chapter 5

Lillian awoke in the master bedroom, stretching languidly, relishing the sensation of the warm, sweet-smelling sheets against her nude body. Sunbeams slanted in through the partially drawn blinds over the window, falling across her eyes, and she raised one arm to shield out the bright light. She'd been home for almost six months now, and things had improved with each passing day. Lillian and Art's relationship, strong as it had been before her move to New York, had undergone a remarkable transformation as they had begun consciously to reveal their most intimate selves to each other in a mutual effort to recover what they had lost.

Lillian put on her robe and slippers and padded down to the kitchen. The aroma of frying bacon and coffee greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Paul was at the table reading the sports page and Art was standing at the stove, humming softly to himself as he tended to a pair of skillets. He turned when he heard her enter, put down the spatula, and came to her, his eyes shining.

"Good morning, darling," he said, and kissed her, folding her into his strong arms. She returned his kiss, pressing against him for a moment, then stepped away, smiling.

"Did you sleep well?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Art laughed. "Very well!"

"I slept marvelously myself," she said.

Paul looked up at them from his paper and shook his head.

"Do you know what tomorrow is?" Art said.

"The fourth?" Lillian replied.

"Well, that too. But tomorrow is also our six-month anniversary!"

Lillian laughed. "Is that like a half-birthday?"

"Yup," said Art. His eyes softened as he looked at her lovely form. "And every one of those days has been wonderful."

Paul rolled his eyes.

In that time, Art's patient, persistent efforts to introduce Lillian to new realms of sexual pleasure had yielded significant results. Lillian now fully accepted that oral sex — both to and by her — was a regular part of their sex life. Art's lessons on fellatio had begun with hand stimulation, using a lubricant, showing Lillian what parts of the penis to concentrate on, how much pressure to apply, and how to combine sensations to achieve maximum results. He had taught her how to use her mouth — her lips and tongue — to apply the same forms of stimulation, how and when to vary the pace, the pressure. And Lillian had proved a quick study, developing an intuitive feel for what worked and didn't, even getting to the stage where she regularly went beyond what he had taught her, venturing new techniques and combinations. The result, much to Art's joy and benefit, was that Lillian had already attained a level of skill that few women would ever achieve.

As they ate together at the table, Art asked about their plans to visit the State University.

"Well, I think we're just going to spend the morning there today — it's the weekend, so many of the facilities aren't open, but we'll wander around the campus and tour the library, bookstore and so forth. Then we'll come back just swim and laze by the pool, I'm guessing."

"Well, that sounds like a great plan." Art smiled. "I have some work to catch up on; otherwise I might horn in."

"Oh, honey, you'd be welcome of course!"

"I'll let the two of you go," he said with a smile. "I'll join you on the next tour."

______________________________________________________________________________ After Paul and Lillian left, Art worked for a couple of hours, his mind straying every now and then to relive last night's sensational sex. Lillian had been as shy and reluctant as ever to try something new — mutual oral sex. But once he had gotten her past the critical threshold, once she allowed her body to assume control rather than her mind, she was electric! He felt himself growing hard at the memory of gazing up at those gorgeous buttocks, tasting her honey-salt essence, feeling her body react to the movements of his lips and tongue while her sliding mouth simultaneously sent blazes of pleasure through his lower body.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He went down to see who it was.

It was Jennifer Rowland.

She stood in her usual provocative pose on the flagstone porch, wearing a short skirt and a thin white blouse, smiling seductively at him. He felt his neck redden, and the same faintly flustered feeling in his stomach he always seemed to get when around her. He moistened his lips.

"Hello, Jennifer," he said, managing a small smile.

"Hi, Art," she cooed in reply, her gaze caressing his face now. "Is Paul back yet?"

"No, he isn't. They aren't going to be back till this afternoon."

"Well, do you mind if I wait for him – it's almost eleven. It's pretty hot out and I was looking forward to jumping in the pool."

Art swallowed into a suddenly dry throat, noticing that she carried a rolled towel under her arm.

"Well, you're welcome to use the pool until Paul gets home, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude," Jennifer said. "I mean, if Mrs. Jameson is here and she's swimming or something."

"No, she's not here either. They went together to see the college."

