Chapter 2

Fast forward 15 years.

Not that my life was uneventful in those 15 years after high school. I went to college; I married, as I had hoped, a preacher; I had two children, Rachel and Stephen; and I became a pillar of the respectable, religious community of Arapaho, Kansas, population 3,000. But, now, age 33, I saw my life slipping away. I'd always been a romantic daydreamer and my daydreams were becoming more vivid and explicit, I made frequent recourse to the shower, hot water, and a hot hand.

I married my husband when I was 19. He was a preacher in a fundamentalist church. I assured him that I was pure as the falling snow – and to make sure he believed me I used an old Italian trick I read about in a book. I took a small vial of chicken blood to bed with me on our wedding night and spotted the sheets with it. Don had sundered my hymen with his unauthorized entry, but in my heart I was still a virgin. So, I was deceitful, but the ends justify the means, don't they? It was in the interest of becoming the perfect Christian wife – a Sunday school teacher and helpmate to my husband, modest and supine, eyes downcast unless looking up at him with love and admiration. We had a marriage made in heaven, two children, a girl and a boy, a dog named Spot, and a modest home on a quiet street. Hubby had an authoritative personality and I accepted his control without question. We were almost poor. Small town preachers don't make much money – and preacher's wives, none.

I wasn't sexually deprived. In fact my husband, six years older than me, set records for sexual performance. He fucked me every night, always quickly, always the same – missionary style – and I usually cummed. I was a willing and able receptacle of his emissions although I would have liked variety. During my periods I gave him blow jobs. When we married he regarded blow jobs as deviant and, thus, sinful but over the years he changed his mind and now he considered them an acceptable substitute for biblically-sanctioned vaginal sex. I suppose that was progress. But he had never touched his mouth to my clitoris.

I had two guilty pleasures during these 15 years. The first was reading smutty novels such as Peyton Place and Valley of the Dolls. I didn't take the risk of checking them out of the public library in Arapaho, but bought them on shopping trips to the larger town of Hickok. I kept the novels hidden from hubby and the children in a drawer (locked) of my sewing machine. Yes, believe it or not, I had a sewing machine!

My second guilty pleasure was Sue, my old friend from high school. She moved to Kansas City, married, divorced, and worked her way up to a very good job as an office manager for a sizeable company. She dyed her hair red to suit her personality. We talked on the phone every few months and met each other for coffee on my infrequent trips to Kansas City. My husband didn't approve of Sue so I didn't tell him that I was still in touch with her.

That sums up my life until 1983 when I was 33 and my husband needed an operation that would keep him in the hospital overnight. I accompanied him to the hospital in Kansas City. He woke up from the anesthesia groggy at mid-morning and promptly went back to sleep, so I called Sue and we arranged to meet for lunch. She was the same as ever – big and busty with a head of flaming red hair, and wearing a skirt that was short and tight and a blouse that was almost sheer. Sue had always been my opposite. I'm as quiet as a mouse and my assets are modest – a pretty face, a well-rounded bottom and 34A tits: fried eggs with an olive. I dressed like I had just escaped from a Protestant nunnery. At least, I hadn't gotten fat as had so many women of my age.

"Why don't you go out with me for a drink tonight?" Sue asked as we finished our lunch. I had shared with her during lunch some of my dissatisfaction and boredom. "It would do you good to have a little fun."

By "drink" I understood alcohol. I had never even had a taste of alcohol. "You don't have to drink booze," Sue added, with a laugh. "You can have a coke – or even order a Virgin Mary. That's a Bloody Mary without the vodka. Come on. It'll do you good."

"Well," I said with hesitation. "I'll have to be in the hospital this evening with my husband, but if I can get away for an hour or two ... maybe."

"Just call me," she said. "I'm planning to stay home tonight, but I'd love to show you a little bit of my life."

I spent the early evening at the hospital with my husband, willing him to fall asleep and he soon did so. I rushed to a pay telephone and called Sue. She met me at my hotel and drove me to our destination – a large well-lighted restaurant that advertised steaks and seafood. There was a bar with tables just off the entrance to the restaurant and even on a weeknight it was a popular place for unattached men and women. I had never been in a bar before. Kansas in those days didn't permit liquor to be sold by the drink, but we were in Kansas City, Missouri which had less stringent laws.

Sue was wearing a low-cut dress with spaghetti straps that showed impressive cleavage. I felt like Ms. Dowdy in my knee-length skirt and buttoned-up blouse. I loosed a button. Then two buttons. A hint of a white bra showed. We sat at a table and Sue ordered a gin and tonic and I ordered a diet Coca Cola. I was both frightened and fascinated, especially as men came by the table to say hello.

