Daddy's Little Girl

Chapter 7

Dora had stayed out longer than usual doing her shopping due to the fact that she had run into Jane Hammond, her old school friend and former member of the Evanston Women's Club before she had so mysteriously let her membership lapse.

But the fact that Jane seemed to have cut herself off from her old associations didn't bother Dora.

Indeed, she was anxious to hear what Jane had been up to. When one didn't see a friend for so long, naturally all sorts of juicy and interesting gossip built up inside which wasn't adequately released in the interim and could be used, justifiably now, for the purpose of lingering over a long coffee in Cantor's Delicatessen next door to DelFarm Foods.

So that when Dora had lingered over the vegetables in DelFarm, pushing her shopping basket ahead of her listlessly, her mind churning confusedly over the problem of her husband's supposed infidelity, unable to concentrate, the sight of Jane Hammond at the next shopping basket had served delightfully to break her loose from her general feeling of helplessness and inability to cope.

Immediately the two women gushed all over each other and chattered away like magpies. Dora's immediate feelings of marital discontent vanished with the first word, and when Jane suggested that they go next door to Cantor's and cut the grocery shopping short, the redheaded housewife immediately consented. They proceeded to the checkout counter with haste, and afterwards threw everything into the backs of their cars in hopelessly disorganized fashion. Now, seated in Cantor's over cups of steaming hot coffee, gazing around occasionally at the furious bustle and chatter of people around them, they concentrated mostly on their own conversation.

It seemed ages since Dora had been so relaxed in the company of someone else, or indeed even taken the time out for a nibble in the delicatessen. Cantor's was just not a place that she frequented usually. The ultra-loud voices she usually encountered in Cantor's served ordinarily to give her a slight touch of migraine. Cantor's was not the sort of place she could ordinarily relax in. It was a big, square building made up in semi-neo-Jewish, modern-American with lights that were usually too bright, decorating and furnishings too garish, and aisles too clustered and active to adequately leave one at ease.

And every ten seconds, from where they sat, came the splattering sound of the men behind the counter with their knives and white aprons serving up yet one more millionth corned beef sandwich on rye. It was Jewish paradise for anyone who liked that sort of thing.

Yet now, gabbling away excitedly with her long-disappeared friend, all Dora's disquiet left her and she noticed nothing else around her. The garish surroundings and ambiance of Cantor's did not intrude. Relaxing with Jane also loosened a flood of hunger messages from her stomach and brain, and she allowed herself to be coaxed into ordering as well a "nice" bowl of hot chicken soup with matzo balls and she ate, and ate.

And when she finished the first bowl she ordered another. Very soothing and warm it was.

"But we haven't seen you in so long, dear!" she gushed, sipping her soup and knocking a bit a dark russet hair back from her eye.

"I know," said Jane, with an unusual confident air for Jane. "Jack and I just seem to have shifted our circle of friends in the last year somehow. Did you miss us? Say you did."

"You know we have," Dora laughed. "But all the girls at the club have been wondering about you, and asking me about you. Somehow they always assumed that you and I were the closest of friends, and that I'd always know what you were up to. But of course, I had to tell them that I hadn't known a thing."

Jane smiled. There was a slightly superior air about her which Dora now perceived and found difficult to define. Could this really be Jane? Who had always been the least confident in their whole crowd? Dora had the distinct impression that something cataclysmic had happened which had served to change Jane's entire life – or life style. What was it about her which she found so instinctively unsettling and disturbing? Was it that unearthly glow of satisfaction which seemed to persistently suffuse her attractive brunette features? That look of supreme confidence and ease in another woman which was usually traceable only to a total satisfaction derived from recent sexual adventure?

Dora looked her old girl friend up and down. There was a change about Jane. A change which she had at first noticed only slightly in the thrill of their first meeting, but which now presented itself strongly for her attention and demanded that it be commented upon.

But what was it, exactly? Certainly Jane had never previously allowed herself to wear her hair long, so long almost all the way down her back to her waist.

Fluffy and thick, the kind of shining black hair any man would itch to run his hands through as if it were money. Formerly Jane had always worn her hair tied up severely in a ponytail. Dora couldn't remember when she had ever seen it down since they had entered high school together.

Then there was the fact of her general posture. Her breasts seemed to swell out more voluptuously somehow. In the past there had always been a general impression that Jane was just a little embarrassed by their comment-attracting size and alluring shape, but now she seemed to hold herself proudly, thrusting her chest out as if they clamored for attention. Which they did. Because the outfit she was wearing – a navy blue suit with a sizable open "vee" containing a bright white sweater – - had obviously been tailored exactly to her mature, well rounded contours, so that every last proportion – full, flaring hips as well as tiny waist – was emphasized to the nth degree for maximum sexiness.

That was not at all like the old Jane, who had usually showed up for club meetings all frumpy as if fresh from a rummage sale dressing room.

And her face? What she done to it? Blue shadows on her eyelids, long false eyelashes, soft rose in her cheeks, pink lipstick covered with lip ice that worked around and over the real edges of her pretty bowed lips in an indefinably sensual way. Was this Jane Hammond, who crossed her lengthy, meaty thighs to show off her shapely knees, her skirt pulling all the way up to the top to reveal frilly white panties which did little to conceal the dark shadowy triangle of pubic hair beneath?

