Chapter 17 A: Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Sharon was barely able to move by the time the plane had taxied to the gate in the early hours Sunday morning. Terrified of how it would feel if any of the other passengers bumped against her, the white housewife remained buckled into her seat, trying to ignore the other passengers, many of whom were still watching her with obvious suspicion, or in fewer cases, concern.
She closed her eyes, willed herself to relax, knowing that the tension in her body was only making her discomfort worse. And resisting the urge to ask the woman beside her for another pain pill. She spent several minutes doing some of the meditation she had learned in Yoga classes in what seemed like another life from years before. For awhile she managed to think of nothing. But not for long. Never for long enough. She was embarrassed at having made a scene during the flight.
She could not believe she had lurched upright against the belt like that, crying out her daughter's name... She wanted to deny it had really happened, but she knew better. She wanted to be angry; Catherine was simply too smart to let herself be... Sharon snorted, hiding her eyes with her hand at the ridiculous thought. How should her younger less experienced daughter avoid something she had obviously been unable to see coming, much less escape after the fact. She tried a calming breath. Her daughter had enjoyed sex with a black boy... no, a black man. Sharon was embarrassed that she had an all too intimate knowledge of just how good that could feel... and with that specific young man, no less. She chewed her lip, wondering what it was that Trevor was playing at. She told herself he was just another horny teenaged kid and her daughter was beautiful, that his wanting her was perfectly natural. She blushed, wondering if jealousy was part of the problem she had with them doing... that.
"Ma'am?" Sharon's reverie was interrupted by the flight attendant. Sharon looked up, realizing belatedly that the rest of the plane was empty. She felt a renewed flash of resentment that her seatmate and Dave had not nudged her, or taken steps to help her off of the plane. "I'm sorry, but it's time to exit the aircraft." Sharon nodded, mumbled an apology, and gingerly released her seatbelt. The pain was still there, but distant, as if felt through a cottony cloud. She was cautious, though, afraid that movement might make it spark up. She paused in the aisle, feeling lost. Her thoughts were hard to form, and impossible to keep focused. Had she had a carry on? She looked at the overhead bins, which were empty. Sharon looked back down to see her oversized purse peeking from under the seat.
"Glad you remembered that," the flight attendant smiled, although Sharon could tell she wanted her to hurry along. She seemed unable to keep from eyeing Sharon's chest, as well. "It would be kind of hard to drive home if you left your keys." Sharon nodded and smiled, although the statement made her worry about how she was going to get home. Dave had brought her car, she thought... She hoped he would still be at the baggage carousel, the thought spurring her to move faster up the jet way after passing by the impressed appraisals of the pilot and copilot.
The eyes that made her shiver, though, were those that belonged to the airport employee waiting in the end of the jet way with a pushcart trash bin. He was older than the college aged ZB, but with his coal black skin Sharon immediately wondered if he knew who she was... if he was a ZB alum. The movement of her shirt over her unfettered breasts hurt-- the fabric was stretched tight-- but Sharon did not bring her arm up to support her aching chest; did not even think about it..
She was distracted by a vivid mental image of the man bending her over the push cart, hammering into her from behind while the flight crew watched in amazement. The pulse of arousal that accompanied the thought spread up her torso from her sex to her breasts, and seemed to become an ache that left the medicated white housewife wondering if her chest would ever feel right again.
She moved past, the slight incline of the aisle feeling mountainous. As she exited the jet way, searching momentarily for Dave or the brunette woman, Sharon brought her arm up without thinking about it, and realized the position helped to support her breasts. It felt better not having the fabric tight against her nipples, but she knew she could not very well walk down the concourse to the baggage claim like that. She giggled at the mental image of sauntering down the busy concourse topless, then dropped her arm, maneuvering carefully, not wanting to bump into anyone as she made her way down the walk to the carousel. At least it was not as big or as busy as the mid-continent airport where the family usually flew when they went on vacation.
Dave and the brunette were standing together when Sharon made it to the claim area. Bags were already coming off of the conveyor and beginning to circle. She thought she saw her little bag, but the last thing she wanted to do was wade into the jostling crowd. She drifted toward the others, but remained apart, waiting for any signal from the ZB.
