“Myra, I’m troubled that you are playing a very dangerous game. If you have an affair with Morgan and your husband finds out, you will undoubtedly lose him. Are you sure you want to risk your marriage?”
“I … I can’t answer that right now, Mom. I don’t really know,” Myra said honestly.
“What if you fall in love with Morgan? Would you be willing to give up your husband and home for her?”
“Mom, I think I may already be in love with Morgan. That may sound implausible, because we just met. I never believed in love at first sight, but now, I think such a thing is quite possible. I have to admit, at the moment, I’m pretty mixed up. I never expected to feel the way I do about your daughter.”
Mrs. Penny nodded. “My advice to you, Myra, is for you to go slow. Be absolutely certain you know what you really want before you make any drastic changes in your life. There’s a world of difference between love and infatuation. And a good man is hard to find. If you were to tell your Michael you’ve fallen in love with Morgan, I doubt if he would be very understanding. Should you decide to leave him and then change your mind later, most likely he would not forgive you or take you back.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. Michael or Morgan. Or, Kimberly. Did Morgan happen to mention her?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you were going to tell me about Kimberly. You do lead a complicated life.”
“I suppose it would seem that way.”
Morgan bounded into the room carrying a garment bag and overnight case. “We’re going now, Mom. I’ve written down both Myra’s home and cell phone numbers. They’re on the pad in the kitchen. If you need me for anything, just call, and I’ll come right home.”
“I’ll be all right, Morgan.” She nodded to both of them. “Have a good time, girls—be careful.”
“We will, Mom,” Morgan said, leaning over to give her mother a kiss.
“Thanks again for dinner,” Myra called back, as they walked out the door. Then, to Morgan, she said, “Your mother loves you very much.”
Morgan nodded. “Yes, she does. And I love her. She’s the best mother in the world. But Mom does tend to be a bit overprotective.”
“She’s concerned about us because I’m married.” Myra unlocked the car and opened the door for Morgan. She took Morgan’s bags and placed them in the trunk.
Twenty minutes later they were at the condo. Myra helped Morgan hang her clothes in the guest room closet. As Myra had fantasized, they showered together, each scrubbing the other from head to toe. Another half hour and they were lying next to each other on top of the bed.
“There are some things I have to tell you, Morgan,” Myra said. Their faces were only inches apart, their bodies pressed tightly together, their arms entwined.
A momentary flash of panic crossed Morgan’s face. “What are they?” she said apprehensively.
“You satisfy all of my senses.”
“What do you mean?”
Myra’s hands moved lazily to Morgan’s cheeks, touched her eyelids, glided over her nose, brushed against her lips. Her fingers teased the insides of Morgan’s ears. “Your voice sends shivers throughout my body and makes my heart take an extra beat. It thrills me, it excites me, it enraptures me. I’d rather listen to you talk than hear the most accomplished jazz musicians, or a symphony orchestra playing Ravel’s Bolero.
“I love to look at you.” As she spoke, Myra’s mouth roamed Morgan’s body, kissing as it went. “Your exquisite curves are works of art, more beautiful than anything created by Rembrandt, da Vinci, or Michelangelo. I love the texture of your hair, the way you keep it cut so short, so close to your head. I love your large, almond-shaped brown eyes, your full, pouty lips. Your skin is richer than the finest Swiss chocolate, brown and sweet and smooth as velvet. Your breasts are like two perfect ripe pears.” Myra took one of them in her mouth and sucked until the nipple hardened.
“Your aroma pervades me with amatory desire. At night, I want to sleep close to you, so your heavenly scent will fill my nostrils.
“Your touch electrifies every nerve in my body. When we lie together, our bodies merge into one.” Myra was on top of Morgan, holding Morgan’s hands immobilized above her head. Her mouth descended on Morgan’s, and her tongue probed deeply.
“And I would rather taste your juices than drink the finest vintage wine or dine on beluga caviar.”
