Condominium by John D. MacDonald

Book: Condominium by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online
Authors: John D. MacDonald
sounds of their effort, the moist lisping sounds of locked sweaty bodies, muffled thud of her hips against the sun pad, the whuffling, whinnying sound of her fevered breathing. Lew Traff felt like that man condemned for all eternity to roll a big boulder up a mountain. When they had made love the first time today, he had been too quick for her. She had not let enough time pass before manipulating him back to a sufficient stiffness to permit penetration. Now he felt engorged, swollen, irritated. His back ached. He wondered if he was going to get a bad sunburn on his white buttocks. There was little sense of pleasure in the frictive motion. From time to time she would grasp him convulsively, squeak, and snap like a bait shrimp. He felt glad somebody was having some fun. Not only was she having fun, she was also in the shade. His shade.
    From far off, from way back, he felt his own reluctant climax approaching. It was quick, meager, constricted and painful. He was glad to collapse upon her, his labors finished. She held him tightly, purring her gratitude, then wormed out from under him and rolled into the pool, splashing water onto him. He followed her in, relishing the feel of the water on his overheated body. They swam a couple of lengths and then he stood, winded, in water up to his waist, and looked down and saw that he had been congested for so long, very little diminution had occurred, giving him a fallacious look of readiness. Were she to misunderstand, he did not think he could endure any more of it. He climbed out and hurriedto the borrowed swim trunks and pulled them on, tucking himself into unobtrusiveness.
    She got out of the pool and tugged herself into her yellow and white swim suit. They toweled and sat in big deck chairs under the shade of the roofed portion of the patio, each with a cigarette and a can of cold beer.
    “I wasn’t ever going to let it happen again, Lew.”
    “Well, I guess we got carried away, honey.”
    “Promise it won’t ever happen again.”
    “I promise.”
    This was her charade. He humored her, knowing the dependence of everyone on his own rationalization. He would call Molly next time or she would call him, and it would be about some legal or business matter, and she would say, “Hey, whyn’t you come over for a swim, hey?” This afternoon, or tomorrow morning, or tomorrow afternoon.
    So he would go over to 88 Bayview Terrace and park in the drive and go into the long low blue cinder-block house with the white tile roof, and go into the guest room and put on the borrowed trunks and pad out onto the patio and have a little swim. There would be some giggly little games of splash and tickle and chase, until finally he would peel her out of her suit in the shallow end, slip out of his trunks, hoist her out onto the sun pad and have at her. There was something to be said for her rationalization. In case of interruption, it was a lot quicker and easier to slip into swim togs and start swimming than to get entirely dressed and go out a side door. Also it gave her the chance to say to herself that it had not really been intentional. It had just sort of snuck up on them, in spite of promising each other it would never happen again.
    She had dark red curls, round green eyes and a fatty little mouth.Though she looked chubby, she was solid meat and hard heavy bone. She enjoyed golf, tennis, waterskiing, swimming, jogging, bicycling and lovemaking. She combined superb health, excellent reflexes and a tireless enthusiasm for all energetic pursuits. Lew Traff was thirty-four, lean, swarthy, languid, hairy and sardonic.
    Molly chugged her beer, beamed upon him and said, “It was pretty fabulous, huh? You like to have ruined me, lover.”
    “It was really great.”
    “But we’ve got to give it up, right? It just isn’t fair to Jus. He ever finds out, he’d kill us both, and you better believe it.”
    “How would he find out, Molly? One of the two of us would have to tell him, and it won’t

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