Which even caused Dora to stammeringly suggest, "Uh, Jane, I don't like to tell you this, but you know, your skirt, uh, it's all the way up, dear, and…

Only to have Jane cut her off with a lazy, "Oh yes, dear, but it's so unseasonably warm today, don't you think?"

Watching her old girl friend puffing easily on her long ebony cigarette holder, Dora didn't actually know what to think. This was not the same shy, ugly-duckling girl she had known for so many years. This was a confident, worldly, self-possessed sophisticate who would be completely at ease anywhere.

Confident and sexually aware. What did she know – that Dora didn't? – or what had she learned? The troubled redhead was piqued, like any woman, to think that there might be someone else around who was more sensually attuned than she herself. Did Jane need help in some way? Or, on the other hand, was it she herself, Dora, who could benefit from Jane? The picture was confused. She would have to learn more.

"Well then," Dora said at last after all this pondering, which in reality took scarcely a few seconds, "tell us about what you've been up to. You look positively ravishing!" She looked up from under eyelids, adding slyly, "You haven't taken a lover, have you?"

Jane's face solidified out of its previously relaxed expression, her eyes and eyebrows narrowing. "Whatever made you say that, Dora?" she asked.

So! She had struck home with very first parry! Of course, what else could it be!?

But now this realization that her instincts had been correct after all made her unaccountably nervous, and her coffee cup fairly rattled in the dish as she attempted to lift it.

"Well, I don't know, dear… It just seemed that you're awfully vivacious today, for some reason. Don't get upset."

Jane looked down at her black-gloved hands and turned them in her lap as if studying them. It seemed as if she were blushing slightly, but there was so much artificial rose in her cheeks that it was really difficult to tell for certain. Dora wondered if she'd gaffed terribly.

But no, the signs were all there. Oooh, her loins tingled as a lewd vision arose in her sex-obsessed brain of her friend Jane being ravished by some man other than her husband. Maybe it was a big burly factory worker she was having an affair with, or a tennis pro, or…

Dora found her breath coming heatedly. Until this very moment she hadn't been prepared to fully acknowledge what dire straits she herself was in, and how maddening her sexual thoughts had become recently. But now the thought of Jane committing adultery… She had never in her life considered having anyone besides her wonderful Guy, although she had heard rumors that some wives occasionally strayed. She had always been faithful, however, and indeed even disinterested in anyone else.

When Guy's enormous member was filling her up, pumping into her, the rest of the universe disappeared and that was all she could think of.

And after her usual mind-splitting orgasms she was usually dead to the world and hopelessly relaxed and wafting on a cloud for days afterward.

Except that recently those climaxes of mind-bending, shattering sweetness were becoming increasingly few and far between. She had become used to multiple orgasms with Guy through the years, truly fantastic flights whereby one orgasm took off from the plateau left by the last. This morning she had managed, by working very hard in her thoughts, to screw her loins up to feverish anticipatory pitch and break through to some sort of orgasm, but it was very far from the flesh-frazzling sort of fire she had become used to being burned up alive in.

No, something had gone out of their relationship. Guy's foreplay had diminished as his desire for darkness had escalated, and occasionally she thought she caught him murmuring someone else's name. There was something not quite right about the whole thing when they made love now. It was as if he was thinking of someone else, mentally having intercourse with someone else.

And now, the startling revelation that Jane Hammond – -of all people – - had discarded a normally frumpy personality through the inspiration of illicit behavior. It was something that bore thinking about, if only briefly. She had to know more.

"No, I haven't taken offense, Dora," Jane looked up at her with sparkling, intelligent green eyes. "It's just that I would have thought that you'd be the last person to be capable of understanding."

Now it was Dora's turn to blush and look down ungracefully at her coffee cup from that hard, sophisticated stare. Jane really made her feel like a country bumpkin all of a sudden, all thumbs and incapable of dressing properly. She touched a hand nervously to her hair. "Well, of course…" Then abruptly she decided to face the whole thing head on, and she looked directly, demandingly into her old school friend's eyes. "But just what do you mean by that, Jane? I want you to tell me exactly. "

Jane smiled tolerantly. She gestured with a black-gloved hand. "But you know, dear – you and Guy seem to have such a good thing going, you probably can't comprehend that anyone might enjoy the sexual company of someone other than her husband. But it's true, believe me. It's very possible indeed."

"But with who?" Dora couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice. This mental voyeurism was undeniably exciting. All kinds of lewd pictures formed in her mind of Jane with other men like Jack Hammond. In all kinds of positions…

She gulped and something seemed to stick in her throat.

But Jane only waved a hand airily, her lengthy cigarette holder with its king-size cigarette faintly reminiscent of movie femme fatales of the 1940's.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, dear. But surely you don't want to know all of the gory details?"

"Well, I…" Dora blushed again and looked down at her hands. This was the telling moment. Should she say anything further, or allude to her own sexual problems. Or admit her blatantly prurient interest in hearing whatever tales of sexual debauchery Jane might care to provide?

She decided to take the plunge.

"Yes," she admitted as frankly as she could, looking at Jane without flinching.

"I would like to hear all the – as you put it – 'gory' details. Tell me more, Jane."

Jane looked at her strangely, and she was aware that her voice had responded with a trace of over eagerness. But she didn't care. Her loins were vaguely uncomfortable, and a sickly sweet sensation pervaded them, as Jane finally launched into the amazing tale through which she had finally arrived at her steep descent from grace.