Chance Encounter Ch. 05

Suddenly, Marge surprised Paul by pushing his face away from her breast. Paul looked at her puzzled for a second. Marge pushed up on his shoulder to signal Paul to roll over to lie on his back. Paul expected Marge to take him into her mouth, but instead, she jumped on top and straddled him. She reached below her to find his penis pointing straight up. She aligned it with her gateway and sank down on it—fast and hard. Her insides were slick and warm. She remained in place, not moving, but pressing her pelvis down onto his. Paul was deep inside her. He seized a breast with each hand. Marge started to move up and down. It was a slow pace at first. After a few strokes she quickened it. After every third or fourth repetition she would stop at the bottom and press down on him as she had before. Paul learned the routine. He released Marge's breasts and grasped her hips where her thighs joined them. As she would press down, he pressed up with his own pelvis and pressed hers down even harder.

Marge didn't make a sound. She closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards. Her lips formed a tight circle, like the letter 'o'. They went on this way for many minutes. The pauses allowed Paul to stave off his orgasm. Marge started to give out loud sighs on each descent. She increased the pace of the stroking. Her sighs became louder. Her movement became less rhythmic. She would shift slightly to get Paul into a place that might have been missed. Finally, on the last descent, her upper body fell forward. Paul felt her muscles convulse around his penis. Her climax was long and intense. When she finished, he took over the pumping until he too felt orgasm wash over him and his semen raced into her body.

They lay gasping. When they had recovered Marge dismounted Paul and lay alongside him. Paul arose from the bed to lock up the cabin for the night and then returned to bed with her. They lay side by side waiting for sleep. Younger couples might have tried for a second round. They did not. It would have been a shame to dilute the quality of the effort they had just completed. Their bodies were satisfied for the night.

*********

Paul woke with the sun. In their sleep Marge had turned on her side away from him. Paul recounted the pleasure of the night before. The sheet had drifted off the top half of their bodies. Marge's bare back and buttocks lay exposed. He spent a minute appreciating the view. He wished that she would be less self-conscious. Her comments about Audrey, and Paul's supposed flattery were a little annoying.

Paul hoped that the more-than-satisfactory sex the night before had 'pounded' Marge's doubts from her. He decided to find out. He reached out and stroked her flank and down the crevice between her cheeks. Marge stirred and rolled over. She moved beside him and kissed him affectionately.

"Good morning!" he said. "How did you sleep?'

"Oh, I slept fine." she answered. "This fresh air out here at the lake is so good for sleeping."

Paul turned on his side and took a breast in his hand. Her nipple was stiffening.

"I don't wonder that you slept like a log after that 'display' last night." he said in a voice that conveyed pleasure and fun.

"Mmm!" she purred, smiling. "I'll let you be the judge!"

"How would you like to uphold a 'cabin tradition'?" he asked, with a hint of mystery.

"Why don't you tell me what it is?" she answered in an expectant voice.

"Well, it's fun!" Paul said, "but it's something that one has to get 'used to'," he added with a touch of humor showing through.

"Ah—that!" Marge answered. "I was wondering when you would get around to it. I was saving it for later, but we could do it now." She clutched his organ and started sliding down his body toward it.

"No, Marge. I didn't mean that," said Paul, laughing. "It might be nice later. I meant a morning swim."

"A morning swim?" she cried. "You mean you want me to put on my suit and go swimming. I thought that we were starting foreplay for ... you know. Paul, sometimes you are hard to figure out!"

"The swim is a form of foreplay, Marge; and you won't need your suit," Paul answered, stifling a laugh.

Marge's eyes widened with incredulity.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "That's out of the question!"

"C'mon, Marge. You'll love it. What about last night?" Paul pleaded.

"That was in the dark," she declared. "And, I got a little carried away."

"Well," Paul countered, "get carried away now."

"Actually, I'm not that good a swimmer," she said. She started stroking his erection and snuggled up to him.

"Paul, couldn't we ... you know ... stay here for a little while?" she purred at him.

"Sure, Marge—no problem," Paul said.

He started caressing her nipple to refresh its stiffness as she stroked him. They leaned closer and kissed. In a short time he mounted her and she responded to him. The sex was good that morning. They both made sure of it. They started to become attuned to the other's body. There were fewer surprises, but their success was never hit-or-miss. Marge, true to her word, took him into her mouth that night after dinner and swallowed every drop. Paul returned the favor while he was waiting to re-inflate.

In between sessions of sex at night and in the morning they filled the time boating around the lake. They relaxed and let the scenery soothe them. Marge even ventured into the lake (with suit), diving in from the boat. She wasn't a great swimmer, but not as bad as she had claimed. They thought about asking the couple on the other side of the point over for drinks on Saturday night, but their cabin was empty that weekend. That left more time for Paul and Marge to perfect their bedroom arts. They did so, satisfying themselves in each other's arms, until they were drained of energy and time.

