“Not at half-mast. At least not unless there's some official reason for it.”
“I don’t see why I have to justify that. It’s a matter of personal freedom. It’s my right to fly the flag at half-mast if I’m in mourning.”
“Betcha!”
“What?”
“Betcha the Birchville Board of Supervisors won’t let you get away with it,” Llona explained.
“The hell they won’t!” Archer was becoming angry. “I'll hire a lawyer and fight them!”
“In this town? Where local politics is a closed corporation? You’ll lose!”
“Then I'll take it to a higher court!”
“And you’1l probably lose there too!”
“I’ll take it all the way to the Supreme Court!” Archer’s voice rose shrilly.
“And if you lose there? Not to mention the money --”
“Man! Are you ever supportive! Just what a man needs from his wife! Damn it, Llona, you’re just putting up obstacles. Chances are there’s no such law in the first place!”
“Maybe not. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“You put up that flagpole and that sign in this neighborhood and the local red-white-and-blue yahoos will -be in our yard with an axe to chop it down. The first dark night. We’ll be lucky if they don’t set fire to the house.”
“Llona, you just don’t want to give peace a chance.”
“Sure I do. I’m just being practical. What are you going to do when the fringey lunatics march over to haul down your flag?”
“‘I’ll warn them that they’re trespassing on private prop- erty!” - t
“Yeah? And then what?”
“I’ll tell them I have a shotgun and I’m prepared to use it on the first person who sets foot on my land!”
“And if they don’t listen?”
“The first sonuvobitch tries to pull down my flag, I’ll blow his brains out!” Archer shouted.
“Now that’s what I call giving peace a chance,” Llona pointed out. “But I suppose you’re right, Archer. I suppose you would have to defend your flag.”
“That’s not fair! You trapped me! I was angry!”
“You’re right. It’s not fair. And I’m as much against the war as you are, Archer. I'm just trying to make you see that you’re losing your perspective. What good is it if you get so zealous for peace that you’re willing to kill for it?"
“That’s a by-product of the brutalization of this country too,” Archer said moodily.
“Granted. But let’s remember what it is you're for and what it is you're against. You’re against killing people—-even if they haul down your flag. And you’re for peace and love -- now! Particularly love now!” Llona held out her arms to him.
“All right, baby. Let’s you and me help me regain my perspective.” Archer got into bed. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “You’re not wearing anything.”
“It’s a hot night.” Llona snuggled up to him.
“The night? Or you?” Archer’s hand trailed down her spine and settled firmly over one of the burning globes of flesh beneath it.
“Fresh! Who said you could fondle my fundament?” L1ona’s breath was hot in her ear; her fingers scratched lightly over his chest and trailed down to his belly.
“It’s a husband’s prerogative.” He pinched her tenderly and traced the line between her nether-cheeks and legs. “And I’ve got the license to prove it.”
“License isn’t freedom to sneak into private places,” she murmured, pressing against him and parting her thighs.
“Isn't it?” He moved his hand to the pulsating area she’d made available.
“Not by the back door!” Llona gasped and kissed him; her erotic tongue was a wild bee stinging him to greater passion. “What have we here?” Her hand reached further down his belly and then turned into a fist to grasp the hard evidence of his arousal.
“I always carry a fountain pen in my pocket.” He bent his head and his tongue flicked at one of her long, red nipples. Then he caught it between his lips and her large, plump breasts trembled with the sensation.
“A leaky fountain pen?” Llona writhed against him, her mons Veneris hot and pulsating against his tumescence, urged on by the hand reaching around from behind her to explore it.
“My fountain pen can spurt too!” Archer pulled away, rose up on his knees, and turned her over on her stomach. He grasped her hips and she rose to a half-crouch. He pulled her back and lunged forward at the same time.
“Not there!” Llona gasped and pulled away.
“Oops! Sorry!” Archer’s hands moved over her derriere until he’d brought the target into view. Then he plunged once again. This time he hit the mark.
“Ahh!” Llona wriggled backward greedily. Her firm, round nether-cheeks began rotating slowly.
Archer reached around in front of her with one hand and caressed the soft, trembling flesh of her inner thigh. His fingers trailed over the furry triangle of blonde down at the base of her belly. Then he dipped more deeply until he’d established contact with her tense, burning, slippery clitoris. He stroked it in time with the back-and-forth movements of his assault from the rear.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! That drives me wild!” Llona panted.
“Both ways at once!” Her body moved sack, and forth frantically now, savoring the dual contact.
Archer grasped one of her breasts with his other hand and squeezed it and traced the wide aureole and manipulated the hard, pointy nipple. They didn’t speak anymore. The only sounds were those of their excited breathing and the slap-slap of Llona’s flushed buttocks against his muscular, straining thighs. Their passion mounted and became frantic. Together they approached the ecstatic release for which their bodies yearned. They were just on the verge of it when --
It was as if the Twentieth Century Limited had just been driven full speed through their bedroom. It was like a dozen Con Ed triphammers ra-ta-ta-ted in their ears at the same It was a hundred racing car engines revving up simultaneously, the Pacific fleet with cannon all roaring, Chinese New Year and somebody dropped a match in the warehouse where the fireworks were stored.
Ears sensitized by sex, the sudden assault of sound threw them. Archer tumbled backward, grabbing for his ears. Llona fell forward, seeking relief from the noise by burying her head under the pillow. Orgasm was not merely thwarted; momentarily it was forgotten.
The bed shook. The windows shook. The whole house shook. And then, as suddenly as it had come, the sonic boom was gone. Llona pulled her head out from under the covers. Archer picked himself up off the floor.
“God damn jets!" they said simultaneously.
“Did you—-umm-make it?” Archer asked delicately.
“No. You?”
“No.” Archer chuckled wryly. “Couldn’t you think of anybody either?” he inquired.
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a bad joke.”
“Lousy Air. Force!” Llona’s anger smouldered and built.
“It’s all part of the same thing,” Archer brooded. “The Vietnam war, the military-industrial complex, an air base in our backyard, planes killing off my tomato plants with their damn jet streams . . .”
“Your tomato plants? What about my sex life!”
“Damn sonic boom shaking all the tiles loose on the roof so now they have to be replaced. . . .”
“Let’s replace them with an antiaircraft gun!” Llona fumed. “Shoot ’em down!”
“There’s probably a village ordinance against that,” Archer couldn't resist saying.
“All right! You want a sign? Then let’s put it up on the roof where those bastards can see it! Let’s lay it on them directly!" Llona was trembling with frustration and anger.
Hell hath no fury like a woman left hung-up. Such was the impetus for the tiled sentiment on the roof. Llona’s fury stayed with her and the very next day she ordered the tiles.