Passion Ph.D

Chapter 1 In her dream she lay naked to the warm morning sun, yet she was pleasantly chilled. Her eyes were tightly closed against the new light and she felt, rather than saw, the little goose bumps that were rising on her body. She shivered deliriously. Why was she chilled? Oh yes, now she understood: she was lying in a cool mountain stream, the water rushing not too swiftly all over her. She smiled as she felt the pleasant, gentle touch of the water. But something was happening: the water wasn't so cool any more. It was quickly warming up and the warmth entered her flesh. Goose bumps melted away. She could scarcely tell the difference between the warm water and her own body. Then there was no difference. She and the water were one and the same. She had turned to liquid. She herself was the warmly flowing water, twisting, turning, coursing through the stream bed. She was no longer warm. She was boiling, sparkling, and bubbling, and she felt so good. Her warmth increased as she flowed even faster, turning on her bed, gasping with pleasure. She was warmer now, approaching the boiling point. Smooth pebbles brushed over her where her breasts should be, and then- She awakened abruptly. She was lying on her right side in her huge Japanese bed, and a man's hand was gently caressing her left breast. She had gone to bed alone. With a startled cry,-she reached behind her and grasped a hard masculine leg. "Shouldn't leave your door unlocked, lady," a male voice murmured. "Jack, you fool!" "Anybody could come in. Some poor maniac like me. He's been hanging around for weeks, months, years. He knows that a beautiful woman with rich auburn hah-and boobs like cantaloupes lives here. He bides his time. He tries to hold himself back-" "Will you let go of me!" He wouldn't. His fingers left her breast to trace her shaking waist. She tried to lock her knees, to drag his hand away, but he persisted and her needs overruled her. With a sigh, she relaxed and let him play as he pleased. "Finally he can't stand waiting any longer," Jack went on. "At some likely hour, he tries the door. It's unlocked. Silently he enters. He creeps through the living room. Through the dining room. Down the hallway. At last he finds milady's chamber...." Why does he have to do this? she wondered. Why am I letting him? She was at cross-purposes with herself. A passionate woman, her desire was always ready to be fired, but increasingly she found herself weary of that. She would rather go to bed alone and awaken alone. It wasn't as if she truly loved someone and was loved in return. Loving, reduced to its lowest common denominator, had become a bore. And yet she was reaching out to hold him as he held her. Male and female primary characteristics yearned for completion. "He sees her lying there asleep," Jack whispered huskily. "She's stark naked and unbelievably beautiful, far more so than he had ever realized. Breasts like great gobs of cherry-topped ice cream. Her waist a veritable campus for the romp of love. "What can the poor devil do? Naturally love, lust, passion, is aroused. He can hardly contain himself. He strips of his clothes, every last stitch, mind you, and he flings himself down beside her. He clutches her, nibbles her, kisses her. He devours the cherry-topped ice cream, he scampers over the campus...." She groaned and tugged at him. For the first time that morning she looked at him: a slim, dark, thin-cheeked young man, a few years younger than she. He was wiry, intense, and at this moment, attractively virile. "What are you waiting for, maniac?" "One more look at the lovely landscape." He bent and gave her a flickering kiss. "If you're going to love me, hurry!" she commanded, panting, and she reached for him. He didn't need her guidance, but his first actions seemed to go on forever, and then they were lying quietly in one another's embrace. "A moment's more respite?" he asked when their breathing had calmed. "No. No, go on." He went on and she went with him. But not entirely with him. Why? she asked herself. What's the use, if this is all there is to life? The same old rituals, the same old responses. Pleasant enough in a way. therapy for jangled nerves, a relief from the glandular and psychic pressures.... But is that all? Is that all biology affords? It's like living on hamburgers; pleasant enough at first, but eventually one gets the feeling that somewhere there ought to be something called steak. Their pace increased. Oh, you're good, good, good, she thought. Oh, I like that. But is this all there is? She wanted to sob, she wanted to Deg tor something more, something that would fulfill her. She wanted tn scream for him to stop, to go away, to leave her alone. And at the same time she was thinking, oh I like that, I like him. I like what he's doing, oh he's good and good and good- And she was barely aware of speaking aloud, telling him what he was doing and urging him to make her do something else. And she yelled that her final moment was arriving- Then that moment was there and she was thrashing wildly. And he stiffened- And that was over. Sadly, meaninglessly, futilely over. One more culmination. So what? "Good?" he asked. "That was nature being natural." As soon as he had rolled away from her, she fished beside the low Japanese bed for a cigarette. She lit it, took a couple of puffs, and made a face. "You might at least give a woman a chance to brush her teeth first." "I didn't try to kiss you, did I? Wasn't that thoughtful of me?" She made another face, gave him the cigarette, and went to the bathroom. Why the hell did he have to come here? she wondered as she stood under the cool shower. She heard him on the other side of the curtain, using the washbasin, and she resisted the temptation to ask him to soap her back. If she did, he'd be at