They started on the five hour drive home after lunch. Marge was soon dozing, just like on the trip up to the cabin. Paul glanced over at her and smiled. He thought how good a companion she was. She was pleasant at all times, intelligent and engaging. She didn't look bad in her swimsuit, either, notwithstanding her protestations. When they made love there was pleasure to be shared by all, and more.

Paul had doubts that wouldn't stop lingering. It was like nearly finishing a jigsaw puzzle to find that one of the pieces had been lost. He was ninety percent satisfied. He wanted that final ten percent. He wondered if that piece would turn up if he brought Marge to the lake a few more times before winter set in.

As he drove along I-75, listening to Marge's soft breathing, he realized that it could not happen that way. Further attempts would just get more pieces lost as each of them, set in their ways as they were, would try to accommodate the other. He had invited Marge for a tryout. He hadn't meant to; the realization came after the fact. It made him feel guilty that he had risked hurting a person that meant so much to him.

Marge had passed most of the tests, especially lovemaking. She failed in beer and steak, in putting housework before pleasure at the wrong times, in over self-deprecation and nude swimming. Paul saw that he had wanted her to replace Glenda, whom he was unsure of ever seeing again. It was impossible and unfair, just as Glenda could never be Marge. It became clear to him. He would have to find a way to handle it.

Marge woke up when they were about ten miles from Paul's house. She rubbed her eyes to erase her drowsiness.

"It was a lovely weekend, Paul. Thank you," she said.

"I enjoyed being with you," he answered. "I would invite you to stay over tonight, but I don't think that I have the energy left," he kidded her.

Marge giggled, enjoying his reference to her newly rekindled lovemaking expertise.

"Why we are so unlike each other, but get along so well in the bedroom?" she asked.

"Do you remember what you said that morning at breakfast after we made love the first time?" she went on. "I asked you if I had pleased you, and you told me that I could have pleased any man. I didn't understand why you said it back then, but I do now. You were telling me to be open to other men."

Paul glanced over at her expectantly.

"I think that I should, Paul," she said. "Would you mind?"

"No, Marge." Paul answered. "You've given me some times to remember, that's for sure. We're still friends. I don't want that to change."

"It won't change," she assured him.

"Anyone special in mind?" Paul asked.

"The Choir Director at church has been making some hints," she replied. "He was widowed several years ago and seems ready to go out again."

"The Choir Director!" Paul howled. "Take it easy on him, Marge, or he'll be singing a few octaves higher."

Marge looked at Paul, feigning shock at the raw joke. They were pulling into the driveway.

"I remember how you 'took it on me' not very long ago," she said softly. She leaned over and kissed him affectionately.

*******

Late that Saturday afternoon, while Paul and Marge were tying up the boat for the day, little did they know that at the same moment Ed Grafton sat by the phone at his new home in St. Louis. He was waiting for a return call from Arthur Hopkins. He had called him earlier and left a voicemail letting Hopkins know about Paul's possession of the fraudulent drawings. That spelled trouble for them if it wasn't handled.

Hopkins had been the instigator of the conspiracy. He, and especially Grafton, had profited by it. Morehead had received nothing, and he was the question mark. Although Agnes Loehman had not named her, Grafton knew that it was Audrey Wright who had delivered the drawings to Paul.

As he sat nursing a glass of whiskey and pouring over his situation, the phone rang. He was sure that it was Arthur Hopkins. When he picked it up, to his surprise, it was Craig Morehead.

Grafton: Hello!

Morehead: Ed, this is Craig Morehead. I'm calling about that money that you promised me!

Grafton: I told you, Craig, that I would send you some money when things cool down. Did you know that Paul Crane asked Larry Wilton for an investigation? Wilton called me a few days ago.

Morehead: Let Crane rant and rave all he wants! Wilton will have nothing without those drawings and I have them in a safe place where he'll never find them. But listen, I have a partner now, so you'll have to give me more money.

Grafton: No way! I promised you ten thousand. Your expenses are your own business. Who is this partner, anyway? How do you know that you can trust him? What could be his value-added?

Morehead: It's not a 'him, it's a 'her'. She's holding the drawings so that they can't be found on me.

Grafton: You're a fool for letting someone else in on this.

Morehead: How about the money?

Grafton: I can only give you two thousand right now. Give me the name of your bank and the account number.

Morehead: Make it five thousand, and here are the bank details.

They hung up. Grafton was going to warn Morehead that Paul had the drawings, but swallowed his tongue before the words came out. It was clear that Audrey had double-crossed him and Morehead had yet to find it out. If he had, Grafton was sure that it would send him running in a panic to Wilton. It would be better to keep this secret between him and Arthur Hopkins.

An hour later, Hopkins called Grafton.

