’ hold it back,” Gloria answered. “They make me feel like Ah’m still a day-bue-tant ag’in, back in Dallas. Thanks for remindin’ me.”

Brenda didn’t answer; she knew better. A little joke or quip taken the wrong way would not soon be forgotten and would have a price. It was best to say nothing. She slipped into the clear water. The coolness helped take away some of the buzz from the one or two, too many drinks. She slowly made her way to the opposite end of the pool doing a relaxing breaststroke. The coldness felt so good on her prized breasts as they pushed the water out ahead of her.

As she finished the lap in the shallow end she turned and saw Gloria easing herself into the water, now stripped of her clothes and in her one-piece suit. Brenda started out on the return trip to the deep end. Gloria waited for her.

She took her time finishing her lap. Near the end, she submerged for the last few strokes, to where Gloria waited. As Brenda surfaced, she rubbed herself on the other woman, bringing breasts together. She broke the water and their faces were inches apart.

“If you want to dry off, I’ve got some towels in the exercise room,” Gloria whispered.

Brenda didn’t answer, only backed away and hoisted herself out of the pool. Gloria always insisted that they pretend these sessions popped up spontaneously. Brenda knew it was a predictable outcome; it was going to happen from the moment she took her seat on the veranda hours before. Gloria climbed out using the ladder in the corner. Brenda followed her to the small mini-gym near the pool. Gloria locked the door behind them.

The little gym was well appointed. In addition to a rowing machine and stationary bike, there was a massage table, a leather couch and matching easy chairs in the corner with wall-to-wall carpeting all around..

Gloria moved to the massage table and leaned back against it. She was slightly shorter than Brenda, and an unknown amount of years older. She had large breasts and a trim figure meticulously tended. Her hair was bright blonde, not her true color. Brenda had seen it all before.

The two women embraced and shared a kiss. Brenda felt Gloria’s tongue slip between her own lips. She allowed Gloria to play there for a while until she snaked out her own tongue and licked around Gloria’s lips. As she did, she felt her bikini top unsnap. They broke the kiss and Gloria pulled the straps from her shoulders. Brenda reached out to reciprocate and bare Gloria’s breasts, but her mentor stopped her.

“Wait, you know I like to do you first,” Gloria whispered.

Brenda allowed the older woman to cup a breast in each hand, rubbing her thumbs over the nipples. Brenda closed her eyes as sensations came to her. She felt the pleasure of them being tenderly lifted, the kisses and nibbles on the sensitive areas. Mostly, she savored another person, even a woman, appreciating and savoring them.

It wasn’t that Brenda preferred lesbian sex to the usual kind—she could see no harm in it. After all, girls danced with one another as teens when young males lacked the courage to venture to the dance floor. In those learning days they practiced kissing one another as they huddled behind locked bedroom doors and tired of Tiger Beat and Cosmopolitan. It was necessary, lest they be embarrassed when, at long last, the real thing finally came their way. They learned then that there were times that a woman just knew how to do some things better. Their young men assumed them to be more experienced than they were. That led to less gentle moments at the breaking of virginity, and from that moment they saw sex as it was and was meant to be. It was a short step to more intimate things with those who knew their bodies best. It was so much safer than sex with a boy—or a man—when pregnancy loomed in her youth and other hurts in adulthood.

“Everyone needs to get off now and then,” she said to herself as she felt Gloria’s lips on her own, a signal that it was time for giver and receiver to switch roles.

She reached for the straps of Gloria’s suit and this time the arms were passively held aside. The one-piece was wet, so it stuck to Gloria’s skin and took some effort. Brenda worked it down, deciding to go the rest of the way right away. It suited Gloria, too. As Brenda tried to roll the spandex over the hips, Gloria took over. She peeled off the suit and threw it aside. Brenda hooked her thumbs in the waist of her bikini bottoms to pull them down to match, but Gloria stopped her with a gentle touch on the hand.

“Not yet—we’ll get to it later,” she promised.

Brenda looked at the nude woman before her, the large breasts hanging, available; below was the beckoning thatch of pubic hair, darkened with wetness from the swim. It marked the gateway—to many things. It meant pleasure and release for one; it was favor and indispensability for the other.

