Balinese Shadow Puppet Tales

By ElizabethLinJohnson All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Erotica


A Chinese/Philippine girl grows up poor in a dysfunctional family. The family settled in Tropicana Village a vast low income subdivision on the East side of Santa Clara Valley, California, before it became Silicon Valley. In January, 1966 her future husband, stops her on the sidewalk as she walks home from her bus stop after school. She is 16. He just moved next door, is white and is five years older. On her 17th birthday she is engaged to him and at 18, they marry. Once engaged he takes responsibility for her life including saving her virginity until marriage. She in return obtains security and escape from her dysfunctional family and vows to be the loyal wife and super mom. Instead she becomes a serial adulteress.

Chapter 1: Prologue

While not written to be pornographic there are many explicit descriptions of sex not appropriate for minors. Only adults should read this book.

I apologize for the graphic and salacious descriptions but they are integral to the wantonness and adultery which occur.

While explicit, it is written to avoid use of vulgar words except in a few instances necessary for a particular uncouth character.

Chapter 1, Prologue To Adultery

It was long ago but for me, not so long ago. On an early October, 1975 evening, I crossed a forbidden threshold. Although 25-years old, married and raising 2 children, I was young, a girl, not yet a woman,

That evening, I backed out of our home’s driveway, glanced from the rear-view mirror to the kitchen window and saw him, my husband. He watched me leave, just like Mom did when Dad drove off. At the curb, I looked away and drove off too, uncertain but determined not to turn back. I asked myself.

I’m like Dad?

But answered.

No, it’s only dinner and a movie.

My rationalization a lie, I was no longer a faithful wife. I was meeting a man not my husband and the father of my children, evidence of premeditated betrayal in my purse.

Leaving my Mountain View, California neighborhood, I turned onto the El Camino Real, the commercial thoroughfare connecting the peninsula cities from San Francisco to San Jose. As I drove among the congestion, I mused about life, my life.

I was a poor a girl, taught by Catholic nuns, was going to be one! He stopped me as I walked home on the sidewalk from my bus stop, me, only 16, an Asian, he white, five years older.

He’s the only man I’ve ever kissed.

Engaged with parent’s acquiescence on my seventeenth birthday, I gave my underage consent, for security, to escape my dysfunctional family, because I didn’t know how to say no. He assumed control, ensured my virginity on the altar. A year later, we married, I 18, he 23.

I’ve never known another. Now 25, I’m meeting my first real date. I’m being me at last.

Conversing with myself between stop lights, I rewrote my personal history to justify meeting a man, a man not my husband.

Approaching Michael’s restaurant in Sunnyvale, however, my rationalized confidence dissipated, replaced with timid reality and worry.

I’m risking my marriage, family, my safe world. I should go home.

I knew I wouldn’t. I was adrift, on remote, led by a yearning set loose, something long repressed, now free. I didn’t know where or how it would end. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I just went heart forward.

Familiar with the restaurant from driving past, I’d never eaten there. Its outside decor proclaimed it too upscale for our family budget. Going in was entering unfamiliar terrain, economic, social and moral.

I was scared but fear was part of the enticement. Scanning the parking lot from across the street I wondered if he even came with a false hope he didn’t. There it was, his black Porsche, parked in front of the entrance. Knowing I shouldn’t but no longer in control, I turned in.

Parked, I calmed myself and checked my lipstick in the mirror.

Assured, no pleased, with my reflection, I recommitted myself, smiled confidence, clambered out and hastened to the entrance. I strode forward, my small black purse strung on a shoulder, my knees visible in the red sequined mini dress. My heels clicked on the pavement with each step declaring my determination.

I glanced down into his Porsche as I passed it and imagined him in its leather seat, driving to see me, his left hand holding and turning the steering wheel, his right gripping and shifting the gear shift knob.

Did he rush here to see me with anticipation? What’s it like to ride in a Porsche?

My quick pace, however, was not all confidence. I was afraid to be seen by someone known. They would want to know why I was there, dressed up, alone, seeing a man not my husband. Yet haste was more fed by desire, desire to see him again.

The maître d’ standing in the foyer, swung open one of the heavy entry doors with beveled glass panes as I approached. He bent down and whispered as I entered the foyer.

“Are you meeting Dr. Evans?”

Nodding, he replied.

“Follow me.”