Grafton: Morehead just called me out of the blue demanding money. I don't think that he knows that Crane has the bogus drawings. He thinks that Audrey is holding them for safekeeping.

Hopkins: Can he prove that it was you who faked the drawings?

Grafton: No. No one can.

Hopkins: Then let Morehead take the fall. He's the last one in the Agency to have possession of them—except for Audrey. He'll accuse you, but proving it is something else. You can just accuse him right back!

Grafton: Crane is sure to go to Wilton with this.

Hopkins: If they can't prove their case, they'll never get you out of Missouri. Just make sure that no one can say that they saw you alter the drawings. That's the main point. Pay some money to Morehead. That will keep him quiet for a while.

Grafton: I've got Craig's banking information. I'll deposit it in cash. I'll drive to Springfield on Monday. It's only two hours. I'll use a branch near his apartment. Then he can explain where the money came from. Craig will frame himself. He'll have the money, the drawings and he admitted to Audrey that he was part of it. I should call him and thank him!

The two men hung up, their plans were made.

*************

On the following Friday afternoon Paul was working in his office. Marge buzzed him to tell him that Audrey Wright was waiting to see him. Paul told Marge to send her in.

"Private Audrey Wright reporting as ordered!" she declared as she marched in and presented a mock salute.

"Hello, Audrey," Paul said, 'how was your vacation?"

"It was restful and lonely," she answered. "A bit more restful than I would have liked it."

Paul didn't respond, but motioned her to a chair in front of his desk.

"Audrey," he began, "what we've started has got to be finished. It is serious business. I know that you didn't mean it just now with the salute and all, but from now on we can't joke about it—even among ourselves. If we don't take it seriously enough, something will go wrong, and it will all come to nothing. There will be time to joke later when it's all over."

"Sorry," she replied, embarrassed.

"I know." Paul said. "It's alright. The reason why I wanted you to stop here on your way home is to make sure that you still want to go through with this. If you want to back out now you can, and there will be no hard feelings. You can go back to your job at the Agency and go on like nothing happened."

"But something did happen, Mr. Crane, and I can't turn my back on it. I would just be waiting for the next time, and the next. I will go through with it."

"Don't expect brass bands and speeches of thanks from Wilton or anyone at the Agency," Paul warned. "They will look at you as a snitch and hate you. You will be upsetting their applecart. There is a good chance that you'll be fired for not going through channels. Can you accept that?"

Audrey nodded.

"Audrey, even if you aren't fired, you should plan on changing jobs. The atmosphere will be poisoned. Don't worry; we'll help you find another job. It may take a while, but it will work out. Anything that we do for you will be off the record. We can't hire you at Dunn because it will look like we're paying you off. We can't give you a stipend while you're between jobs, either. Are you ready for that?"

Audrey nodded again.

"Then we're off to the races!" Paul declared. "Go back to your job on Monday. Act like nothing has happened. I'll get an appointment with Wilton as soon as I can. I'll let you know when it is and you will be with us when we go to see him."

"Call me if anyone, especially Morehead, starts acting suspicious." Paul continued. "But don't needle them if they're acting normal. If Wilton asks you about it, you'll have to tell him the truth. Call if you see Grafton or Hopkins anywhere at the Agency."

"I understand," said Audrey.

"Audrey," Paul lowered his tone, "you are a very brave young woman. You are doing everyone a great service, and you'll never get a fraction of the thanks that you deserve. I'll give you my thanks right now."

They stood and shook hands. Audrey's expression had turned serious. She turned and left the office. Paul worried about what might happen to his young protégé who would be so far away from his reach, and any help he could give her if things went wrong.

***************

Paul stood at his office window contemplating all that happened during the summer. It had been mostly a season of sadness, sprinkled with some happy moments. Some of the joy had turned to sorrow. Summer was approaching its close; Paul knew that this episode was not going to be over soon. His biggest fear at the moment was the young fawn whom he had sent far away to be in the midst of jackals and wolves. This business with Wilton had to be concluded soon. Too much time created more opportunities for slip-ups.

Marge knocked and brought in the mail. Among the items was an interoffice envelope, marked "Confidential". Paul opened it. He found a letter from the Ethics Committee, ordering him to be present at an inquiry. It was the Bert Loehman matter. George Adams had warned of this. One thing in the letter confused Paul. In addition to the Loehman deviation, it mentioned "...and other matters."

The meaning of those words was a mystery to Paul. He had been around the office long enough to know that a vague reference to 'other matters' meant trouble. He knew that he had done nothing wrong. Even his liaisons with Marge would have raised eyebrows, but were not within the bounds of the Ethics Committee. He thought about asking about it. He decided not to. He would answer it when he knew what it was.

It was annoying to have this come up now. He didn't need more problems.

*******

TO BE CONTINUED...

Dear Readers,

I hope that you are enjoying this story.

As always, I enjoy receiving your comments.

Autumn Writer