At the unmistakable metallic sound of a zipper being ripped open and the harsh cry in a voice which bore no resemblance to her husband's, Sandi's dream-like illusion shattered into a thousand pieces.

It's not Verne! she realized. It's Larry Johnson! Oh God, oh God! How could he do this… how could I let him get away with it?

Pulling her wits together as best she could, the despairing blonde housewife forced her eyelids open. Not more than six short inches above her nakedly splayed body, her husband's best friend was extracting the enormous, glistening red shaft of his penis from his unfastened fly. It was so close to her that she could see the tiny pearl of over-eager pre-cum on the mushroom-shaped glans, and as she stared, paralyzed with shame and fear, it seemed to lengthen before her very eyes.

Adultery! Adultery! the voice in her mind screamed. How could you have committed this unforgivable sin just when poor Verne's had an accident?

The guilt-stricken young wife tried to defend herself, but before she could coordinate her passion-weakened muscles, the piercing ring of the telephone turned her blood to ice and she froze with her legs still half lifted in preparation to kick at her assailant. Larry also knelt stock-still, his Levi's bunched around his knees and his powerful erection thrusting out straight as an arrow from his loins. Both their heads whirled toward the dark hallway, their disoriented eyes staring at the shrilling phone.

Sandi came to her senses first, and began kicking out her legs and pummeling her balled-up fists against Larry's menacing figure.

"Get away from me!" she choked out. "Let me answer the phone!"

There was a huge lump of guilty fear clogging her throat which made it very difficult to speak, for she was positive that it must be the hospital ringing to say that Verne was dead. I've killed him! her mind shrieked, for by now she was far too intoxicated and shocked to be rational. It's all my fault that he's dead!