Tools Of The Traders by Don Bellmore
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SOME WISE-ASS ONCE REMARKED THAT IF everybody were to hang their sex problems on a clothes line, side by side, and compare them, they might prefer to keep their own “dirty laundry.” If the people in Glencove ever tried that, the line would have to be very flexible, indeed.

Take Pam and Jerry Carter, for instance. They are the newest members of this blissful suburban community. When they moved into their comfortable ranch home, they expected to deal with crabgrass, commuting, and other hazards that go to make up suburbia. But they could hardly foresee the depravity lurking beneath the surface of Glencove, nor suspect how quickly it could spread, once the veneer was scratched.

Let’s look in on them on an average day.

Unaware of impending disaster, Pam is basting the roast she has prepared for dinner. With a nod of satisfaction, she returns it to the oven and turns down the temperature, then checks on her children, Jim and Sue, who are playing in the yard. They are only two years apart in age, but Jim, who is six, loves to lord it over Sue, who is a lowly four.

Not being equipped with eyes in the back of her head, (although the children often suspect differently), she neither sees nor hears Jerry sneaking up behind her, but he makes his presence felt by goosing her playfully …

“Oh, Jerry, you idiot! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“I know it,” he grinned, putting his arm around her. “I just couldn’t resist. You were such a tempting target, bending over like that. In fact, you look pretty good to me, period.”

Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.

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