He collected his full size bag and the brunette's mid sized bag, then stepped back, draping an arm around the other woman, seemingly unaware of Sharon's presence. Sharon waited until the gaps were getting larger and there were only a few bags left before she moved up, trying to plan how she was going to hoist her bag without hurting herself. She was relieved when an older man offered to grab her bag if she would point it out. He nearly missed it when she did, a moment later, though, because he was staring at her chest. Sharon managed to bring her shoulders back and smile, offering a thank you for his help, even though she knew why he had offered in the first place.
She was glad the bag had multidirectional wheels, making it easier to manage as she stepped up to the others. She hoped Dave would drop her straight off at home, and was certain she could sleep for a week. When Dave started off, she and the other woman followed without a word. He loaded everyone's bags into Sharon's Range Rover, then helped the other woman into the back, which left Sharon wondering if she was going to be expected to blow him on the trip home.
"Sharon, I don't know if you and Mary have been formerly introduced," he started, once they had exited the airport, paying the parking with cash from Sharon's purse, of course, "This is Mary Gardner," Sharon nodded, forcing a smile, "She liked watching what you do so much she decided to do it, herself." Sharon wondered if her surprise was obvious. She guessed not, because Mary was blushing. Sharon became distracted, thinking that the brunette looked the exact way Sharon felt. Although she was not sure how any woman could decide she wanted to be a BZ Bitch, she found herself empathizing with the other woman's plight. They were sort of twins.
"What does your husband think you were doing?" she asked. Mary laughed,
"Oh, I'm not married anymore... I'm divorced. We married right out of high school and when he started cheating on me I ignored it... Until he found someone he decided he loved more. After the divorce was final," she shrugged, "Well, I decided I was going to see what it was I'd missed." Sharon nodded, and it almost made sense. She was jealous that the woman did not have the obvious hook of a husband for the ZB to use to make her keep putting out, but she knew without doubt there would be some kind of 'encouragement' if it became necessary. The way the woman was fawning over Dave, though, she doubted the slut needed much encouragement, and the thought was hard to keep focused, anyway.
Such thoughts evaporated as she realized they were driving past the clinic where Sharon had gotten her IUD placed. She looked over, and was certain Dave was watching her, so she studiously offered no indication that she had ever been in that area of town before. She was puzzled about their route, then remembered Mary in the back. She shook her head, aware that she felt almost drunk. She giggled.
Mary shook her head, "What a lightweight," Sharon giggled again at the other woman's statement. "I don't know why she's such a hit." Sharon sagged against the door, her head turned sideways against the headrest. She watched absently as Dave shrugged at the brunette's words.
"Oh, she's special all right," he assured Mary, then looked at Sharon and winked, "You aren't jealous, are you?" Sharon giggled at that, and at Mary's pointed silence. "Are you really trying to tell me you did not get enough over the weekend?"
"Well..." she heard the other woman answer as she shifted in the back, "When you get used to it, going without kind of..." Dave chuckled and nodded. He slowed, signaled, and turned into an upscale neighborhood. Sharon glanced about, registered that she knew relatively where they were, but had never been there.
Dave sounded like a TV detective breaking the case, "I guess it's a good thing, then," and then he paused.
"What?" Mary asked from the backseat. He gestured as he made another turn, carrying it through the new street and pulling into the long driveway. Sharon looked around. There were saw several cars parked along the sweeping circle drive. "What's going on?" Mary sounded alarmed. Dave shrugged.
"That pool was too good to ignore," he told the surprised brunette, "Some of the guys opened it back up and they've been throwing a party while we were in Vegas.
"But... I mean... Well, okay," she seemed worried about saying the wrong thing, "But how did you... I mean..." Dave laughed. "We have our ways," he assured Mary, "Right, Shar?" Sharon nodded her head like a rag doll..
"Nice house," Sharon slurred, and giggled again. There was a ZB decal on one of the garage windows. She saw frat members running about in various stages of undress and distantly wished she was having fun at the party. Maybe that's why there were there... She started to sit up, but a vague pain convinced her to stay put. The frat members' bodies were steaming in the cold air when they came out of the house or pool.
"Uhm, thank you?" Mary was obviously uncertain whether the blonde housewife was being serious.
