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The swapping the Wilkenses and Goodriches learned to savor began soon after Bob Wilkens poked his Polaroid camera through a knothole in the high redwood fence to snap a picture of a new neighbor, Susan Goodrich, as she sat naked by her poolside fondling a banana she had just removed from a fruit bowl. Though Susan didn’t eat the banana, Bob got some fine color prints.
And the orgies that followed were fine, too. As pointed out by Roger Blake, Ph. D., in his book Exhibitionism: ‘There is a world of difference between the sharing of adulterous guilt that wife-swappers of a decade or more ago accomplished in their key game trade-offs, and the outright orgies of today’s swinging group-sex kick. The difference can be summed up in two words—exhibitionism and voyeurism.”
It was hot! Damned hot! I stood in the shade of the patio at the rear of my home, a can of beer in my hand, and watched the tops of oleander bushes sway in the Santa Ana wind. Gusts of heated desert air licked over my naked flesh like a grass fire, drying the sweat from the matted blond hair of my chest and lower belly. The temperature in suburban El Cajon must be ten degrees higher than in downtown San Diego, I thought.
The wheezing old air conditioner in my office window had groaned to a halt at nine-thirty with a dry choking rattle. No repairmen were available. By noon I had fled the heat for a beer and a sandwich in Riley’s bar, and then driven home to relax in the darkened rooms of the house as cool as the waters of a mountain pool.
Helen was a guest at a luncheon and winter fashion show in Mission Valley, and I had the premises to myself. Setting the empty beer can down, I stepped out in the searing sunshine and walked slowly across the soft carpet of the lawn to the concrete apron of the pool. From the backyard of the corner house to my left came the loud splash of an inexpert diver doing a belly-flopper into the pool.
Neither Helen nor I had called on the young Goodrich couple who had moved in last week. I hurried over to the tall redwood fence and pried loose the large knot. Perhaps this young couple were nudists, too, like the elder Abner Goodrich and his wife. I put an eye close to the knothole… and clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a shout of delight. A naked young woman floated on her back in the middle of the pool, her large breasts bobbing and her long, black hair strung out behind her like a patch of seaweed. As I walked toward the house to get my binoculars …
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.