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surprise, then he responded to her excitement. Roughly he pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against him.
    Tentatively he let one hand cup her breast. He heard her breath quicken but she did not push him away as she always had. Emboldened by her lack of resistance, he slipped his hand into her dress and under her brassiere. He felt the warm flesh of her breast and the nipple hardening against his fingers. As he moaned and began to shiver, he felt himself straining painfully against his tight trousers. “JeriLee!” he groaned, pushing her back across the seat almost covering her with his body.
    He fumbled with her dress and one breast sprang free. He put his face down and took the thrusting nipple into his mouth. Grinding against her, his hardness pressed into her mound even through the cloth of his pants.
    The sensation was too exquisite. His orgasm took him by complete surprise. He shuddered spastically, his ejaculation flowing uncontrollably into his trousers. “Oh, Jesus!” he said. And stopped.
    For a moment she continued moving, her eyes closed tightly. Then she too stopped and opened her eyes.
    He stared into them. There was something in her expression he had never seen before. It was as if she had discovered and confirmed something she had always known. He sat up and looked down at her. He had soaked through his trousers and onto her dress. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “That’s all right,” she said quietly.
    “I lost my head. I stained your dress.”
    She sat up slowly. “Don’t worry,” she said. Suddenly she appeared very calm.
    “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
    “I know,” she said. “Now will you take me home?”
    “You’re not angry with me, are you?”
    “No, Bernie, I’m not angry with you,” she said softly. Then she smiled and kissed his cheek quickly. “Thank you.”
    “For what?”
    “For helping me to understand.”
    He drove her home without knowing what she meant.
    ***
    Oddly enough it was easier after that. Having confirmed her own worst suspicions about herself, she began to accept her own sexuality. Unfortunately she had no one to talk to. Her mother would be the last person in whom she would confide.
    Veronica was part of that prewar generation in which the rules were strict and simple. Good girls didn’t; bad girls were punished or made pregnant. In her own bed she was always reserved and proper. Even with her first husband, JeriLee’s father, who had the capacity to arouse her to a point almost beyond her control, she managed to stop just before she came to orgasm. And she never felt the lack. A good woman had many other things to occupy her mind. Sex was incidental; the important things were to keep a good home and bring up a proper family. And she was fortunate that her second husband was as conservative as she was.
    To his great disappointment, John Randall had not gone to war. He had volunteered but had always been turned down. And so while others left for the service he remained in his job at the bank and, as one of the few younger men, almost automatically gained promotions. Veronica Gerraghty had first come to work at the bank during the war while her husband was away. And even then he had been very impressed with her.
    She was not like most of the young married girls who told you how much they missed their husbands while hinting at dates and promising other things. She was quiet and pleasant and smiled often, but it was a friendly smile, not an invitation. After her husband came home he did not see her except when she would come to the bank to make a deposit or a withdrawal. On those occasions she would always stop at his desk and ask how he was. And she was always nice.
    Then tragedy had struck. Her husband had been killed in a car accident on the highway just out of town late one night. There were rumors about the accident. Bob had always been wild. And that night he had been drinking and was seen with a woman who was known to have a bad reputation.