"Then you're all alone?" Something in the tone made his stomach flutter again.

"Yes, I am, Jennifer. I'm in the middle of a project. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, smiling. "Is it still okay if I use your pool?"

"Sure. You can change in the cabana."

"I know, I've been here before."

"So you have."

"Well, thanks again, Art, I'll just go on around back."

"All right." Art watched his nephew's young girlfriend walk toward the rear of the house, his eyes drawn to the swinging buttocks under the thin material of her skirt, the tanned, exquisitely tapered thighs.

Damn! What was it about that little vixen that affected him so much? But he knew what it was: she had an aura of uninhibited sexuality that drew him like a magnet.

Art went back into his study and tried to get back into his work. Minutes later he heard a "whap!" Alarmed, he rushed to the window and looked out. One of the floats — the absurdly named "Lagoon Lounger" — was in the pool. Jennifer had obviously just thrown it in. His eyes focused on her provocative body, encased, unsurprisingly, in the wispiest of bikinis. As Art watched, she padded to the diving board, her body glistening in the sun, her hips swaying alluringly, causing Art's throat to go dry once again and blood to gather in his groin.

Jennifer climbed up on the diving board. As she was poised there for a moment, Art's eyes ran over the breasts straining against her halter top, her hardened nipples clearly evident, and the swell and valley of her vaginal mound contoured by the tight bikini bottoms. Art realized he was sweating, recognized the direction his thoughts were taking, and turned abruptly from the window as Jennifer dove in a graceful swan dive into the cool water.

Art went back to his desk and once again tried to work. But visions of the sexy teenage girl outside kept intruding on his thoughts and, again, he couldn't concentrate.

His phone rang. He glanced at it and smiled. It was Lillian.

"Hi, darling. I just wanted to let you know we're heading back and we'll be there in a little over an hour," she said.

"Lovely. See you soon."

But he couldn't seem to concentrate at all now, and after ten futile minutes he closed the program, scraped back his chair, and prowled into the kitchen. He opened a beer and sipped it. After some thought, he decided to go out and tell Jennifer they would be back in an hour. He also wanted to ask her about the University of Chicago and medical school.

But as he walked toward the pool, he saw no sign of Jennifer; the pool was deserted. Had she left? He decided to take a quick look in the cabana. He stepped up to the entrance and knocked lightly. There was no response. He opened the door, taking a step forward to peer inside. He heard the sound of the shower spray and then suddenly froze in shocked immobility at the sight that greeted his eyes. The bathroom door was wide open and, in the full-length mirror on the side of the room, he could clearly see the reflection of the dark-haired teenager's nude body inside the open shower stall.

Her back was to him and parts of her lushly curved form were covered in a soapy film from the bar she held in one slim hand, rubbing herself briskly, humming softly. He gazed at her sumptuous, nude buttocks, their whiteness contrasting sharply with the rest of her tanned skin. Her legs parted slightly and she bent forward, sliding the bar of soap up and down along her soft, inner thighs, her vulva clearly visible to Art from where he stood.

Delicious excitement coursed through Art's body as he stared at Jennifer's sheer voluptuousness. He told himself he had to turn around, walk away from there, get out before he completely lost control of himself -- but he couldn't move, he could only stand rooted to the spot with the pleasure growing stronger in his lower belly now, his cock rising to full erection and his balls aching dully. God, her body was so lush and sensual!! The lovely teenager stepped under the full force of the shower spray now, and Art watched the soap film disappear, leaving her in full nakedness for his fevered gaze. His mouth was bone dry as he watched Jennifer rub soap over her rear end and into the cleft between her buttocks. Art stifled a low groan of frustration, shame and mounting lust.

Then, Jennifer rinsed off her rear end, turned off the spray and reached for her towel, her naked breasts coming into view for the first time. Art watched the nubile young girl begin to dry herself with the towel, rubbing her face and hair, lowering the towel to her belly, rubbing between her legs. Art gaped at her breasts, swaying and jiggling as she worked, his testicles aching with desire.

Then the towel came up and she was drying her breasts, sliding the towel under them, lifting the creamy orbs, squeezing them together. She kept this up for what seemed to Art like an eternity, and he could feel his cock begin to secrete droplets of seminal fluid in his wild arousal. He stood transfixed, barely able to breathe as the lovely dark-haired teenager seemed to make slow, tormenting love to every part of her body with the towel, between her legs, between her buttocks, over and under her breasts...

