The Marital Corporation Ch. 04

Synopsis: Marge and Peter have a growing friendship with Anne and Gordon Schaefer. Last night, while having dinner at the Schaefer's their hosts initiated group nudity, although much to Marge and Peter's disappointment, the hoped for swap didn't occur.

Chapter Four

The next week passed quickly. Marge had quietly begun spending alternating nights with Kenny. Peter didn't mind; actually, he was relieved because Doc Porter was keeping him very busy.

He spent many hours speaking at business luncheons. When he wasn't spending his evenings with various organizations or civic groups, he was in his study, writing position papers on issues he thought appropriate.

He knew it wouldn't be enough merely to proclaim himself pro-choice. He needed an issue that would stir public imagination and set him apart. Somewhat to his surprise, he found he was developing a genuine interest in public office.

Part of his new-found political ambitions derived from his personal sense of integrity; Peter was beginning to think that he could make a difference; that his experience as an environmental lawyer would serve the state and its citizens well. In addition, he was sufficiently realistic to understand that since some unknown person or persons had arranged for Doc Porter's services, and that money was actually being raised to finance his campaign with no apparent strings attached, that he was bound to give this effort his best shot. Moreover, he was realistic enough to understand that his value to the firm -- and correspondingly, his professional fortunes -- could rise or fall depending on the election's outcome.

Thus, Peter spent an inordinate amount of time groping for a philosophy of government that would be responsive to the tectonic social shifts he saw occurring in the Pacific Northwest as a consequence of the global population explosion, the demands of an increasingly sophisticated technological economy, and the troubling problem of ever-widening income distribution.

Basically liberal in his social philosophy, he knew he had to be careful. He was keenly aware that while his Republican creden- tials were paper thin, both the incumbent and Sam Basset, another opponent -- an unabashed member of the Christian Coalition -- were both solid, rock-ribbed, America-First type conservatives dating back to the `Impeach Earl Warren' campaigns of the early 1960s.

Fortunately, the 43rd district was largely a middle class neighborhood populated by an equal number of upwardly mobile younger white people living in renovated housing on the north end of Capitol Hill, and a cosmopolitan mix of older middle class Asian and African-Americans clustered nearby. Voters in the district mainly voted Republican, but there was a strong independent undercurrent, and as a consequence of Washington State's unique open primary system, the Democratic candidate was usually selected by independent voters.

Marge and Peter Baylis didn't see the Schaefers again for two weeks, but on Monday morning, nine days after their peculiar dinner party, Peter found a phone message from Anne Schaefer on his desk when he returned from a Monday Rotary luncheon.

Guiltily remembering her two secret invitations, he dialed her number. The phone was answered on the second ring.

"Hi," he said. "This is Pete. What's up?"

"Thanks for getting back to me so quickly," Anne said. "The reason I'm bothering you at the office is that I need to have a talk with you ASAP."

Oh, oh. "You mean a professional consultation?"

"I don't think it's gone that far," she said, "but you might be the better judge of that."

"Fair enough," he said. "How about lunch tomorrow? Suppose we meet at Rossalino's at one o'clock. Can you do that?"

"Oh, great," she said. "I'll meet you there."

Peter decided not to tell Marge about the call since Anne had not inquired about her, and he wasn't sure why they were meeting. But he chose his tie with particular care the next morning, and wore the suit he thought made him look his most dynamic.

Anne was punctual. Peter was sitting in the bar watching the door when she entered the room. It was a warm summer day, and she was wearing a light summer dress that made her look like a co-ed. Her heavy hair was pinned up in a thick braid, baring her lovely neck and soft shoulders. Every male head in the room turned to watch her. Peter slid off the bar stool, and held out his hands.

She came into his arms for a brief embrace. Peter had reserved a table in the corner where they would not be disturbed. After ordering cocktails, she came straight to the point.

"Do you find me attractive?" she demanded.

"Yes," he said, "very."

"I thought so. Then, why haven't you called?"

"I did, a week ago Saturday. Don't you remember? As I recall, you had other fish to fry, or at least that was the impression I got."

Anne's cheeks flushed. "You caught me by surprise, that's all," she said, opening her menu to hide her confusion.

