The Adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine Read Online Free PDF

something special and she
need only wait to see what it was. There was something predatory about the performance
she had just witnessed, she thought as she continued down the street. The fog of
desire had clouded her vision. The dancing was lewd and somehow almost…masculine.
The dancer was physically splendid, but wasn’t she overly muscled? She stared directly
at her audience, she held their gaze as a man would do. There was nothing sweet or
coy about her striptease. By the time Holly had reached the intersection of Queen
Street and Edward she knew that she had been temporarily seduced. Striding through
the mall, she saw all the sweet, childish hearts, the pink and red roses in the shop
windows, the schoolchildren still in uniform holding hands. She was glad she had
resisted the purchase. If she had bought the tassels she would surely have worn them
to her date that evening and what would Jack have thought of her if he happened to
graze her breasts with the palm of his hand?
    Jack smelled of rum, maybe scotch. Holly rarely drank spirits and she was guessing
at the dark sweetness on his breath. Not just his breath; the smell seemed to rise
from his skin as she bent to sniff at his face. Sweet like molasses.
    He lay with his body turned towards her, his cheeks unshaven, the edge of his beard,
usually neatly trimmed, creeping out to the rest of his face. His shoulder was bare
where the sheet rested on it. She could see the skin above, the honey of his tan,
the clearly defined muscles. She had admired his shoulders often when they swam but
essentially his body was a mystery. To be admired only from a distance as he dragged
himself, wet as a fish, out of the salty chlorine of the pool.
    She saw now that his neck held secret hollows, a certain tension of the muscles with
the young skin stretched smooth across them, even now in this deep sleep. She noticed
a pulse in the hollow behind the raised muscle; he was alive then. He had not drunk
himself to death, only into unconsciousness.
    She sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were cool against the palms of her hands
as she smoothed them out at her side. There was a slight breeze from the window.
She could hear Jack’s mother washing the dishes. Marilyn had smiled at Holly so gently
when she opened the door.
    ‘Oh darling,’ she had said with that sad smile touching her pretty dark eyes. ‘He
was going to take you out for Valentine’s Day, wasn’t he?’
    Holly had nodded. She was wearing her best dress, deep blue. Her bra was pale blue
lace, not that he would ever see it, but it made her feel good to wear her best underwear
on a date. Her stockings had equally lacy tops snapped into a suspender belt. She
had decided not to wear any underpants. Perhaps his hand would graze her hip and
he would wonder. Even if he kept his usual, respectful distance it made her feel
bold to know she was completely bare—down there.
    ‘Sweetheart, he came home in a terrible state. You young people and your parties.
You can go up and see him if you like, but he only just got home a few hours ago.
He was rather a long way under the weather, I’m afraid. I couldn’t even rouse him
for coffee. I’m sorry dear.’
    Holly had climbed the stairs, her dress trailing, catching on the balustrade. He
had dropped her home. She was tipsy. He was still sober enough to drive. What had
happened after she left him? Had he gone back to the party? Had he gone on to a bar?
Arriving home so late in the afternoon?
    She opened the door and the smell was distinctly masculine: the alcohol, his feral
breath, his skin. She had entered as if tiptoeing into the den of some wild animal,
only to find him sleeping so deeply that he might have been dead, bled out in the
quiet of his lair.
    She reached out to touch his shoulder, pressed her palm against the muscles of his
arm. Solid, real, her Jack, only transformed through sleep into someone vulnerable.
    She touched the skin above his lip, felt the gentle outward breath