Myra’s head descended until she felt the inside of Morgan’s thighs pressing against her cheeks. Her lips and tongue parted hair, then targeted Morgan’s clitoral flesh and gently sucked until it became engorged. Myra’s hands were beneath Morgan’s buttocks, raising them upwards. Morgan’s groin rocked, slowly at first, then undulated and writhed faster and faster. Morgan placed her hands on the back of Myra’s head, drawing it ever closer and tighter against her body. Morgan’s low moans grew into a growl, then became the howl of a wild animal in heat. Her body stiffened, then vibrated with the convulsive spasms of orgasm.
They rested briefly in that position, then Myra was once again lying on top of Morgan, whispering in her ear. “I love the gentleness of your touch. I love the kindness you exhibit toward your mother. You’re funny. You’re intelligent. You’re soft-spoken. You’re beautiful. You’re loving. You’re sexy, my aphrodisiac. You’re perfect in every way, Morgan.
“That’s why I love you.”
Tears came to Morgan’s eyes. “I love you too, Myra.”
They held each other silently for a full five minutes. Then, Morgan plaintively asked, “What are we going to do, Myra? I can’t ask you to leave Michael and Kimberly.”
Myra couldn’t answer the question. “I don’t know. I can’t think right now. I’m drunk, but not from alcohol. I’m high, but not from drugs. Making love with you sends me into a state of nirvana.
“I do know this. There will be a time for us, for all of eternity. There has to be, Morgan. God brought us together and God will provide a way for us to stay together.”
Twenty-Eight
MORGAN WOKE UP at nine. It was her day off and she didn’t have to go in to work. She could hear Myra in the kitchen singing A Time For Us. It had been a fabulous night, the best night of her life, and Morgan was saddened that her visit with Myra had all but ended. Morning had come much too soon. Morgan prayed she and Myra would have an opportunity to spend another whole night together in the near future.
The sun was streaming in the opened window. Fresh air breezing in carried the scent of newly-mown grass. Although it was still winter, the weather in Las Vegas had been unseasonably warm. Morgan wondered what time Michael and Kimberly would be returning from Laughlin. She thought Myra might not want them to know she’d spent the night at the condo. Morgan felt it might be best if she left before they came home. After all, she reasoned, she would be back later that evening to have dinner with them. Morgan hoped Myra would have enough time before going to work to drive her to her apartment. If not, she would take a cab. Las Vegas has excellent taxi service—unlike many cities, such as Los Angeles, where taxis are practically nonexistent.
Morgan threw on her tan chenille bathrobe and headed toward the kitchen. She wanted to say good morning to Myra before hopping in the shower. “Hi, baby. I’m up,” Morgan greeted cheerfully.
Myra ran to Morgan and gave her a sensual kiss. “Good morning, Morgan. It’s going to be a great day! The sun is shining and the birds are singing, and so am I!” She entertained Morgan with a few bars of Oh, What a Beautiful Morning from the musical, Oklahoma.
“You’d better keep your day job,” Morgan teased, tousling Myra’s long hair.
“Sit down, Morgan. Coffee’s ready, and I’ll have scrambled eggs and toast on the table in just a minute. How do you feel this morning?” Myra questioned, with a pixieish look in her eyes. “I hope you feel as good as I do. I can’t recall when I’ve ever been so relaxed and satisfied.”
“Me, either. I’ve never felt better—or happier—or more fulfilled, in my entire life,” Morgan enthused. “Girlfr
iend, I thought I had a strong sexual appetite, but yours is voracious! I do believe you outdo me,” she grinned mischievously. “I’m gonna have to buy me some vitamins to keep up with you.”
“Well, you promised you’d help me make up for lost time,” Myra grinned back lecherously.
“Yeah, I did promise you that, but, whew! I didn’t think you’d want to catch up for the last fifteen years in just one night.”
We’ll have the rest of our lives to catch up, Myra mused. And it still won’t be enough time for me to make love with Morgan.
While Myra was pouring their coffee, Morgan lit two cigarettes and handed one to Myra. “Can you drop me off at my apartment on your way to work? If not, I’ll call a cab.”
“Since you don’t have to go in to Blue Hawaii today, I decided to take the day off, too. I’ve already called in. We can be together all day. You can help me cook dinner tonight. I’m going to make a standing rib roast. I have a special reason for wanting this evening to be perfect. Michael and Kim are going to meet you.”