They ordered lunch. During lunch, they chatted about the boat, about sailing in general, and about his political campaign. Not once, however, did either mention Marge or Gordon.

While they waited for their check after lunch, thinking it was now or never, Peter took a deep breath and as casually as his pounding heart allowed, praying his voice wouldn't betray him, asked "Would you like to go across the street to the Ambassador?"

Her cheeks flushed again. Her eyes dropped to the table and she whispered, "Yes."

Peter paid the waiter, and they strolled across the street to the hotel. She waited by the elevators while he registered "Dr. and Mrs. Dick Armey." Moments later, in the elevator, he kissed her.

He opened the door and ushered her into a musty room. She sat on the edge of the bed and in an intimate and profoundly feminine gesture, unpinned her hair, allowing the loose braid to fall below her shoulders. She reached up with both hands and quickly unbraided her hair, combing through it with her fingers. Then she matter-of-factly undid a row of buttons on the side of her dress and stepped out of it. She wore only hip hugging panties. She stretched her lithe young body, pulling her soft breasts into high relief.

"Ah, that feels better," she said as she stripped the covers off the bed. "What's taking you so long?"

Peter was sitting in the chair untying his shoes. "I'm dancing as fast as I can," he said. He carefully finished undressing, and approached the bed. "Did you come prepared?" he asked.

Her eyes were fixed on his crotch, and her cheeks flushed a third time as she shyly nodded. "It's in my purse," she said.

Peter handed the purse to her. She quickly removed a familiar little packet which she placed on the bedside table. "How much time do we have?"

"As much as we need," he said.

"Come here, then. Let me feel you," she said.

He crawled on the bed and laid next to her.

She raised herself on one elbow and studied his crotch again. "Let me see," she said. "How did Marge do this?" She delicately seized his flaccid penis between her thumb and forefinger, and slowly pulled his foreskin back. His pink glans slowly emerged.

"Boy, that's neat!" she exclaimed. "I've been wanting to try this ever since I saw Marge do it. Maybe circumcision isn't such a cool idea, after all."

"I think it's a bad idea," he said. "Now it's my turn to see what you've got."

He kissed the side of her neck below her ear, and slowly made love to her slender body. licking and kissing her soft breasts, carefully avoiding her hard nipples and puckered areola. Then he scooted down in bed, and felt her shudder as he poked the tip of his wet tongue into her belly button. "You're giving me goose bumps!" "That's the idea. Lay still; let me do my job." He slid up next to her soft body, and kissed the side of her neck. Only then did he delicately take her extended nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and suddenly twist it. She reacted to the sharp little pang as he thought she might, briefly, shuddering though a mini-orgasm. After nearly an hour of exquisite and prolonged mutual exploration, Peter stuffed a pillow under her bottom and started to slide between her raised knees. Suddenly, she arched her back. He could feel the tensions raging in her body as her stomach muscles rippled against him. Great shudders ran through her body, and she seemed to have difficulty breathing. He seized her in a tight embrace and held her as the ripples slowly subsided. "Oh, Pete," she whispered, "How much longer are you going to make me wait?" For an answer, Pete slid back down in the bed and abruptly parted her knees. The pungent odor of a woman in heat caused his cock to further stiffen and involuntarily twitch. He parted her genital hair, and momentarily studied her cleft before swooping down, burying his nose against her clitoris hood while probing with his tongue, parting her swollen labia. Anne shivered. "I need you, Pete. Fuck meeee NOW!" Pete reared over her, pushing her legs back. His cock never paused, but slid easily into her cunt, parting the hot moist membranes until his pelvis ground against hers. "Oh, God, Pete! That feels so wonderful!" Pete was content to let his log soak in his beautiful partner for a minute or two before he began to move. Her cunt felt like a fist lined with melted butter. As he moved, he realized Anne also had a few tricks up her sleeve. Her pussy seemed to tighten as he withdrew, making each thrust seem even tighter than the last. Anne began to moan. "That's goood, Pete, never stop! Fuck me harder!" Wryly reflecting that middle age had its advantages -- an ability to last -- Pete varied his strokes, several short ones, where the head of his cock played with her vestibule followed by sudden deep, penetrating thrusts. He also varied the direction of his thrusts, but as he felt those magic tongs begin to grip the small of his back, he remembered to "ride her high," to provide the most stimulation to her swollen clitoris. Anne's body suddenly went rigid. A rictus grin froze on her face while her eyes rolled back in her head. A dark flush crossed her face and chest, and her stomach began to undulate violently. Peter was near his climax, but when Anne's vaginal muscles seized his cock, he made a final deep thrust into her belly, and gathering her tightly in his arms, felt his seed spurt into her womb. Only then did he remember that the condom she had provided was still on the bedside stand next to her purse. "My God," she said in a shaken voice, "I haven't come like that in years! What did you do to me?"