She didn’t really know how old Gloria was. She was certainly younger that Alvin’s sixty-two years—it was his second time around. A good guess was forty-two or three, but one couldn’t be sure. Brenda never got over how well Gloria preserved her figure with her regimen of workouts and dieting. At thirty-six, she knew that soon she would be doing the same thing for the same reason.

Gloria’s nipples had hardened; she panted in anticipation. Soon Brenda would pleasure them as Gloria had done for her. She decided, however, to change the routine that day.

She wrapped her arms around Gloria and kissed her, open-mouthed, with soulfulness. Two sets of breasts met as the space between them closed together. Brenda’s draped over Gloria’s with the difference in height. Gloria wrapped her arms around Brenda’s neck, but otherwise let herself be served to the coming pleasure. The kiss continued. Brenda reached down and cupped the vulva; it made Gloria moan. It fit neatly into her hand; she moved it with a slow, rotating motion. Gloria pressed herself into Brenda’s hand harder and spread her legs a little to allow access. Brenda dipped a finger between the folds, taking some moisture from the interior and spreading it on the clitoris.

Gloria pressed herself again against Brenda’s hand, a demand for more. She grasped her arms tighter around Brenda’s neck. She was panting heavily, issuing little purring sounds.

The sensation of breast on breast was a pleasant one that Brenda was determined to enjoy. She knew Gloria’s routine. With the earlier decline to remove the bikini bottom, Brenda already knew that it would be only a one-way delivery of release on that hot afternoon. It wasn’t always that way, but it was often Gloria’s choice, especially when she was upset about something. The earlier tirade over the uncooperative Trudy Bennett had enabled Brenda to predict what would happen. The contact of breasts would have to be enough.

Brenda pressed ahead with the task that she knew so well. She placed her mouth over Gloria’s again, not from affection, but to suppress spoken commands. She was willing to serve the mistress, but coveted the final freedom to do her job as she knew it without instruction. Through the joined mouths, Gloria issued stifled mews to express gratitude for her pleasure.

Brenda felt Gloria’s legs open just a little wider, a sign to her that she was performing as expected. Gloria’s hands pressed her down at her shoulders. Brenda knelt before her, the slippery slit and matted hair inches from her face. Without hesitating, she grasped the buttocks and pressed her face in. Her tongue found Gloria’s special place. From above, came a gasp, then another. A pair of hands pressed the back of Brenda’s head. The hips flexed and pressed, adjusting the angle and pressure. Brenda kept to the task without tiring. As each minute passed, Gloria’s sounds and pressing told her that her escape was not far off. Soon, Brenda was holding her up with her arms thrown around her pelvis as Gloria lost control. Inside, Brenda smiled because she knew that was just how it was supposed to be.

After a while, Gloria released her hands from the back of Brenda’s head. Placing them under her jaw, she gently pressed up, signaling Brenda to stand.

“Finish me, darlin’,” Gloria commanded and begged. She hopped up on the massage table and lay down on her back. Her legs were bent at the knees and spread wide. Her feet were planted at the edge of the table.

“Shall I get the harness?” Brenda suggested, hoping anew for her own chance at release.

“No—no,” Gloria rasped in a raspy whisper. “Just eat me!”

The command disappointed Brenda. She would have enjoyed doffing her bikini bottom and mounting Gloria for the grand finale. It was Gloria’s afternoon, however, so Brenda complied.

She wedged her hands under the pelvis and pulled herself down to the wet vulva. She thrust out her tongue and thrust in hard. Gloria grunted and pressed up her hips. That made Brenda attack with greater vigor. Pressing—thrusting; it was a pendulum, swinging faster and longer on each stroke, until Gloria drew in a deep breath and kept pushing herself into Brenda’s face. The moment arrived. It ended with a quick, high-pitched cry. Then, Gloria eased her self back down, slowly relaxing, spent and satisfied for the day.

Brenda laid her head on Gloria’s belly, kissing the soft skin. She raised her hands to the large breasts above to caress them. Brenda’s own breasts pressed between Gloria’s thighs and she felt the pubic hair scratching the skin over her collarbone. Gloria stroked Brenda’s temple in a gesture of thanks.