Morgan looked a bit troubled. “Don’t you think I should get my black ass out of here before they come home? If they know I’ve been here all night and all day, they might start asking too many questions.”
Myra took a long drag on the cigarette. “I really don’t give a damn. If they do, they do. I’m not going to worry about it. This is a new day—the first day of the rest of my life—and I’m no longer going to be in denial.”
Morgan guffawed. “Myra, you’re the last person in the world I’d ever think of as being in denial. What do you mean?”
Myra refilled their coffee cups before responding. The slight pause gave her time to gather her thoughts for the speech she’d been rehearsing since early morning. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. An awful lot of thinking. Ever since we first made love, night before last. The mind-boggling complexity of my problem—how to find a way to keep the ménage and you, too—was making my head spin like a guided missile that had gone out of control. Suddenly, this morning, the fog lifted. I woke up with all the right answers. Most of them, anyway. I know now I’m not bisexual. You’ve proven that to me, Morgan, and I’m going to be eternally grateful to you for opening my eyes.”
Morgan was really puzzled. Myra had displayed a near-insatiable appetite for sex with her. “Myra, I’m confused. Really confused. We made love most of the night. And I’m definitely a woman. At least, I was the last time I looked between my legs. Are you telling me you’ve decided you’re not bisexual and don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”
Myra buttered two pieces of toast and handed one to Morgan. “Let me explain. You’ve liberated me. My blinders are off and I now see things in their proper perspective and true colors. I realize my whole life, up until now, has been one monstrous, horrendous lie. I was cast in the role of a stereotypical Jewish American Princess and goaded into playing the part in a play with a script as senseless as a sitcom.
“From the time I was a little girl, my parents groomed me to be a vacuous, submissive housewife and mother. Mrs. So-and-so, without an identity of my own. Like Beaver Cleaver’s mother, or one of the Stepford wives. My mother incessantly urged me to be popular with ‘the boys’ and permitted me to wear makeup and start dating at thirteen. Not real dates, but play dates. I’d dress up in a party dress and my father would drive me and my pretend-boyfriend to the movies and then to an ice cream fountain for a soda afterwards. Playacting, that’s all it was. I didn’t give a damn about going out with any of ‘the boys.’ They all had pimples and acne and stank of sweat doused with their father’s aftershave.
“For my fifteenth birthday, my mother presented me with a cedar chest wrapped with a big pink bow. A hope chest, she called it. Whenever she’d find a linen tablecloth or crystal bud vase or some such item on sale for a bargain price at one of the department stores, she’d buy it and we’d stash it in the hope chest. ‘Save this until you get married,’ she would always say. Every few months, we’d empty the chest and admire the things together, then carefully pack them away again. I still have the hope chest. It’s in the master bedroom, at the foot of the bed. Most of the linens and knickknacks Mother bought are still sitting in it, unused.
“I was expected to do all the things middle-class Jewish girls do. My Bat Mitzvah. Graduating from high school, going to college. Finding a Prince Charming on a white horse, falling in love, becoming engaged with a diamond ring as big as the Prince could afford, and, finally, getting married in a synagogue.”
Myra took a deep breath before continuing. “My life was all planned for me in advance. Eventually, I was to move to the suburbs into a three-bedroom, two-bath ranch-style house with a green lawn and white picket fence in front and a swimming pool in the back yard. Then, get pregnant and have two-point-three children—a boy first, then a girl. Gosh knows what the point three was supposed to be. Nobody ever told me. And—of course—one dog and half a cat. And then, repeat the cycle with my children, and teach them to repeat the cycle with theirs, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.
“For years, I obediently followed the game plan. I graduated from high school and college. I dated until I met and chased and captured my Prince Charming on the white horse—Michael. We did get married in a synagogue. I actually thought about getting pregnant, just to please Michael and my parents. Thank God I didn’t. If I’d had any kids, I’d be absolutely wretched, Morgan. I don’t like to be anywhere around small children. Aarrgh! I can’t stand the little rug rats. I have no maternal instincts whatsoever.
