The Conspiracy

"Come on, you're driving me crazy down there! What about my clit?"

"Oh, did I forget something?" I pulled my fingers out and rolled her clit between my thumb and forefinger, at the same time that I stuck my other forefinger up her asshole. She wasn't prepared for that and it came as a shock. She let out a squeal while I unfolded my legs partway and lowered her onto my hard cock. I was thinking it all went so smoothly that there must be some magic about our new party palace, and as I started to stroke in and out of her, she was already pumping on me. The first two or three strokes were uncoordinated, but then we got it together and went at it as if we were giving CPR to a dying child. I finally got my legs unfolded the rest of the way and lay back, sliding her knees down past my hips until she was lying right on top of me. Then, with her weight distributed over my rib cage and thighs, I could rock my hips to pump into her, giving her the fucking that she deserved for being the ultimate love of my life. To show that she reciprocated my feelings, she took advantage of our height difference to suck on my nipples, nibbling just a bit on each one to leave owner's marks of her own. Then she raised up with her hands on my shoulders, and started to make a sound I'd never heard before. It started in her throat as a murmur, and grew to sort of a growl. It kept growing in volume and and pitch until her mouth opened wide and let out a howl like a soul in . . . what? Not torment! I guess ecstasy describes it best.

Then came the words. "Oh, you wonderful fucker! Go ahead, plunge it into me! Deeper! Harder! Oh, yessss, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck meeee!" Then she was silent, straining every muscle in her body, not even breathing, until she expelled all the air in her lungs with a high, keening cry that ended in a screamed "Yessss!" and she collapsed on me, every muscle limp as overcooked pasta. She breathed rapidly, then more slowly and deeply, and finally lifted her head from my shoulder to bring her lips to mine. We kissed hungrily, and as she drew back she asked me, "Did you hear my last word?"

"You said yes, sort of hissed it out."

"That's how it was when you proposed to me. "That's how I accepted."

"What happened to the proposal part, the question?"

"Oh, did you miss it again? It was a beautiful proposal, the most romantic in the world. You said it with your mouth and your whole body. I heard it and felt it very distinctly."

Who am I to quibble with success? "Okay, now that you mention it, I guess I did. I said it in the language of love."

We lay there on the carpet, our breathing gradually returning to normal and our heartbeats getting back to a reasonable rhythm. "Oh," Ruth said, " you're still hard."

"All ready for the encore."

"Did you come? I was soaring so far out among the stars that I couldn't tell."

"Yes I did, as you'll find out when you lift off me and it all comes gushing out onto the floor. I wonder if it'll stain the new carpet."

"I sure hope so."

To summmarize, the new carpet was a great success. So were both of the beds. So was the reclining chair in front of the broad expanse of windows that faced the lake. I leaned back in that recliner, clutching Ruth to me. Her toes were touching my ankles. I had a hand across her ass, holding her up against me. I bent my head down as she raised hers up, and our lips met, and opened as our tongues played the last scene in this wonderful one-act passion play. I suddenly felt impelled to tell her, "Sweetheart, I love you so much that when you're in my arms nothing else in the world matters to me at all. I don't ever want to let go of you."

"Well that's very sweet but not too practical, because I've got to go to the bathroom." That's when I suddenly understood why Shakespeare wrote so many tragedies, with nothing but a pile of bodies by the final curtain. Can you imagine Juliet throwing herself across Romeo's body and reciting her final speech, only to have him sit up and say, "Excuse me, Honey, I've gotta go take a leak." But even though my own dear Juliet's closing speech may have been a little ordinary, it definitely declared that our passion play was complete. Curtain!

I had gone into another bathroom to drain out the last of those whiskey and sodas, and came out to face Ruth, who pressed against me to say, "I don't really want to get dressed, but how can we go across to our house like this? We should keep some robes here for times like this."

"Easy solution to your problem. Let's feel the beds to see which one's the least damp and sticky, and spend the night here."

"You're right. I'm so glad I bagged a smart husband. Oh, this one's pretty gooey. How's that one in there?"

"It'll do. You'll have to snuggle up close to me, but that's what I wanted anyway. Come on and get in while I turn off the lights." And so it came to pass that we finished the dedication of our party room/guest cottage/passion pit with a sleepover. I'd have liked to say something impressive and poetic, to put a stamp on the occasion, but you just can't improve on perfection.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ruth and Nancy went to work decorating for the party. They had found artificial flowers and autumn leaves for the party's theme of the end of summer, which of course is the start of autumn. They used some streamers in green and yellow to signify summer, and orange and brown for autumn, and various little table decorations to carry out the theme. The place looked very festive, very seasonal, and simply beautiful.

