She contemplated the answer, the truth.
Because it excites me.
She let herself…what? Immerse? Confront? No, she injected herself into the fantasy.
She put herself where Amy Vandersteen lay, her legs draped over Gilles’ shoulders. She wondered if Gilles was as deft of tongue as Marzen. Her imagination said yes. It was her mind that lay back in substitute of her body, and brought Gilles’ mouth to her sex. The visualization made her wet at once.
Delve into your passion, Khoronos’ words drifted up again.
When she blinked, they were getting out, standing naked in the moonlit grass; they were drying themselves with big white towels. Marzen’s physique seemed even more magnificent than Veronica remembered, all sculpted muscles and tapered lines, and Gilles too, a more delicate version. Gilles dried Amy, and Marzen dried Ginny, then they switched. Both women looked dizzy in wantonness.
Then they were coming in.
Shit! She dashed through the kitchen entrance just as the swimmers entered. The entire house was dark save for the hall light upstairs. Giggles rose, bare feet padded across the carpet. Veronica hid just out of sight behind the kitchen entry. Eventually, naked shapes rounded the lower landing. But there were only three. Ginny and Gilles scampered up the stairs first, followed by Amy Vandersteen. But where was Marzen?
“Ja, here she is,” came the accented voice. “Our beautiful little peeper.”
Veronica whirled. “Jesus Chr—”
Marzen had sneaked up behind her.
“You like vahtching, ja? You like to see.”
Veronica could only gaze back. He was a nude shadow, he was huge. Beads of water glittered on his broad chest. This sudden sexual presence overwhelmed her; she doubted she could even speak. The sudden truth relit in her mind: she wanted him again. All of him this time.
“You must join us, Veronica.”
No, she started to say. She knew what he meant — an orgy. He wanted her to be a piece of furniture in a game of sexual musical chairs. She couldn’t think of anything less sincere. So why didn’t she protest when he approached?
His hands pulled up her sundress and skimmed it off. He turned her around, popped her bra, and threw it aside. All this deepened her excitement, the rough yet exacting quickness with which he’d stripped her. Then he knelt and skimmed her panties off.
He picked her up and carried her toward the stairs.
She could think of nothing to say to him. She put her arm around his shoulder, felt the hard muscles, the heat of his solid flesh. She felt drifting as he ascended a step at a time.
When he took her to Ginny’s room, he set her down. She could barely stand, she could barely think past her anticipation. Marzen went to the window, next to Gilles. Ginny and Amy Vandersteen sat on the edge of the bed.
Khoronos had told Veronica she must delve into her passions, even potential ones. But group sex? Her mind fought with the impulse, and lost. Right now she knew she would do anything for any manner of sexual release. She didn’t know why, she just knew. Anything. Even a five-way orgy.
“Transposition,” Gilles said.
“Mein Herz,” Marzen said. “Mein Geliebte.”
The men seemed very serious. They stood with their arms crossed, staring. Veronica, Ginny, and Amy stared back.
Ginny moaned. Amy, whose wet white hair looked like a swim cap, discreetly touched herself. Veronica managed to mutter, “What the hell is this? What’s going on?”
The men were waiting for something. But what?
“Are you guys gonna stand there all night,” Amy Vandersteen finally said, “or are you gonna fuck us?”
Both men seemed to frown at the expletive, as though it soiled whatever was taking place here. Veronica could not help but stare at them, at their penises, at their grandiose physiques.
“None of you are ready yet,” Gilles answered.
“Not yet ready to transpose,” Marzen added.
But Veronica knew already, a subtle hot shock in her chest. Self-identity. Discovering oneself as completely as possible. Passion. Even potential ones. Her horniness felt like a trapped animal raging to escape its snare.
“Before you can learn to love us,” Marzen said.
“You must learn to love each other,” Gilles finished.
The two men walked out of the room and closed the door.
Veronica felt a jolt: a touch. Amy Vandersteen pushed her back on the bed and kissed her on the mouth. Veronica paused, shivered — then she gave in and kissed her back.
Chapter 19
To Jack Cordesman, hangovers were a familiarity. His head quaked when he leaned up in bed. Sunlight through the blinds cut into his vision like a razor wheel. He lumbered to the bathroom, thrust his mouth under the faucet, and gulped tap water.
Then he threw up, another familiarity.
He could tell by looking at the bed that Faye hadn’t slept with him. What the fuck happened? he wondered. He stumbled downstairs in his shorts, guzzled some orange juice, and threw up again. It was 8:30; he was going to be late. No note had been left on the fridge, and Faye wasn’t here. He tried to think, but he could remember nothing of last night past his sixth drink.
Birds chirped cheerily on the window ledge. Shut up, he thought. First he called work. “Running a little late.” He tried to sound nonchalant. The desk sergeant didn’t sound surprised. Then he called Craig.
“Everybody do me,” Craig said.
“Hey, Craig, it’s Jack. Did I wake you up?”
“No, I always get up at eight-thirty when I go to bed at four.”
“Sorry. Look, I need to know what happened last night.”
Craig serviced a bemused pause. “You got faced. Bad.”
“How many did I have?”
“I don’t know. Ten, twelve. I tried to stop serving you but you threatened to shit on the floor and close us down on a health violation.”
What could he say? Nothing, he thought. Nothing he hadn’t said before. “What happened with the girl?”
“Faye? Oh, she sat it out — she’s a good girl. At last call you passed out. We stuffed you in the car, drove you home, and dragged you upstairs.”
“Did she stay? At my place, I mean.”
“Yeah, in one of the downstairs rooms, I think.”
“I guess she was pretty pissed,” Jack lamented.
“If she was pissed she would’ve walked out hours before. Like I said, she’s a good girl.”
Don’t remind me, Jack thought. “You were saying something before I got tanked. Something about someone looking for me?”
“Yeah, what’s his name. The guy with the Ivanhoe haircut.”
“Stewie,” Jack said, like the name was phlegm in his throat.
“Yeah, that guy.”
“What did he want?”
“He said he was looking for you, I said you hadn’t been in. He drank up and left. That was a few hours before you and Faye came in. The candyass left me a nickel tip.”
That’s Stewie, all right. But what did he want that was so important he actually came looking for Jack?
Now what? Jack held the phone, his head thumping through silence. “Look, Craig, I’m really sorry about—”
“I know. You’re really sorry about getting fucked up and making an ass of yourself in public.”
“I guess by now it goes without saying.”
“Of course it does, so don’t worry about it.”