her again. She stepped from the tub-shower. It was a mammoth sunken thing meant to hold at least two adults, a veritable junior size swimming pool, as she sometimes thought of it. Yet it took up but one corner of a bathroom in which one could have mounted a couple of pool tables. She felt better, but not much. Why had he come? To take advantage, she thought testily. But of course that wasn't fair. They were friends. He liked her and she liked him. Very much. But it was time to break up the combination. She returned to the bedroom. Jack had opened the curtains and slid back the long glass wall of the room so that it was entirely exposed to the outdoors. Still naked, he stood on the veranda and smoked a cigarette as he gazed at the lawn. The lawn itself was surrounded by a high impenetrable hedge, some poplars, and a wire fence-and she had forgotten to lock the damned door! "Better get dressed," she said. "Or five minutes from now you're going to look pretty silly walking down the street in the nude." "Don't I even get any breakfast?" he asked. She relented. "Oh sure, if you'll cook for both of us." "Come out here," he said, smiling. "So I can hold you." It was a good cue, she decided, for her to say what she had to say and be done with it. "Jack, that was the last time." He glanced at her sharply, measured her seriousness. "What brings this on, Leslie?" "I think you know. What good is that?" "Well, good in itself." She took his cigarette and puffed on it as she shook her head. "No more. Do you remember how we got started?" "Yeah?" His voice was small and he made the word a question. "You had your lost love and hadn't been able to get over her. I tried to help you. I've tried on and off for almost three years, since soon after I came here. I suspect I've failed." "Now, don't tell me every time we've loved you've been doing a Florence Nightingale. And don't tell me that's simply been your field work as a professional biologist." "Of course not." She took his arm and leaned against his shoulder. "But that's no good for me or for you. We've degenerated into ritualists, and I'm too old for that kind of thing. So are you. And you don't love me. Jack hesitated before replying. "What's love?" There was a hint of bitterness in his tone. "I don't know. Biology doesn't completely explain it. Neither does psychology. Nor religion nor anything else. But my God!" Her voice rose. "There's got to be something!" "It's not another man, then." "No." "And that damned Audrey hasn't turned you into a Lesbian?" She laughed weakly. "Oh, no!" "Then don't shoo me off entirely, sweetie. You may want me back." "It's better to break off clean." "Without even warning me that that was to be the last time?" "Definitely." "Once more, sweetie. Here, on the grass." He took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out "No, please, Jack." "You've brushed your teeth, now give me that morning kiss." He didn't give her time to object. The arms she had been holding swept around her bare waist, encircling her and drawing her to him. Her legs met his, her breasts flattened against his chest. Their lips met. She tried to make it a kiss and no more than a kiss, but when his lips played delicately, pressed harder, she felt hers responding to the warm flutter of desire. She hated herself for having become so attuned, so responsive, to him. His left hand was on her right breast, lifting, flexing, drawing toward the nerve center, and new warmth flooded her. Pressing against him, she became aware of his own returned desire. "Oh, Jack, no." Her protest was weak, as weak as her knees at this moment. He didn't heed her. He pushed against her seductively. "Oh, you rat, Jack." "You see, you may need me sometime. As I need you now." His lips returned to hers, his hand left her breast. It traveled unhurriedly across her body. He made her shake in his arms like a young aspen. Carefully, never releasing her, he led her down from the porch to the grass. She was faint and her eyelids fell, almost closed. When they stopped, she let her knees give way. Kneeling, she grasped his legs and kissed him, deeply. He toppled her backward and moved to her. She looked at him and now she longed for what she saw. He didn't make her wait long. He rushed ahead, tentatively, exploratively. With a single sigh, he took her. And even as she moaned with pleasure, she wondered what the hell was the use. After breakfast, a shower, and loving for the third time, Jack Home left. He offered to give Leslie a lift to the university, but she declined. She wanted to be alone for a while, or at least not near Jack. Their morning session had left her nerveless and numb. Once would have been all right in spite of her negative feelings about the whole thing. At least that was relaxing, if she still needed relaxing after a good night's sleep. Twice wasn't bad; in fact, the second had really been better than the first. But why in hell had she yielded to Jack's urgings the third time? It just went to show how you could condition one person's body. But how was she to become deconditioned? Find another man? Prowl around? Such ideas didn't appeal to her in the slightest. She couldn't help wondering if she weren't thinking along the lines of a self-pitying brat. The vast majority of the women m this world might well envy her. She was Leslie Stanton, Ph.D. in biology, and a leader in her field. She had won every major award available by the time she was thirty-one. She had a position at a small but extremely well-endowed liberal arts and sciences university, one of the best in the midwest or, for that matter, anywhere. Her job was virtually a sinecure: she delivered a lecture now and then, conducted some graduate and staff seminars, attended others, and had most of her time free for her own research and experimentation.