“Oh, that was so good, darlin’,” she murmured. “I truly needed it—feel so much better.”

Brenda said nothing, just started feeling restless in the uncomfortable posture.

“I’m so sorry that we didn’t get to you,” Gloria apologized. “Next time, we surely must.”

“I have to get going pretty soon,” Brenda answered. “I want to get home before Blake.”

Juana was cleaning up the veranda and saw the two women come out of from the mini-gym together. Brenda noticed her avert her eyes as she and Gloria passed. Brenda knew that somehow the old woman had deciphered their secret. “Those inscrutable Mexicans,” she thought to herself. She wondered how Gloria had allowed the maid to exist in the house with such an attitude. “I would have fired her long ago.”

*********

As midnight approached, sleep was an invited guest, but would not arrive. Trudy Bennett sat upright in her bed, pondering her restlessness. She was alone; Frank was in New York with Alvin, conferring with investment bankers. Their daughters, Patricia and Margaret, were asleep in their rooms. Inside, the house was cool because of the air conditioning; outside, the heavy air was still and hot.

Her husband had been away on business many times. As it was, his absence this time was only two-days. Tomorrow night he planned to fly home on the red-eye. She wondered why the emptiness of her bed affected her so much at this moment after all the years of periodic aloneness. She never enjoyed solitude, as some might. For Trudy, private feelings were for sharing.

The coolness irritated her a little. She accepted air conditioning as a necessity in the Texas summer, but it always occurred to her that it produced artificial air. She walked onto the balcony outside the master bedroom, closing the sliding glass door behind her. Even though the night was hot, it felt good to Trudy as she stood barefoot in her cotton nightie. She thought she might go downstairs and get a cold drink from the refrigerator. She shrugged it off, preferring to just stay outside awhile and listen to the night.

The cicadas were busy singing their nocturne. Not even a whisper of a breeze stirred. The full moon shone brightly, and it was the only light in the back of the house. She and Frank spent many warm nights on this balcony, relaxing with a drink or two before bed. She was starting to feel better already.

Below, a glimmer of moonlight reflected from the water in the swimming pool. When she listened carefully she could hear the quiet hum of the motor of the filtering equipment. A smile spread across her face as she thought of her midnight swim with Frank three nights before.

They had just returned from the corporate soiree at Alvin’s and Gloria’s house. It had been Frank’s big night as he was formally installed in his new post. She wore her royal blue, halter-style gown that the other wives disdained so openly and silently envied. Trudy was sure that it pleased Frank. It was a warm night, like this one. The house was empty; the girls were overnight at their grandparents’ house.

Frank suggested a midnight swim, and they both knew what that meant. He undressed her near the door to the back yard. They made love in the black, cool water; it was a gift of passion, and lust and pleasure. Even after nearly twenty years, they never tired of one another. She could always predict his every move, yet each time there was some new emotion or sensation. Perhaps it was the confirming renewal of the old ones that provided the thrill. When it was finished, they gathered up discarded clothing and marched to their bedroom where they made love again. After that, sleep came easily.

“Frank would know what to do with a woman who can’t get to sleep,” she said to herself, almost out loud, still with the broad smile that such thoughts brought to her.

She finally understood her insomnia. Satiation gave birth to new longing. Trudy sighed. Frank was in New York; it was reality and she would have to wait.

A thought occurred to her. A quick dip in the pool might cool her off; get her mind on something else. If careful, she could do it quietly without waking the girls or the neighbors. It would be just the ticket—she would do it. She returned silently to her bedroom to prepare.

She carefully made her way through the upstairs hallway and down the stairs, covered by her terrycloth robe, towel in hand. She was careful to make no noise. If she woke the girls, it would ruin everything. Trudy knew every step, every creaky floorboard in the house. The girls would not wake up.

She was still remembering how Frank disrobed her the other night. It was a sensual preparation, equal in many ways, to the final act. She pondered his various lovemaking styles—he had more than one. He was stocky and muscled, like a bulldog. She loved it when he would seize and take her, primal and driven. He would be determined and aggressive, losing himself to all else but her. He was strong; and she would allow him to overpower her and have his way. She was lean and strong, herself, so the voluntary surrender was even more satisfying. He would surrender, too—not physically, of course—but what Trudy really wanted from him. It was that which only she could coax out and it resided deep within her husband’s soul.

