Naked Came the Stranger - By Penelope Ashe Page 0,70

meaningful. But, oh Gilly – the feel of your body, the warmth of your flesh. Oh Gilly, Gil-leeeee.

He called her the following morning from work. "I've got to see you, " he said. "I've got to explain to you why it has to end."

"You don't have to explain anything, Mel," she said.

"You just have to do what you know you want to do."

"No," he said. "That's just it. I can't. I can't be unfaithful to my wife."

"Sweetie," she said, and her voice was purring into the phone. "Why don't you just shut up?"

"Gilly," Melvin moaned. "Gilly."

"Look," she said, "I'm leaving for King's Neck in an hour." She told Melvin to take an early train and come straight to her house. "And face it, baby," she said.

"You're going to get laid."

Melvin Corby was like a somnambulist all the way to King's Neck. When he got into his car at the station, the trance turned into tension. He drove seventy miles an hour all the way to the Blake home. She was waiting in the living room for him – the very incarnation of desire in a diaphanous peignoir, with her hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders, her perfume scenting the room. She was sex, excitement, eternal woman. She was all of Melvin Corby's daydreams rolled into one incredible bundle. She was all the men's magazines he had ever read, all the pieces of ass Charlie Rider had ever talked about. She was Gillian.

Melvin stared wildly at her, his face burning, his hands shaking. No! his mind screamed inside itself. No!

"I can't," he said. "I can't. Don't your understand?"

She was breathing rapidly, her breasts rising and falling beneath the silken gown, her eyes burning into him, her tongue caressing her lips. "Sweetie," she said in a voice that was pure provocation, "do it to me."

"No!" and he was shouting it out loud. "No!"

Slowly, softly, her eyes never leaving him, she undid her robe and let it fall to the floor.

She simply stood there, the embodiment of Melvin's fantasies – a sex goddess in a black lace bra and panties, bikini-style underthings that overwhelmed Melvin with loin-swelling desire.

"I won't do it!" he shouted. "I won't do it!"

Gillian Blake stood in the center of the room, lithe and soft, the ultimate in ecstasy on a fluffy blue carpet. Then she started moving. First the bra, then slowly, ever so slowly – Oh Christ! – the panties.

"Please," Melvin cried. "Please!"

Her eyes were half closed, her body was alive as she moved toward him, twisting and undulating.

"I won't!" Melvin yelped. "You can't make me!"

She was directly in front of him now, her hands cupping her rose-tipped, thrusting breasts, her thighs and belly moving back and forth, her soft golden muff pulsing to take him.

"No!" Melvin screamed.

She reached out and unzipped him. "Now," she whispered, as her hands stroked and massaged his treacherous organ.

"No!" Melvin yelled. "I love my wife!" He pulled away and ran for the door. He was groaning and sobbing as he galloped down the walk to his car. Somehow he got inside and started the motor. Gunning the car home, he was without coherent thought – his mind was a twisting, turbulent whirlpool. He was still moaning as he rushed into his house. He was a nightmare apparition, his hair wild and his jacket open.

Myrna was at the stove. "Is that you?" she called. "I hope you're in a better mood. The girl is still sick. And David hurt his knee, and…."

Then she saw him. "What in the world?"

Melvin Corby stopped for a moment, and stared at his wife. She was perspiring from the heat of the stove, her hair was in curlers, her eyes bugged at him from behind her glasses, her body was an obstacle course of sharp angles, and the thought of going to bed with her made him sick.

"My God, Melvin," she said. "Zip your pants up!"

Snap! Something broke inside his head, and it seemed to Melvin that the sound must have filled the house.

"Goddamn you to hell!" he screamed. Bang! His first punch caught her in the mouth.

Neighbors on Selma Lane heard the shrieking and called the police. They stood outside their houses in groups and watched the police car drive up. Then they watched the ambulance. The ambulances – two of them. One for a battered, bewildered Myrna Corby, the second for the screaming strait-jacketed figure of Melvin Corby.

EXCERPT FROM "THE BILLY & GILLY SHOW," JUNE 5TH

Gilly: Did you notice the article in Time this