The crowded tables blurred past as I followed, pleased he had the maître d’ look for my arrival. Then I saw him behind a secluded table. Edward, his jet-black hair combed straight back, clean shaven. His clear, inquisitive blue eyes looked up, our eyes met. His full lips broke into a smile. White teeth flashed as he rose to his full 6-foot plus height.

A pang of unease swept me. I was afraid he would want to hug on my arrival as others turned to watch. Instead as my chair was pulled back by the maître d’ he simply said.

“Elizabeth, I’m so happy you came. You look beautiful!”

His expensive blazer and assured deportment matched the establishment’s upscale decor and silverware as did his confident, resonant, timbered voice. Not outright handsome, he was nice looking, a pleasant face to view. It was his mannerisms, urbanity and voice which pushed him into handsome.

Seated, I was glad I came. His presence dissipated the last anxiety. His voice mesmerized my attention. Looking across the table, my heart knew I was his. Wearing the shoes, dress and earrings he bought told him it was true.

He ordered a rose’ wine by its French name. I ordered their specialty, Shrobster, a New England stuffed lobster, at his suggestion. Flush with wine, his voice and charm we ate. We talked but I did most of it. For desert, we had sherry and shared a flan brulee, all new to me. I stared transfixed as the little blue fire flickered and flamed out.

Tipsy by wine, we walked from the restaurant to the adjacent Century 21 Theater to see the movie Chinatown, the innocent pretense for our meeting.

In the safety of the dark theater I put my hand on his knee, then his thigh. At “The End” I finally let him hold my hand as we walked up the aisle to the lobby. There he turned me to face him.

“Stop for a glass wine. I’ll show you my place.”

“I need to use the phone.”

In the security of the wooden phone booth, I closed the folding door, composed in my mind what to say and called home to assure all was okay.

“I’m going to be a little late.”

Avoiding an argument, I hung up agreeing to be home by midnight. Edward walked me to my Dodge Dart. Embarrassed, I thought.

At least it’s not my station wagon.

Following his Porsche, I became nervous again as dinner’s wine confidence ebbed and told myself.

Just miss a light, turn, go home, say I got lost.

Instead, I followed closely. He ensured we made the lights together and led me to a sycamore tree lined street near Stanford University. It fronted a new two-story, upscale, townhouse apartment complex. Parked at the curb behind his Porsche, I sat transfixed, my hands on the steering wheel. He walked back and opened my car door. Startled back to reality I released my grip, grabbed my purse, stepped out and followed him. Holding my hand, he guided me onto a meandering concrete walk.

A few, yellow and brown autumn sycamore leaves, already had fallen on it. They crunched if stepped on. I worried my held palm was sweaty as I stepped on them. We passed a pool emitting the scent of chlorine. The sound of splashing and laughing swimmers replaced the crunch of leaves. Past the pool, the landscaped smell of hibiscus mingled with redwood and eucalyptus trees greeted us. I kept thinking.

One glass, then I’ll leave.

In front of his apartment my heart leaped about as he let my hand free, unlocked the door and swung it open for my entry. Hesitant, heart fluttering, I peeked inside, stepped forward and crossed the threshold. Past the door, standing in his entry, my cheeks flush, I thought.

I’m in his apartment. What difference does it make now?

A large, lighted aquarium dominated my view. Clutching my little purse with both hands in front, a pretense shield, I approached and stood in front of it, a temporary sanctuary for composure as I watched fish dart about. He went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of red wine while my heart calmed and my mind cleared.

I’m ready, let him take me.

Turning from the fish tank, I scanned the room as he poured 2 glasses, then handed me one. Reaching to take the glass, my right hand let go of my purse strap, partially disarming myself. I took a long sip, then another, until it was gone. He smiled when I handed him the empty glass.

“It’s pinot. Which fish do you like?”

I glanced back at the tank, away from my hungry glance at his full lips.

“The little blue and red one fluttering its tail.”

“It’s a male guppy. He flutters his tail to attract females.

Look, see the female notice him?”

“Yes, yes. I see her!”

“Look at the far corner, up near the top. That’s me hiding there.”

I saw a little frog hiding in the corner on a lily pad.

As I relaxed with wine, he excused the medical texts splayed on the coffee table, turned on his 8-track stereo tape recorder and pretended to show me his apartment.