Finally, Jennifer lowered the towel, stood motionless for a moment, and then tossed it over the top of the stall side.

Art moved back, gently pulling the door toward him.

Then he almost jumped out of his skin as he heard his name.

"Art," Jennifer exclaimed. "Don't go!" She had turned and was looking directly at him.

He opened his mouth but couldn't form words, his brain paralyzed by shock.

Jennifer's lips curved into a provocative smile and she said in a low-toned voice, "You were watching me in there, weren't you, Art?" she said. "You saw me drying myself, didn't you? I could see you out of the corner of my eye in the mirror."

"Oh God, Jennifer, I ... I'm so sorry, I was just coming to tell you, they're heading back. Be here in an hour" he mumbled.

Jennifer's eyes traveled in that slow, insolent way over his body, stopping at the jutting front of his shorts, and her smile widened.

"Mmmm, you look like you enjoyed the view!" she said, eyes fixed on the contours of his erection.

"N-no," Art stuttered.

"Oh, you can't fool me! I can see how hard you are. Hey, don't be embarrassed. You're telling me you're liking what you see."

Ohh God help me! Art thought miserably. I've got to get out of here.

She walked toward him, breasts bouncing slightly as she moved.Lillian awoke in the master bedroom, stretching languidly, relishing the sensation of the warm, sweet-smelling sheets against her nude body. Sunbeams slanted in through the partially drawn blinds over the window, falling across her eyes, and she raised one arm to shield out the bright light. She'd been home for almost six months now, and things had improved with each passing day. Lillian and Art's relationship, strong as it had been before her move to New York, had undergone a remarkable transformation as they had begun consciously to reveal their most intimate selves to each other in a mutual effort to recover what they had lost.

Lillian put on her robe and slippers and padded down to the kitchen. The aroma of frying bacon and coffee greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. Paul was at the table reading the sports page and Art was standing at the stove, humming softly to himself as he tended to a pair of skillets. He turned when he heard her enter, put down the spatula, and came to her, his eyes shining.

"Good morning, darling," he said, and kissed her, folding her into his strong arms. She returned his kiss, pressing against him for a moment, then stepped away, smiling.

"Did you sleep well?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Art laughed. "Very well!"

"I slept marvelously myself," she said.

Paul looked up at them from his paper and shook his head.

"Do you know what tomorrow is?" Art said.

"The fourth?" Lillian replied.

"Well, that too. But tomorrow is also our six-month anniversary!"

Lillian laughed. "Is that like a half-birthday?"

"Yup," said Art. His eyes softened as he looked at her lovely form. "And every one of those days has been wonderful."

Paul rolled his eyes.

In that time, Art's patient, persistent efforts to introduce Lillian to new realms of sexual pleasure had yielded significant results. Lillian now fully accepted that oral sex — both to and by her — was a regular part of their sex life. Art's lessons on fellatio had begun with hand stimulation, using a lubricant, showing Lillian what parts of the penis to concentrate on, how much pressure to apply, and how to combine sensations to achieve maximum results. He had taught her how to use her mouth — her lips and tongue — to apply the same forms of stimulation, how and when to vary the pace, the pressure. And Lillian had proved a quick study, developing an intuitive feel for what worked and didn't, even getting to the stage where she regularly went beyond what he had taught her, venturing new techniques and combinations. The result, much to Art's joy and benefit, was that Lillian had already attained a level of skill that few women would ever achieve.

As they ate together at the table, Art asked about their plans to visit the State University.

"Well, I think we're just going to spend the morning there today — it's the weekend, so many of the facilities aren't open, but we'll wander around the campus and tour the library, bookstore and so forth. Then we'll come back just swim and laze by the pool, I'm guessing."

"Well, that sounds like a great plan." Art smiled. "I have some work to catch up on; otherwise I might horn in."

"Oh, honey, you'd be welcome of course!"

"I'll let the two of you go," he said with a smile. "I'll join you on the next tour."

