Chapter 15: The White Witch of Walden - Prelude I

(This is the last part in a series of three novelettes that I've come to think of as "The Addicted Natural Trilogy," making up the rather protracted tale of how I caved in to the evils of temptation on several occasions and found myself in a somewhat enviable - albeit undeniably sinful - condition. If the various sections of this tome somehow find themselves scattered in the electronic spectrum, I'm afraid I must insist that you somehow locate the first two parts and peruse them as a reading assignment. "The Addicted Natural" contains the first several chapters of our story, and "Dee's Diary" makes up the next part.)

Now, before I can begin this, the strangest and most fascinatingly dramatic episode of the group, I must really spend a few chapters putting affairs in order, so to speak. For the events leading up to my introduction of the White Witch contain emotional, philosophical and prurient aspects that are essential to our plot. I'm sure that once you begin to understand how our new protagonist will come to interact with Brenda, Dee and yours truly, that the "setup" will be well worth your while. And then, obviously, if I'm going to introduce a new protagonist, I will also to have to come up with a new antagonist as well. And this next villain (however short his part in the drama may be) will, I assure you, certainly live up to your greatest expectations. But that, as I say, is for later.

I really need to address the four distinct relationships that existed at the house by the lake; those being my relationship with my lovely wife, hers with Dee, Dee and me, and the most important relationship of all, the rather more complicated state of affairs that existed between the three of us as a unit. These I will discuss in rather colorful prose, I promise.

But first I feel compelled to defend myself in the eyes of the reader. I suppose, if I'm going to give my side of things, I should revisit that fateful day that I first had my way with Dee sexually. You've heard her version, and I must admit that she made a rather accurate account of it; but now it's time you heard "the rest of the story." It certainly set the tone for the months that followed, and so I'll call your attention back to that day. But even before THAT, I think I'll do a bit of physical observation.

How to go about it... After careful consideration, I've decide to use that most abused of all literary vehicles: The Vignette. Bear with me.

A CLOSER INTRODUCTION OF CHARACTERS

Yes, I guess it's true (as pointed out in Dee's Diary), I AM just a touch heavier than my true fighting weight, especially after Dee began preparing her gourmet meals; but she (with some suggestions from Brenda) soon switched to a more health-conscious fare; plus I started working out in our exercise room three times a week. I've dropped the weight I added since we moved here, and now I've put a good dent on the original 15 pounds. And Yes, I guess I DO have a "distinguished" hairline, but it doesn't seem to be hurting my love life, as I'll discuss more explicitly in the near future.

Brenda, as both Dee and I have mentioned, is a very attractive lady. She's petite, and while her figure is exceedingly nice, she's small and sort of "little-girlish" at times. I admit it's always been a bit of a turn-on for me. Her hair, long, straight, heavy, black and shiny, gives her an almost exotic, oriental persona. She's young, effervescent, and extremely intelligent (or at the very least, extremely sharp-witted), and I've always found her personally, intellectually, emotionally and sexually challenging; which is why I love her. I would never think of changing any of those traits, though we both know I have the power to do so. To alter who she is through hypnosis would be to change the thing I most love in this world. And so, yes, we have our little disagreements, but not very often. I listen to her views always. That's because she has an uncanny way of being right about things, especially emotional things. You'll see what I mean when I tell you about the bombshell suggestion she made regarding Dee later in the next chapter.

Dee, for her part, is a true enigma. About five foot-five, wavy red hair, pale complexion with a smattering of freckles highlighting a smallish nose, and delicate, thin lips that turn up or down as various moods strike her. Bright, brown eyes that reflect a profound hidden intelligence when they aren't cast submissively downward. She has a slender waist atop generous hips; but it's her abundant breasts that attract the eye like a magnet. Women's eyes as well as men's. I really enjoy watching people watching HER when we all go out in public. Some women are just like that. They have a feature that makes it almost impossible to look away. I guess I've always been a breast-man. And judging from all those looks, there are a lot of us out there.

And now, a short word about hobbies. There's a fine line between a hobby and insanity. It's another accurate observation that, while a hobby is infinitely interesting to the person who engages in it, discussing it is, at best, only mildly tolerable when conversing with someone who even shares that diversion. It is, at worst, monumentally boring when discussing it with someone who does not. I have two (not counting my recent propensity for collecting women). You've already been introduced to the first. And while philatelists and numismatists may rank pretty high on the old Boring Scale, they don't hold a candle to bibliophiles. So, thankfully, I won't talk to you about book collecting. I won't talk to you about the second hobby, either. Have you guessed what it is? The clues were all there. I fish. Always have. Ever since I was a boy, and my Uncle Charlie took me out on Michigan after walleye and I hooked into an eight-pounder... But no, I promised. I won't talk about it. But it does explain my interest in Dee's lake house, doesn't it?