“I’ve already told you that when I was in high school I realized I was sexually attracted to another woman. Kimberly. But I repressed my inclinations. Completely repressed them. Until Kimberly moved to Las Vegas. Then, the prurient urges showed up overnight in full force, like toadstools that lurk underground waiting for the first Spring rain.
“I was married to Michael and lusted for Kim. But Kim seemed to be totally unaware of my feelings for her. She had the hots for Michael and was trying to lure him into her bed. It was painfully obvious to me. Kim shamelessly propositioned Michael at every opportunity, even when I was within earshot. Michael, poor thing, didn’t know what to do. He wanted to remain faithful to me, but he was finding it harder and harder to resist Kim’s incessant offers of her tempting body.
“Everything finally came to a head in Cancun, where the three of us went for a week’s vacation. We’d all had one too many margaritas. I couldn’t stand the frustration any more and came right out and told Kim I wanted to make love with her. To my surprise, she said she’d be willing to give it a try, if, in return, I’d let her have sex with Michael. It didn’t take me but a minute to agree to her deal. Michael didn’t know what hit him.
“Let me ask you this, Morgan. Would any woman who’s completely satisfied with her marriage invite another woman into her marital bed? A beautiful, oversexed woman who was trying to steal her husband? I’ll answer the question myself. Hell, no. She’d have to be crazy—and crazy I’m not.
“The fact is, all the time I was playing the role of the faithful, loving housewife with Michael, I was miserable. Damned miserable. I can’t recall the last time I had an orgasm with him. I’ve been faking it for as long as I can remember. But I’ve had fantastic climaxes with Kimberly. And now, with you. Especially with you. Morgan, all you have to do is blink your eyes at me and I start quivering.
“I do care about Michael. He’s a wonderful guy, and he’s been awfully good to me. We seldom argue, he’s never been physically or verbally abusive, and he’s a steady provider—though, actually, I earn quite a bit more than he does. It isn’t Michael’s fault he doesn’t satisfy me in bed. God knows, he certainly tries. Perhaps we should have gone somewhere for counseling, but I don’t think it would have helped. Besides, to this day, Michael doesn’t realize we’ve always had a sexual problem. True to my training, I concealed my feelings.
“I care for Kimberly, too. I really do, though I’m certain Kim’s enthusiasm for our ménage is n
ot because she desires sex with me, but because the arrangement enables her to screw Michael every night. The ménage is proving to be nothing more than a Band-Aid on the cancer that’s eating my insides.
“As I said, you’ve really opened my eyes, Morgan. I know now, for a certainty, I’m neither bisexual nor straight. I’m lesbian, just like you.” When Myra finished, tears were streaming down her face.
Morgan was overwhelmed by Myra’s nonstop recitation of her overnight catharsis. But Myra’s epiphany had not been entirely unexpected. It had just come sooner than Morgan anticipated.
Morgan took Myra in her arms. She gently stroked Myra’s hair and pressed Myra’s head tightly against her breasts and rocked her back and forth, like a mother soothing a child who’d just wakened screaming from a nightmare. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Morgan’s here for you. Morgan loves you. Things will be all right.”
Myra found a tissue and wiped her face. She gave Morgan a kiss. It was not a passionate, sexual kiss, the kind Myra and Morgan had been exchanging most of the night, but a soft, gentle kiss, a kiss of love and not lust. “I’m not crying because I’m unhappy, Morgan. I’m crying because I’m overflowing with joy. Finally, after living all my life fraudulently, I now know who I am and what I want. I want you, Morgan. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”
Morgan was immensely pleased. Her dreams were coming true and her prayers were being answered. Myra’s proclamation was far more than she’d hoped for. It was not just an overture, it was the entire symphony. Morgan would help Myra weather the storm of divorce and guide her through the shoals of adjusting to a different lifestyle. She vowed to do all in her power to shield and protect Myra from the snickering and derogatory remarks and opprobrium Morgan knew their relationship would bring. She was completely in love with Myra and knew Myra would be a loving, caring, uninhibited, beautiful, intelligent, sexy, life partner.
A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 20