______________________________________________________________________________ After Paul and Lillian left, Art worked for a couple of hours, his mind straying every now and then to relive last night's sensational sex. Lillian had been as shy and reluctant as ever to try something new — mutual oral sex. But once he had gotten her past the critical threshold, once she allowed her body to assume control rather than her mind, she was electric! He felt himself growing hard at the memory of gazing up at those gorgeous buttocks, tasting her honey-salt essence, feeling her body react to the movements of his lips and tongue while her sliding mouth simultaneously sent blazes of pleasure through his lower body.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He went down to see who it was.

It was Jennifer Rowland.

She stood in her usual provocative pose on the flagstone porch, wearing a short skirt and a thin white blouse, smiling seductively at him. He felt his neck redden, and the same faintly flustered feeling in his stomach he always seemed to get when around her. He moistened his lips.

"Hello, Jennifer," he said, managing a small smile.

"Hi, Art," she cooed in reply, her gaze caressing his face now. "Is Paul back yet?"

"No, he isn't. They aren't going to be back till this afternoon."

"Well, do you mind if I wait for him – it's almost eleven. It's pretty hot out and I was looking forward to jumping in the pool."

Art swallowed into a suddenly dry throat, noticing that she carried a rolled towel under her arm.

"Well, you're welcome to use the pool until Paul gets home, of course."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude," Jennifer said. "I mean, if Mrs. Jameson is here and she's swimming or something."

"No, she's not here either. They went together to see the college."

"Then you're all alone?" Something in the tone made his stomach flutter again.

"Yes, I am, Jennifer. I'm in the middle of a project. Why?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, smiling. "Is it still okay if I use your pool?"

"Sure. You can change in the cabana."

"I know, I've been here before."

"So you have."

"Well, thanks again, Art, I'll just go on around back."

"All right." Art watched his nephew's young girlfriend walk toward the rear of the house, his eyes drawn to the swinging buttocks under the thin material of her skirt, the tanned, exquisitely tapered thighs.

Damn! What was it about that little vixen that affected him so much? But he knew what it was: she had an aura of uninhibited sexuality that drew him like a magnet.

Art went back into his study and tried to get back into his work. Minutes later he heard a "whap!" Alarmed, he rushed to the window and looked out. One of the floats — the absurdly named "Lagoon Lounger" — was in the pool. Jennifer had obviously just thrown it in. His eyes focused on her provocative body, encased, unsurprisingly, in the wispiest of bikinis. As Art watched, she padded to the diving board, her body glistening in the sun, her hips swaying alluringly, causing Art's throat to go dry once again and blood to gather in his groin.

Jennifer climbed up on the diving board. As she was poised there for a moment, Art's eyes ran over the breasts straining against her halter top, her hardened nipples clearly evident, and the swell and valley of her vaginal mound contoured by the tight bikini bottoms. Art realized he was sweating, recognized the direction his thoughts were taking, and turned abruptly from the window as Jennifer dove in a graceful swan dive into the cool water.

Art went back to his desk and once again tried to work. But visions of the sexy teenage girl outside kept intruding on his thoughts and, again, he couldn't concentrate.

His phone rang. He glanced at it and smiled. It was Lillian.

"Hi, darling. I just wanted to let you know we're heading back and we'll be there in a little over an hour," she said.

"Lovely. See you soon."

But he couldn't seem to concentrate at all now, and after ten futile minutes he closed the program, scraped back his chair, and prowled into the kitchen. He opened a beer and sipped it. After some thought, he decided to go out and tell Jennifer they would be back in an hour. He also wanted to ask her about the University of Chicago and medical school.

But as he walked toward the pool, he saw no sign of Jennifer; the pool was deserted. Had she left? He decided to take a quick look in the cabana. He stepped up to the entrance and knocked lightly. There was no response. He opened the door, taking a step forward to peer inside. He heard the sound of the shower spray and then suddenly froze in shocked immobility at the sight that greeted his eyes. The bathroom door was wide open and, in the full-length mirror on the side of the room, he could clearly see the reflection of the dark-haired teenager's nude body inside the open shower stall.

Her back was to him and parts of her lushly curved form were covered in a soapy film from the bar she held in one slim hand, rubbing herself briskly, humming softly. He gazed at her sumptuous, nude buttocks, their whiteness contrasting sharply with the rest of her tanned skin. Her legs parted slightly and she bent forward, sliding the bar of soap up and down along her soft, inner thighs, her vulva clearly visible to Art from where he stood.