"We forgot something," he said.

Anne smiled. "No, you forgot something. I wanted to find out what an uncut cock feels like!" She swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and holding her cupped hand over her pussy, ran into the bathroom. Peter sighed and began dressing.

He heard the toilet flush, and the bathroom door open. Not looking up, he said, "Now we've broken the ice," he began tentatively.

"What's next? Is that what you mean?"

"Something like that, I guess," he said.

"I might as well tell you right now that I have other interests that claim much of my time."

"Does Gordon know about these other interests?"

"He knows what I choose to tell him," she said.

"Do you plan to tell him about us?"

"I might. I haven't decided."

Peter's confusion was obvious. Anne smiled and said, "You remember the other night when we explained why we encouraged what amounted to face to face phone sex with our friends? Look but don't touch?"

Peter nodded.

"This is a logical extension of that," she said. "We're as kinky in our way as you and Marge are in yours. Gordon really gets off when I tell him about my adventures."

"Well, why on earth don't you guys swing, then?"

"He'd kill me if he knew I'd told you this," she replied, "but Gordon is impotent with other women. I think that's why he'll never divorce me."

Peter shook his head. "I wouldn't push that idea too far if I were you. He sounds pretty conflicted to me, and there's is no telling what he might do."

An idea occurred to him. "Let's the four of us get together next weekend for more sailing. Gordon seemed genuinely interested in it."

She thought for a moment. "Could we bring the children?"

"Sure. Let's work it this way. I'll call Gordon this evening and extend the invitation. Which would be better? Saturday or Sunday?"

"Either, although Sunday morning is usually reserved for church. You know how that is."

Peter did not pretend to understand the religious mind, but prudently kept this information to himself. "So I've noticed," he said dryly. He was gratified to see her cheeks redden again. "What about us?" he added.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "We'll just have to play it by ear. Your time is uncertain; you've a political campaign and a regular job, and I'm usually busy, too. When either of us is in the mood, we could either post a note in the old oak tree . . . or make a phone call, which would be a lot simpler."

He smiled at her imagery. "OK," he said. "I've got to get back to the office. We can just leave the room key here."

They finished dressing and prepared to leave the room. Just before opening the door, Pete happened to glance in the bathroom mirror, and saw her scoop the room key off the bureau and into her purse. He sighed. It seemed she wasn't ready to check out just yet. He pretended he hadn't seen her pick up the key. They parted when they reached the street.

The fifteen year old who dwells in each of us, no matter how many winters have passed, urged Peter to lurk in nearby doorways to see what would happen next, but common sense reminded him that he had work to do. It was already three o'clock, so he hurried back to his office.

Marge was only marginally enthusiastic when he proposed inviting the Schaefers to go sailing the following Saturday. Possibly still traumatized by his near fatal accident in Kingston, Kenny begged off. "I got stuff to do around here," he said. Peter hoped he meant mow ing the lawn.

Gordon enthusiastically accepted Peter's invitation. Peter heard Anne in the background prompting him, "Ask if we can bring the children."

Gordon ignored her, but Peter said, "I overheard Anne just now saying something about your kids. Would you like to bring them?"

"Well, if they wouldn't get in the way . . ."

"They'll be just fine," Peter said reassuringly. He thought about life preservers. There were none suitable for children on board. "How old are the kids, by the way?"

"Bill and Jim are four and six. Kathy's nine going on twenty-five."

"OK," Peter said. "Same time, same place, same boat. I'm looking forward to it." In the background, he heard youthful squeals of joy. Anne evidently had told the children they were going on a boat ride.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. They stopped at the marina store on their way to the boat and bought three children's life preservers, ice, and a case of cold beer. Anne had said she would provide for the children. Peter had just stowed the ice and drinks when he heard Marge greet the Schaefers.

