In this scene, Jacob and Normandie are visiting Los Angeles, and they decide to attend a game-show taping. (My fictitious game show is called Think! but the evocative illustration at right is a vintage still from Match Game.)
‘Remember,’ said Normandie. ‘No panties.’
‘Reminder appreciated but unnecessary.’
The lights went up on the stage, music began playing, and an announcer’s voice came over the PA system. While everyone around them came to life with the electricity of a television show about to occur before their eyes, Jacob felt a different type of electricity coursing through him, with Normandie the source. She brought his hand onto her thigh and gave him an impish look.
Her light summer skirt was just billowy enough that a hand could slip under it without unduly stressing the fabric. Whether a hand was or wasn’t making itself at home beneath this sort of skirt could be a woman’s own secret – and, of course, that of the hand’s owner.
With her bareness inviting him, it would have been easy for Jacob to tune out the hubbub of Think! – the drama, the music, the cheers. But that wasn’t how Normandie’s game was to be played.
‘We have to keep watching, OK?’ she said. ‘We have to pay attention to the game, and make it look like we’re just typical audience …’ she stroked his crotch ‘… members.’
‘Right.’ He winked at her, and, in perfect synchronization, they turned their heads to watch what was happening under the lights.
On the stage, three contestants raced each other for the privilege of answering various difficult questions.
In the audience, a man’s right hand found a path beneath some billows to encounter a friendly thigh.
On the stage, an emcee solemnly tested somebody’s knowledge of geography.
In the audience, Jacob navigated without a map.
The show went to a commercial.
Jacob’s hand went around back and fondled Normandie’s bottom, right where it met the vinyl seat.
The show returned to play another round, and Jacob’s hand returned from behind, easing its way around a naked hip.
Under the lights, the contestants made progress toward various prizes.
In the dark, Jacob made progress toward one specific prize.
They were getting close.
So was he.
On the stage, a contestant raised her fist triumphantly to celebrate a correct answer. ‘Yesss!’ she shouted.
In the audience, a woman spread her legs generously to welcome a wandering hand. ‘Yesss,’ she whispered.
The first-place contestant came forward to play a solo round. Slowly but surely, she made her way up a ladder of increasingly valuable questions.
Meanwhile, Jacob’s fingers played a solo on Normandie, leading her up a ladder of her own. She was dripping for him, and her lips and clit responded tremulously to every touch.
He needed to unzip, and she was squirming right on the edge.
‘Oh, Jacob.’ When she breathed his name in her moment of ecstasy, he thought he heard it echo all around him.
He did. ‘Jacob. Jacob Hastings,’ said the emcee. ‘You have been randomly selected from our audience today to help Marcy here.’
Inside his trousers, his erection twitched. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do now?’ his penis seemed to be asking him.