Delicious excitement coursed through Art's body as he stared at Jennifer's sheer voluptuousness. He told himself he had to turn around, walk away from there, get out before he completely lost control of himself -- but he couldn't move, he could only stand rooted to the spot with the pleasure growing stronger in his lower belly now, his cock rising to full erection and his balls aching dully. God, her body was so lush and sensual!! The lovely teenager stepped under the full force of the shower spray now, and Art watched the soap film disappear, leaving her in full nakedness for his fevered gaze. His mouth was bone dry as he watched Jennifer rub soap over her rear end and into the cleft between her buttocks. Art stifled a low groan of frustration, shame and mounting lust.

Then, Jennifer rinsed off her rear end, turned off the spray and reached for her towel, her naked breasts coming into view for the first time. Art watched the nubile young girl begin to dry herself with the towel, rubbing her face and hair, lowering the towel to her belly, rubbing between her legs. Art gaped at her breasts, swaying and jiggling as she worked, his testicles aching with desire.

Then the towel came up and she was drying her breasts, sliding the towel under them, lifting the creamy orbs, squeezing them together. She kept this up for what seemed to Art like an eternity, and he could feel his cock begin to secrete droplets of seminal fluid in his wild arousal. He stood transfixed, barely able to breathe as the lovely dark-haired teenager seemed to make slow, tormenting love to every part of her body with the towel, between her legs, between her buttocks, over and under her breasts...

Finally, Jennifer lowered the towel, stood motionless for a moment, and then tossed it over the top of the stall side.

Art moved back, gently pulling the door toward him.

Then he almost jumped out of his skin as he heard his name.

"Art," Jennifer exclaimed. "Don't go!" She had turned and was looking directly at him.

He opened his mouth but couldn't form words, his brain paralyzed by shock.

Jennifer's lips curved into a provocative smile and she said in a low-toned voice, "You were watching me in there, weren't you, Art?" she said. "You saw me drying myself, didn't you? I could see you out of the corner of my eye in the mirror."

"Oh God, Jennifer, I ... I'm so sorry, I was just coming to tell you, they're heading back. Be here in an hour" he mumbled.

Jennifer's eyes traveled in that slow, insolent way over his body, stopping at the jutting front of his shorts, and her smile widened.

"Mmmm, you look like you enjoyed the view!" she said, eyes fixed on the contours of his erection.

"N-no," Art stuttered.

"Oh, you can't fool me! I can see how hard you are. Hey, don't be embarrassed. You're telling me you're liking what you see."

Ohh God help me! Art thought miserably. I've got to get out of here.

She walked toward him, breasts bouncing slightly as she moved.

"Mmm, just the two of us. All alone. For an hour!"

She reached out a slow, tantalizing hand and closed it around the swollen head of his shaft. The touch sent an electric jolt spiraling through Art, and he gave an involuntary gasp.

"You've made me horny, too," Jennifer murmured as she began stroking him.

The dark-haired vixen's hand now slipped between Art's legs to cup and roll his balls. Then she was pressing her nude body against him, her opulent breasts against his chest, her mouth seeking his, finding it, her tongue searing between his lips like a molten firebrand. As they kissed, her hands dipped to his front, unbuttoning his shorts, sliding them down with his boxers.

His blood-filled shaft stood out at right angle from his belly, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Jennifer looked down.

"Oh, yeah," she purred, slowly sinking to her knees. She grasped the shaft, opened her mouth and leaned forward.

Art let out an ecstatic groan as her warm lips close around him. Her tongue swirled around the head; then she hollowed her cheeks, sucking out the pre-ejaculate fluid and swallowing it.

She pulled back, her lips leaving the swollen head with a slight pop. She slowly to her feet, rubbing her nipples against him as she stood.

"Let's do it over there," she said, beckoning with her head toward the loveseat.

"Oh God," was all Art could say as she felt his hand close again around his swollen testicles and squeeze.

"Come," she said, moving toward the loveseat. Art blindly followed, willing now to do whatever she wanted as long as it quenched the raging inferno in his groin.