Peter climbed up into the cockpit, and was met by Gordon's outstretched hand. The man wore a broad grin, and Peter's first reaction was to wonder whether Anne had told him about their brief affair. After shaking hands, he turned and motioned two little boys forward.

"This is Billy," he said, placing his hand on the tow head of a shy little fellow who buried his face against his father's knee. "And this is James," Gordon continued. "Can you shake hands with Mr. Baylis, James?" Gordon glanced at Peter. "Perhaps I should have said `Captain' Baylis," he continued. "There's one more. Kathy?"

The little girl was talking to her mother and Marge. She glanced in the men's direction, and waved her hand at her father. "Must you interrupt me, Father?" she demanded.

Peter was glad to see that Gordon seemed unruffled by what some parents might have considered impertinence. Gordon turned apologetically to him. "She's always been like that, ever since she was a baby," he said.

Peter shrugged. "We had problems with Timmy, too. But kids grow out of these phases, especially if you don't rise to the bait."

Gordon nodded. Peter handed the children's life jackets to him. "It would be best if the kids wore these while we're on the water," he said.

Gordon nodded again, and began fastening little Billy in his jacket, while the older children spurned Peter's offer of assistance.

Gordon and Peter quickly stripped the sail covers off. Peter checked the oil, fuel, and water while Gordon watched over his shoulder. Marge and Anne secured the galley.

Peter started the engine. They slipped their dock lines, and the little engine pulled Love Boat out of her slip, and pushed her past rows of silent yachts, into the fairway leading past the breakwater, and on into the open Sound. Little Billy's eyes grew big when he felt the cabin sole begin to move beneath his feet. The older children pretended a nonchalance Peter knew they didn't feel. He pulled the clutch into neutral and, motioning to Gordon, went forward to the mast.

"I have a feeling we're going to be doing a lot of sailing together," he said, "so you might as well learn how to set her sails."

Gordon nodded and smiled at Peter again. "We already share some things," he said mysteriously.

Peter wondered what that remark implied. It was clear that a little heart-to-heart chat with Gordon might be in order, but this was neither the time nor place.

Putting those thoughts to one side for the moment, Peter busied himself removing the sail ties from the mainsail. "That's step one," he said. Then, pointing to the halyard winch mounted on the mast, he said, "This is step two." He put his hand on the winch handle. "See how the wire halyard on the spool is laid?"

Gordon nodded. "Turn the handle so the wire tightens," Peter said.

Following his instructions, Gordon quickly set the boat's two sails. The men paused, standing on the foredeck admiring Seattle's profile across intervening Elliot Bay. "I could get very used to this in a hurry," Gordon said quietly.

Peter nodded, turned, and led the way back to the cockpit. "You might as well go the rest of the way," he said. "Take the helm."

Gordon sat next to the tiller.

"The first thing you do," Peter said, "after you decide where you want to go, is look at the wind vane at the top of the mast to see how you're going to get there.

"Keep your eyes peeled crossing Elliot Bay because there's a lot of fast traffic out there," Peter continued, "but what the hell? Let's sail over to Alki Point." Peter shut the engine down.

The children were startled by the sudden, unexpected quiet. They quickly looked to their parents for reassurance. Kathy was the first to realize the boat was moving. She peered over the side. "Billy, James, look! We're moving! Look at those bubbles go by!"

She looked admiringly at her father. "How are you making the boat go?"

He pointed to the sails. "The wind's pushing us."

Actually, Peter thought, the wind was pulling us, but Gordon's explanation was adequate for the moment. Peter watched the harbor traffic carefully during the next hour and half. Harbor Island was finally broad on their port beam, and he began to relax.

The younger children were fascinated by the bubbles in their wake, and lay on the lazarette watching them. Kathy began asking her father when it would be her turn to steer. Gordon and Anne both tried to distract the little girl, but the child was determined as only a nine year-old can be.

As soon as the boat was abeam the Alki Point light, Peter turned to Gordon and said quietly, "There's no reason why she shouldn't steer if she wants to."

Gordon flashed Peter a grateful smile. "Come here, darling. Mr. Baylis says it will be all right if you want to steer for a while. Sit on my lap and I'll show you how."