A couple months after we moved there, I bought a new Ford F250 extended-cab 4X4 with a tow package. I had to have something to tow, so I bought a nice (and I mean NICE) bass boat with a trailer. A big 5-man alpine tent, a king-size air mattress and a double sleeping bag, and the three of us were ready to strike out on some camping & fishing trips at other lakes in the area. (This has relevance to our story, I promise.)

THE DAY I BANGED MY WIFE'S BEST FRIEND

"Brenda, are you out of your MIND?!" I implored over the breakfast table.

She'd put on her "tolerant-sexy" face for the discussion, which, in my book, ranks somewhere between her "serious-sexy" face and her "pleading-sexy" face. She blinked at me (which was more like batting her eyes), and reached across the table to hold my hand.

"Freddy, I just KNEW you were going to react like this!" she chided. "You shouldn't. I KNOW you like her. I caught you starring at her three times last night."

"I thought I did an admirable job of keeping my eyes off the wench," I retorted. "And I wasn't staring, I was leering. There's a difference. That's just what men do. But it doesn't mean she's prettier than you are. In fact, if you're jealous, there's absolutely no reason to be. I think you're much more attractive."

"Oh Freddy, you're such a silly goose sometimes! I'm not jealous! I'm just practical. You want her, I can tell. I'm offering to let you have her, that's all. In fact, I'm going to insist on it."

"You'll 'insist' on nothing of the sort, my dear." Ever since this weird conversation had begun, I'd found I couldn't keep the image of Dee's tits out of my mind. Brenda's suggestion of hypnotizing her and taking her sexually had caught me completely off guard. I had never cheated on my wife, and I had no intention of doing so now. I told her so.

"You're very sweet, darling," she answered, changing to her "demure-sexy" face. "But I think it's hardly cheating if I insist you do it."

I sighed. I could have been much more logical in my arguments if I could just manage to get that vision of Dee's mammary glands out of my cerebellum. "What makes you think she really wants to make love to ME?" I implored.

"She doesn't."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, not yet. Not until you hypnotize her and convince her that she loves you."

After staring unbelievingly at her for a long minute, I had to make a conscious effort to close my mouth. "You're crazy!" I said. "That's rape!"

"No, it's not," said the imploring-sexy face across from me. "She may not want it, but she NEEDS it. Once she loves you, THEN she'll want it. And after she's HAD it, then she'll LOVE it!"

This was rapidly turning into an X-rated George Burns - Gracie Allen dialog. I took a deep breath and consciously pushed the image of the offending jugs out of my mind. They bounced back in like a pair of obnoxious water balloons.

"Brenda, I don't know anything at all about this girl. I only met her twelve hours ago. I don't know if I WANT to make love to her."

"Liar!" said the amused-sexy face.

"I don't even know her last name!"

"Neither do I."

Time for another gawking silence.

She sat back in her chair and put on a face that was a cross between her "logical-sexy" look and something entirely new. I'd come to recognize it in the next several months when she talked about Dee (and even later when she would speak about the White Witch). It was empathy. But this was the first time I'd seen it in this context, and it really caught me by surprise.

"Freddy," she said imploringly, "Dee's a very complex person. I've only known her for a few days myself, but in that time we've formed a bond that I've never had with another person. I think she's the best friend I've ever had, and I think I'd do just about anything to keep that friendship alive for as long as I can." She paused to let that sink in.

"She's an extremely private person," she continued. "I know I could find out more about her, but I also know she doesn't want me to. I respect that, out of friendship. She DID tell me some things about herself; but again, I don't want to tell you, even though I know you could make me if you wanted to. But I don't think you will, because I know you respect ME the way I respect HER. And I know that tonight, when you have her completely in your power, you won't pry into her private life because of that respect."

"I'll just rape her!" I said sarcastically. She ignored the comment.

"I think I CAN tell you a few things without betraying her trust. She's had one lover, but she was never really IN love with him at all; and he most certainly never loved her. He betrayed her." She paused again. "And her father beat her."

"Beat her?"

"Horribly. With a whip. Her back is covered with scars. I saw them when we showered at the health club."

I thought about that quietly for moment. "Do you think we could convince her to press charges against the sadistic bastard?"

She shook her head. "Her parents both died suddenly a few months ago. Now, she's all alone, and she believes that she'll never be with a man again because of her disfigured back. You see, she's never had real love. That's what you can give her tonight. You can give her the gift of love. Not yours; you can give her the ability to love a man; to love YOU. She's read about it; she's seen it in movies. But she's never really experienced the emotion herself. Just for tonight, you can give her that emotion; you can let it overwhelm her, let her revel in it; and then you'll let her make love to the man she loves. It's her greatest emotional need. And you have the power to give it to her."