He watched her as she lifted her knees onto the loveseat. She opened her legs and slowly raised her white, rounded globes up toward him as he stared, mesmerized with desire, at the glistening, pink labia and the brown ring of her anus. She turned her head and looked up at him, her eyes filled with lust.

"Fuck me!" she said.

Art grasped his aching shaft and guided it to her entrance, groaning as the sensitive glans melded with her slippery folds. He pushed forward, the big head of his organ splitting her plump labia and sliding into her deliciously tight cunt. Delirious with need, he gave a powerful thrust, sliding his full length into the young girl's slickened vulva.

"Nnnghhhhh!!" Jennifer moaned through clenched teeth as the big shaft filled her.

Art drew back, then raced into her again, his testicles slapping against her clitoral hood. Art fucked the seductive teenager without restraint or modulation. Gripping her hips, he lunged into her, the head of his cock hitting her cervix with each forceful thrust, drawing back briefly only to lunge again more deeply into her glorious center.

He began to stroke faster into her, pulling her back against him with each inward thrust, feeling the pressure mounting in his testicles. Jennifer began to toss her head from side to side in ¬-frenzied anticipation of her impeding orgasm.

"Ooohh, ooohh, oooh!" she chanted each time the big shaft plowed into her. Her chants suddenly culminated in a single, intense cry of uncontainable pleasure as her orgasm ripped through her and Art felt her tight vulval walls begin to constrict around his plunging cock, her buttocks convulsing against his loins.

As her orgasm subsided, Jennifer began to focus on Art's climax, mouthing words of obscene encouragement, the flow of her speech interrupted each time his loins struck her:

"You gonna do it ... unhh! gonna do it ... unhh! ... inside me, baby? You gonna give me ... unhh! ... your hot cum? All of that cum ... nhhh! deep ... nhhh! ... deep in my pussy? Yes, yes ... unhhh! ... do it to me. Give ... nhhh! ... give it to me. My pussy ... unnghh! ... wants your cream!"

Her final words sent him over the edge.

"NHHHHHH!!" he groaned, shaking in ecstasy as his climax struck and his balls erupted, his flexing shaft sending five, six, seven long streams of sperm into the lovely teenager's womb. Jennifer moaned out spasmodic, indecipherable words of encouragement as she felt Paul's uncle ejaculating inside her.

At last, Art's cock gave its final spurt and he stood for a moment, dazed by the force of his orgasm.

"Oh, God, that was fucking incredible!" Jennifer gasped.

Art slowly pulled his still-engorged phallus from her slippery channel, followed by a rush of semen.

"Mmmm," Jennifer purred, closing her thighs to trap the escaping liquid.

Art began to pull on his clothes. Jennifer made no move to do so, instead sitting back on the loveseat and looking at him.

"You're amazing! I want more of you!"

"No, Jennifer," Art said sharply. "This was wrong. We shouldn't have done any of this."

"Oh, Art, don't be like that! Didn't you like it?"

"No," Art said, looking down as he buttoned his shirt.

He glanced over at her.

She was pouting.

"I mean, yes, I liked it," he said, impatient with himself. "But what we did was wrong. We shouldn't have done it. That's what I meant."

"It didn't feel wrong," Jennifer said, her slow smile appearing again. "It felt perfectly right!"

Art shook his head.

"You know what I want?" Jennifer said.

"What?" said Art.

"I want to make you spurt in my mouth."

"Jesus, Jennifer!"

"Just sayin'" she said, raising two palms.

He stared at her.

"Are you really going to the University of Chicago?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "So what?"

"And then medical school?"

She frowned, obviously unhappy at this turn in the conversation.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she said.

"I'm just curious."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Okay, I'll tell you," she said.

He waited.

"But only while I'm riding that cock!"

Despite everything, Art found himself laughing.

"We can discuss anatomy right after you cum in my pussy!"

He laughed again, shaking his head. This girl was something else!

"Look, Jennifer," he said, his voice gentler. "It was great. I can't deny that. But think about what..."

Then both of them froze as they heard a sing-song cry:

"Aa-art."

It was Lillian.

"Oh my God!" Art cried. "What the hell ... how did they?"

But this was no time to ask questions. He thought quickly.