Frank could make love in a way that was sweet and tender. They might lie together for a long time, savoring the joining, allowing time to bring climax to them like a zephyr in a garden. Sometimes he would lie atop her; at other times it was reversed. Often they would start one way and end the other. At the proper moment, she would fill his ears with a song of delight and then he would fill her with a low-pitched sigh of release.

Sometimes Trudy was the tigress, capturing him and letting all things loose. The challenge excited Frank. At those times it was pure—an outburst of energy and pleasure—exhilarating and, in its own way so relaxing. It was that way in the pool Friday night after the soiree. Trudy’s thoughts turned back to the present as she stepped quietly through the door to the outside and the pool. Trudy supposed that way was the best, but would rather not have to choose.

“I’d bet that Frank wishes he was here instead of New York,” she assured herself as she tiptoed over the flagstone walk.

She arrived at the pool and took a quick glance behind her to check the windows of her daughters’ rooms. They remained darken; she was unseen. She let her robe fall from her shoulders to the cement. She was nude. She looked down into the refreshing, cool water. In a certain way, Frank was still in there. “Now I know why I couldn’t sleep.”

The air touching her bare skin was good as she stood motionless at the side of the pool. She was tempted to touch herself, but fought off the urge. “I’ll save that for Frank.” She lowered her long body down to sit at the edge of the water. The coldness teased her senses as she dipped in her feet and calves.

Without a sound, she hoisted herself up on her locked arms and then silently let her whole body glide silently into the water. She raised her hands over her head so that she would sink all the way to the bottom.

Being nude always gave her a different feeling when she swam and the darkness of the bottom blotted out all distractions. The coldness brought sensation to every nerve, especially her nipples and center as she lay on the bottom holding her breath. The water enveloped her body, stroking every fine, near-invisible hair on her skin. She allowed the envelopment to overtake her and it became like Frank taking her. She let herself float to the surface and rolled over to float on her back, relaxing her arms to dangle beneath her.

She took a deep breath for buoyancy. Her chest heaved her breasts skyward, out of the water. She felt them, and thought how they might have excited Frank, if only he were there. Her legs dangled below her and they casually splayed apart. The cool water invaded the opened crevices. She could not have contrived the scene more perfectly. “Maybe he’s thinking the same thing right now.”

She righted herself in the water, easily treading in place. She was tempted once more to touch herself. She stopped again. “I’ll save it for Frank,” she repeated. It could never be as good as Frank. The thought of it—of what was stored in her memory—excited her. She wondered to herself if she was wise to allow herself to dwell on it. The reverie brought such vicarious pleasure—it was nearly real, but she feared that she might never get to sleep in the state to which she had brought herself. She swam to the side of the pool

She rested her arms in the overflow channel and relaxed. An unexpected gush of pleasure suddenly hit her. At first, it was confusing, and then she realized that she had accidentally come to rest where the filtering pump jetted water back into the pool. She started to move away, but hesitated. She was aroused by her musings and that jet of water felt so good. “Just a few seconds,” she thought.

She lowered herself a few inches so that the full force of the water hit her just right. It was going to be only a brief indulgence, but she stayed a few seconds more after that. It was so hard to pull away.

“Oh, what the hell…” she uttered to herself in final surrender. The magic water pummeled her clitoris. She gave herself over to the unrelenting pleasure, thinking of her and Frank in that same pool a few nights before. It wasn’t long before she climaxed. She had never touched herself—just let the water’s infinite fingers bring her to it. When it happened she buried her face in the water’s breast to drown her cry of pleasure. It surely wasn’t her best-ever climax, but it was enough to unloose that which needed releasing.

It was over; she was satisfied. She lifted herself out of the pool and walked to where her towel and robe lay waiting. She expected a twinge of guilt at having been pleased in this way. She tried to feel it, but it just wasn’t there to be felt.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that Frank would have wanted me to.”

She toweled herself dry, put her robe back on. She went back to bed, ready for sleep.

***********

TO BE CONTINUED