The girls wanted all the party people to be from our picturesque little neighborhood of houses that faced the water and backed up to the streets. They had found invitations with an autumn look, carrying the party theme into every detail. A week before the party they visited every house in our little cul de sac and invited the neighbors, leaving an invitation behind as a reminder for every couple who said they could make it. They had an idea of how many people they wanted, so when they came up short on our street they turned the corner and knocked on the doors in the next cul de sac. That filled their quota so they stopped: a simple, effective way to handle the invitations.

I didn't know many of the people who showed up, but they all knew us from the upheaval we caused by knocking down the house to make room for our garage building. When they found that they could enter through a hallway that had a door opening onto the garage, and that door was open and the garage cleaned up and brightly lighted, the men in particular were fascinated with the trappings of my hobby, and I knew that they looked on me as their idol, living the life that they'd love to have.

When the crowd had assembled upstairs and everybody had a drink, I called for attention and made a little speech. I explained that when we built the garage the upstairs was left unfinished until we could give our full attention to doing it as we wanted it done, and that this party celebrated not just the completion of summer but also the completion of the entire project that had started with the demolition of the old house. I explained further that the upstairs work was completely contracted and overseen by my wife; in effect, the upstairs was hers and the downstairs was mine. I reminded everybody that I was able to pursue my hobby downstairs because my wife agreed to it, and that completion of the upstairs was the confirmation of our respect for each other's wishes. Therefore I proposed a toast to my wonderful wife, a woman of unerring taste and uncommon sense, who still loves me in spite of all that.

The applause was loud and long, and we drank to the love of my life. Of course, this was calculated to appeal to Jason's loneliness, in the hope of jarring him out of the solitary rut that his life had become. I had arranged for Ruth to stand beside me for all this, and Nancy right beside her. As the party progressed, Ruth fielded all of the compliments on the upstairs furnishings and the party decorations by giving Nancy a lot of the credit, usually within Jason's hearing. So by the time the party was in full swing it was at least partly a celebration of Nancy, and everybody was paying attention to this lovely schoolteacher whom they had barely noticed in their neighborhood. I kept watching Jason, and every time Nancy's name was mentioned it brought a smile to his face.

One very interesting party girl was Amelia, the sister of one of the men on the next street, who had happened to be visiting and was brought along to the party. Naturally she upset the balance of men and women, and also threatened our purpose in the whole undertaking. As the evening went along, she was avoiding the hors d'oeuvres as a threat to her waistline, but accepting a drink every time one was offered. That strategy protected her figure at the expense of her inhibitions, and naturally the more drinks she had, the more aggressively she went after the only single man in the place, Jason. Danger signals were flashing in my mind, but I didn't know how to get rid of this maneater.

Various of the parents of young children started to bow out around nine, citing baby sitter problems or whatever, and the population had thinned to about half of the original crew by ten. By that time, three solid hours of drinking without eating had loosened up Amelia to the point where she was slurring her words and undoing the buttons on her blouse one at a time when she thought nobody was looking. She monopolized Jason, hanging on his arm and interrupting everybody who tried to say a word to him. To his credit, Jason was clearly uncomfortable with this attention, but being Jason he had no idea what to do about it. Things were steadily moving in the wrong direction until finally she tried to drag him off into one of the bedrooms. He parried that thrust, but I was getting worried and pulled Ruth into the kitchen for a conference. Just as I started to ask her for ideas, Nancy came in and Ruth said, "Nancy will handle it. Go stand by the window wall and you'll get to watch the whole thing."

The window wall facing the lake has a wide sliding glass door, which was open that night to the evening breezes. Outside is a balcony, with a few chairs and small tables. I stood near to one end of the glass and watched, but the whole thing was so slick that even after I watched it I didn't know exactly what happened until I got details from Ruth later on. What I could see was that Nancy walked up to Jason and Amelia and suggested that the room was becoming stuffy and the balcony would offer some fresh air. Before Amelia could object, Nancy dragged Jason in that direction, and Amelia had to follow or give up her hold on Jason's arm. They went out onto the balcony, where Nancy deftly switched glasses with Amelia and dumped what had been Amelia's drink into a potted plant. Then in the dim light she mentioned what a beautiful evening it was, and proposed a toast to the wonderful weather, which was such a relief from the summer heat. She wound up with, "Down the hatch!" and all three of them downed the contents of their glasses at a gulp: Jason, whose drink had long since deteriorated to a couple of half melted ice cubes; Nancy, who was holding an empty glass; and Amelia, whose drink was rather special. I later found out it was a mixture of whiskey and ipecac, a medicine used to induce vomiting. Nancy looked over the railing to be sure nobody was standing below, as Amelia chuckled drunkenly over nothing and then abruptly leaned over the railing and heaved up everything she'd ever consumed since seventh grade.