The speakers released a subdued, Midnight at the Oasis, by Maria Muldaur as the kitchen, living room and laundry floated briefly before my gaze. With refilled wine glass, I noticed everything was clean and orderly including the nape of his neck where the barber had trimmed his hair line. Only his medical texts splayed about suggested disarray and recent study. His bedroom was on the second level. I knew I shouldn’t go up the stairs but waited for his lead.

He took the wrist of my hand clutching the purse and led me up, relaxed and calm, as if it was just another part of the apartment. The ending lyrics Midnight at the Oasis played as we ascended.

Midnight at the oasis
Send your camel to bed
Got shadows painting our faces
And traces of romance in our heads

As he led me up I concentrated on balancing the wine glass and negotiating the steps in my heels.

At the landing, I peered into his bedroom. The speakers below switched to Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up by Barry White. There was a large water bed, a dresser, night stand and more medical textbooks in a wall book case. I followed his lead into the bedroom as I stared at the water bed. I’d never been on one.

He dimmed the light, took my purse, set it on the night stand then guided the rim of my wine glass to my lips. I took a long sip while he tilted the glass back then another, until it was empty.

He kissed my wine moistened lips, our first kiss, then turned me around. His after shave smelled good. I stared out the open door down the stairwell at the lighted glow of the fish tank, the reels of the stereo player slowly turned out romantic music. I only had to grab my purse, step forward, walk down to and through the front door to leave and remain a faithful wife. I knew if I remained standing he was going to undress me.

I’m ready, pull the zipper down!

Immobile, my back to him, waiting, I changed my gaze from the aquarium to the red polish on my toe nails sticking out front of my shoes. He kissed the nape of my neck. The pearls on the dangling earrings caressed where he kissed when he pulled back. I closed my eyes and arched my head back.

He pulled the zipper down, the dress slid past my shoulders, arms, waist and legs. It collapsed into a silken wrap around my shoes. He turned me around again. I stood before him, faint in anticipation, ready, ready to be taken. He stepped me out of the dress and led me to the bed. I obeyed.

Sitting me on the padded bed edge, he keeled down and took off my shoes, unhurriedly. He unstrapped one, slid it off, held it by the heel and then the other and set them under the night stand. He arose, put his forehead to mine and reached around to unhook my bra.

I turned my head and raised a hand as if to resist. I wanted to be seduced, not rushed. He kissed me, his tongue flickered into my parted lips, pressed me close, reached back again and unhooked the bra. Loosened, he slid the shoulder straps down to my elbows, pulled the strap past one arm, then the other. He arose and draped the bra over my purse as I looked down; nipples flush, naked except for my panty, legs crossed staring again at red toe nails, ready to be laid on the bed.

He put his arms on my shoulders, tilted me back onto the bed, picked up my crossed feet and swung my legs on. The warmth of the heated water greeted me as my torso undulated to the waves, adrift. I watched him in the half light, my breasts covered by crossed palms, naked except for my panty, as he undressed at the base of the bed.

He disrobed from the top down. First, he removed his blazer, hung it on the back of a chair then his starched shirt which he aligned atop the blazer. His bare chest revealed a taut muscular profile accented with a few black hairs. He sat on the chair and removed his shoes, the ones I selected when we first met. He tucked his socks in the empty shoes and set them together under the chair. He stood up, unbuckled his belt, slid his pants off, one leg at a time, folded it with the belt still in its loops and set it on the chair seat.

Unlike my husband he wore boxer trunks, penis hard against them. He bent over and dropped his shorts. As he stood up naked, his penis free, pointed straight out and swayed to and fro as he moved, an aroused guppy with attracted female. He was about to take me. I waited, ready to be taken.

He climbed on the base of the bed and knelt before me, straddled my legs and slid forward until his face was to mine. I felt his hard penis brush against my legs as he moved upward and then press against my pelvis, still panty protected. We kissed.

He rose above me, lifted my arms protecting my breasts, admired my red finger nails, kissed each breast, slid back down to the base of the bed, uncrossed my legs, and slowly pulled off the panty. My mind murmured no as I arched up to assist. He pulled it over my feet and brought it to his face then plopped it next to my shoes. He gripped my ankles and spread my legs. I protested coy encouragement nos.