It wasn't long before Sue invited two good looking guys named Brad and Jerry to sit down with us. They were several years younger than we were – and I perceived that Sue knew both of them in the biblical sense – if you get my meaning. I was tongue-tied, but the other three kept up such a line of hilarious and obscene chatter that I began to feel comfortable. But hubby was on my mind. I excused myself for a moment, went to the pay phone near the door of the restaurant, called the hospital, determined that my husband was still fast asleep, and went back into the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. I didn't know what a gin and tonic was, but that was what Sue had ordered.

I sipped the drink slowly. It made me feel woozy but I actually participated in the conversation by saying a few words that made the others laugh. Sue and I took a trip to the bathroom and, in the way of women in water closets, she announced to me, "I'm going to take Brad home with me. What are you going to do with Jerry?"

"Oh," I said. "Ï couldn't..." But I realized, with a start, that I was tempted. Only the fear of my husband – fear of him more than God – stopped me from committing the sin of adultery. I ordered another gin and tonic when we returned to our table.

"Hey, guys," Sue said. "It's time to break this up. I have to work in the morning. Brad will see me home. How about you and Jerry?"

I looked at Jerry. He met my gaze. "I ... uh ... I'd better go back to my hotel. But I had a really good time,"

"Kiss Jerry good night," Sue prompted me. "And we'll drop you off at your hotel."

I got to my feet, stumbling and staggering. Jerry steadied me and pulled me into his arms and gave me a hug. Our lips met and lingered, and I detected a hardening in his pants. It was like an electric shock ran through me. I was speechless and I panicked. I pulled away from him and ran for the door, following Brad and Sue.

Sue helped me out of the car at the hotel. My head was spinning. I hugged Sue and then I hugged Brad to enjoy again the feel of a man pressed up against me. "Tell Jerry I'm sorry I ran away," I said to Sue.

"I will. He liked you," she said.

I waved goodbye to them and weaved my way into the hotel. My hand was utilized as I sobered up in the shower. Twice. I felt happy, really happy

That might have been end of my flirtation with the wilder side of life, but for a coincidence. I had, over the years, become involved in state-wide women's religious groups and I much enjoyed my excursions to meetings, conferences, and seminars. To my surprise, I was offered a seat on the Board of Directors of a Christian charity organization in Kansas City. I realized that the strong-minded President of the charity had asked me to be on her Board because she believed me to be a compliant cipher who wouldn't question her leadership. Nevertheless, I accepted with alacrity – subject, of course, to my husband's approval. The Board had quarterly meetings in Kansas City.

My husband and I prayed on the matter. He was perplexed at this show of wifely independence and accomplishment, but it was a prestigious charity and he might benefit from my association with it. He had dreams of one day escaping our little church to become a TV evangelist with a giant church. I never dared to even hint that he had reached the pinnacle of his accomplishment as a small-town preacher.

My good fortune continued. At my very first meeting with the Board the position of Treasurer was open for election. The President announced that not only would the Treasurer be required to attend the quarterly Board meetings, but she would also have to stay a second day in Kansas City to audit the accounts. The charity would pay expenses for meals and a modest hotel for the overnight stay. Nobody else wanted the unpaid job, so it took only an oblique reference to my experience as treasurer of a women's missionary group in Arapaho to get my name out in front of the other members of the Board. I was elected. God is good!

Thus, six months after my first nocturnal adventure, I came again to Kansas City overnight, alone this time, and Sue and I planned a evening out on the town. To my surprise, Sue told me Jerry was interested in seeing me again. I must not have been too much of a wet blanket during our first meeting!

I was excited – but nervous. What if my husband called the hotel that night and I wasn't in my room? (This was before the age of cellular telephones.) What excuse could I offer? I had to have a cover story prepared in case of need. Deceiving a spouse requires forethought and planning. I decided that the only credible story I had was a half-truth: I had met by accident an old friend and had gone out to dinner with her. I was already an adulteress in my mind.

I bought myself a new dress for the evening. It was subdued red in color, sleeveless, with a modestly scooped neck and a high empire waist that emphasized what little there was of my breasts. It fell to just above my knees. For most women it would have been a modest dress; for me it was racy. I gave my mousy hair a bit of a flip rather than my usual severe style and added a red lipstick that matched my dress. I was ready.