Jason already held one of Amelia's arms and Nancy took the other, and steered Amelia back into the room and over to her brother and sister-in-law with the comment that Amelia might not be accustomed to such strong drinks. Obviously embarrassed, they collected her and hastily said their goodbyes as they hauled her out. I saw this coming and rushed to position myself at the foot of the stairs, so when they started down with the semi-limp Amelia, I could simply go up a few steps and give them a helping hand. I was the perfect image of a solicitous host, even though I was less concerned over Amelia's safety than I was over our homeowner's insurance premiums. I saw them safely off our property and climbed the stairs to signal Nancy that it was time for Ruth to get a phone call.

Nancy ducked into a bathroom and placed the call. Ruth had her ringtone turned up high. She answered her cell phone and went into her act like an Oscar winner. She looked alarmed and ducked out to the hallway to continue. Then she hurried back into the party and grabbed me, pulling me off to one side as if to be unobtrusive, but actually creating enough of a stir for everybody in the room to know something was up.

Ruth and I were standing near the door leading to the stairs. I raised my voice and said, "Folks, sad to say, we have a family emergency, and Ruth and I have to leave. I am sorry, but please stay and enjoy the party. In our absence, our friends Jason and Nancy will take our place as your hosts, and I'm sure that everything will go just fine without us. Thank you all for coming," and before anybody could say anything I whisked Ruth down the stairs to the garage and made our exit in my favorite family car, my sweet little BMW convertible. What else would I drive to celebrate our successful operation? Really a nice little package, a true driver's car, as perfect as you can get. And you just can't improve on perfection.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rolling along in our sweet little chariot, in complete privacy for the first time in several hours, we could finally share our secrets. Ruth went first. She explained that when she saw the Amelia situation developing she ran over to the house and fetched the ipecac, without a firm plan in mind but knowing that she would need some way to embarrass the drunken slut and get her out of Nancy's way. This provided the missing dot so I could make a meaningful picture out of all that happened. Then it was my turn, and I explained to her that as we were leaving I told Nancy we'd be gone overnight so they had the whole place, both houses, to themselves as a playground for their passion. Ruth looked a little uncomfortable at hearing this, so I put her mind at ease with the news that I had an overnight bag for the two of us in the trunk, and that I planned for us to celebrate Jason's capture at the Biltmore, where we had a paid reservation. We could check in and then finish our evening by dancing to cool mood music in the cocktail lounge. She snuggled into my side and delivered what for her was the ultimate in high praise: "Honey, you're devious enough to be a woman!" She's such a smooth talker.

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know who was more eager to formalize their union, Nancy or Jason, but the wedding came along very quickly after the party. The Friday after Thanksgiving saw Ruth and me standing up with Jason and Nancy in a small but elegant wedding performed in our backyard by the pastor of Nancy's church. The reception dinner was catered upstairs, coincidentally in the same place where they had become engaged. Jason's and Nancy's parents and a few other relatives attended. At the end, Nancy threw her bouquet the length of the room and took Jason's arm as they retired to the larger of the two bedrooms. They were going on a Caribbean cruise during the Christmas holidays for a delayed honeymoon, so we gave them the run of our guest house for the Thanksgiving weekend. In a chorus of well wishes, the reception crowd made our way down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, where we said our goodbyes. Then Ruth and I walked to our house as the guests walked to theirs. Won't be any DUIs on our account!

That evening, we had just retired when we thought we heard a woman's voice screaming something, but neither of us could make out the words. Maybe there weren't any. Probably the screamer, whoever she was, didn't need any. It happened while we were wrapped up in each other on our king size bed, celebrating the success of our conspiracy, and it was reasonable to expect that we weren't the only ones celebrating.

Later I happened to mention that I hoped Jason was up to dealing with the abrupt change that marriage would bring to his lifestyle. Ruth looked me eye to eye and said, "Don't worry, Nancy will take care of that, just the same as I did with you." I must have looked puzzled, because she said, "Oh, don't even think about it," and completed the conversation with a kiss. I gave her an extra squeeze as I thanked God for the best wife and co-conspirator any man could have. Have I ever mentioned that you just can't improve on perfection?