"I'll go out. You stay here. Wait till we're inside the house to come out."

Jennifer mutely nodded, as shocked as he was by the prospect of being caught.

Art quickly exited the cabana. Thankfully, Lillian had already turned back and entered the house, calling upstairs for him. He went in and closed the door.

"Here I am, honey," he said, his voice husky.

"Oh, darling," she turned. "I looked for you everywhere. Where were you?"

"Oh, just out in the cabana doing a little maintenance."

She noticed his flushed face — he was sweating and his shirt collar was turned up. She leaned forward to be kissed and was surprised when he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pushed past her, mounting the stairs, mumbling something about a shower.

That's puzzling, Lillian thought. Was it something I did ... said? Her intuition was crying out at her — something was amiss. There was a scent in the air, one too faint to trigger any conscious recognition, but that nonetheless registered deep in her brain — the scent of another woman!

She brushed the thought aside. He'd probably just had a hard morning. She would remedy that by making him a gin Collins. She turned to walk to the kitchen cabinet. As she did, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She looked out the window and gave a choked cry.

Emerging furtively from the cabana and hurrying toward the side of the house was Jennifer Rowland.

Lillian turned away blindly, swallowing the cry of anguish that threatened to burst from her throat. She staggered to the living room and sat on the couch, eyes filling with tears, unable to block the frightening thoughts cascading through her head. Oh God, Art, how could you? How could you do this to me? You said you loved me, and then, the first minute I'm gone, you run around with that little tramp Jennifer Rowland! Lillian buried her face in her hands, sobs racking her body. The splintered fragments of her world, reformed and reconstructed by Art's professed love for her, were lying once again at her feet.

And then, as if there were suddenly no more moisture available for tears, the crying stopped and some semblance of composure returned. She lifted herself off the couch, opened the door to the hallway and listened. She could hear the shower going. She walked up to the other bathroom, washed her face and applied fresh makeup to her pain-etched face.

As she studied her reflection in the mirror, Lillian forced her mind to examine the situation with cold clarity. It was immediately obvious from everything she'd seen was that Art and that slut had been having sex in the cabana. His flushed, sweaty appearance, his disordered clothing, his lying about what he had been doing, Jennifer's furtive emergence from the cabana— they all added up to that conclusion.

But was that the only possibility? She thought carefully. It could conceivably have been less than that. Maybe they had just kissed. Or perhaps the little vixen had just tried to seduce him and he'd resisted, but felt compelled to lie so that Lillian wouldn't be suspicious. But what about the sweating, the clothes?

Something had happened. And it was more than just a kiss.

She had to do something -- she couldn't just allow this to go unaddressed. She would confront Art and demand the truth. But what if it had happened? Art would just deny it. Why would he admit it when to do so would surely doom their nascent reunion? And if he did admit it, what then? The way Lillian felt now, there was no capacity in her for compassionate exoneration — at least not where a future relationship between them was concerned. The reunion would be over, she would move out and never see him again.

She pondered this prospect with alarm. Was that her only option? Could she muster the capacity to stay with him even if he had done this to her? Possibly, yes ... Despite her seething bitterness, Lillian's deep intuition told her that if it had happened, Art had not been fully responsible. He was just a man, after all, weak and sexually unprincipled like most men. No, the blame for Art's transgression could be laid, she was sure, directly at the door of that seductive little minx Jennifer Rowland. Lillian felt a moment of unreasoning hatred for the brazen, conscienceless teenage girl. The damned little bitch, who dressed like a street hooker, thrusting her big breasts out. Seducing a man old enough to be her father -- and what was infinitely worse, the uncle of the boy she claimed to love!

Her thoughts turned to Paul, poor Paul. So trusting, so good and deserving of so much better than a tramp like that. But he was blinded by her beauty and her sensuality. God only knew how many other boys, how many other men that little hussy was sleeping with, while Paul's love for her, pure and innocent, grew by the day.

Her racing thoughts subsided as she came to the realization that the wisest course for the moment was to do nothing — to proceed as though she hadn't seen anything unusual. She couldn't take any hasty or impulsive actions. She needed to carefully work through all the available options and outcomes.

She nodded to herself in agreement and started down to the kitchen to make that gin Collins.