Open before him, he dropped his face to my vulva and cradled my buttocks as music continued to float up from speakers below. My hands held his head; my knees spread up high. I was open. The doctor knew his anatomy. He first kissed my labia lips and searched for my clitoris. Once found, he twirled it with his tongue and tugged on it with his lips. I kept moaning no’s while arching up to his twirling tongue. My hands clutched the back of his head and pressed his mouth forcibly to my vagina.

I experienced an intense climax while shouting denials as my head swayed side to side on the pillow, earrings caressing cheeks and neck.

With my last pleasured quiver, he raised his head, his approving smile visible in the half light. He moved up, lay next to me and let me relax while holding my hand. We said nothing. Once serene again he rolled above me, kissed me, kissed my breasts and went back down to my clitoris until I was ready for his entry.

The condom, evidenced of my premeditated betrayal, was out of reach in my purse. I’d left it there to avoid revelation of my evening’s wanton intention, another lie. Now I needed to interrupt and rummage for it, to expose my lascivious character. Instead, he reached over, opened his night stand drawer, pulled one out and rolled it on. I needn’t reveal my adultery supposition, a coy relief.

I arched my hips up, legs spread, vagina wet for his entry, no longer hesitant or pretense coy. I wanted him inside. He entered in slow motion, to the hilt. I dropped my buttocks back on the bed. He was in.

The warmth of his penis pressed up in my vagina filled me. I shuddered with pleasure and moaned, “Yes, yes, please, please me”.

He began slow strokes, moved down deep and rose almost completely out as he steadily increased the tempo. With his back arched up, he stared down at me, his pelvis thumped mine on each down stroke, my hands held fast in the covers. I closed my eyes. The trough of each of his down strokes trust me deeper into the bed, the wave of each of his up takes crested higher.

I experienced 2 moaning orgasms with the latter as he dropped down and clung onto me and climaxed in a groping spasm and I exclaimed ah, ah. It was my most intense sexual experience. The first time I uttered more than muffled, um, um’s or a few louder, oh, oh’s during sex.

Spent, we laid cheek to cheek as the water undulations receded from our convulsive movements. The 8-track tape’s reel had reached its end, the speakers silent. He withdrew his withered penis. We lay next to one another, holding hands, as when we walked up the movie aisle. Once the wave motions subsided he announced.

“Let’s have tea. I’ll make a pot.”

The bed again undulated as the water adjusted to his absence. He went to the chair, slid on his trousers but took a fresh shirt out of the closet, left to go downstairs and closed the door behind him. I was left alone, pleased to arise in private. Unfamiliar with getting out of a water bed I put my legs over the edge and after a few wave ripples sat on the padded railing.

I reached over and quietly slid open the nightstand drawer and peeked at the open condom box, gratified to see a box of three with two left.

Secure with the closed bedroom door, I buoyantly arose, naked. The bedroom had its own bathroom. I gathered my purse; bra, panty and dress, tippy toed to the bathroom and locked the door. Placing my things on the hamper I opened the medicine cabinet to check for female traces but there were none. It was bare, except for tooth brush, tooth paste and shaving stuff. I smiled and thought.

Ha, the doctor’s” medicine cabinet holds no medicine.

Closing the cabinet, I saw my reflection in its cover mirror, the face of an adulterer. If eyes are mirrors of the soul they should reflect condemnation. They didn’t.

I showered using the new soap bar in the tray, dried with the fresh towel next to the hamper, dressed, straightened my tousled hair, put on a dab of perfume and reapplied lipstick, my lips in a smile. Unlocking the door, I got my shoes and while putting them on realized he anticipated the evening with the wine, music, condom, soap bar and towel evidence of assumed outcome. His foresight pleased me.

Feeling safe dressed, I opened the bedroom door quietly, peeked down at him by the stove, stepped on the landing and then down the stairs. With the tea ready, he handed me a cup as if we were again in the tea shop when we first met, not just out of his bedroom.

Sipping tea, we small talked about the movie neither of us had paid much attention to. There was nothing to add to the experience. While uncertain what it meant I was coming back. With the tea gone I whispered.

“I need to go.”

The words, “by midnight” came back. It was already half past. He walked me to my car, kissed and kissed me again, held me tight. Breaking free, thinking of the time, I got in, drove off in a rush but watched him in the mirror standing where we kissed.

Back on the El Camino Real, images of crossing his threshold, the fish tank, music melodies and the blur which occurred on the water bed came back at each of its frequent stops. It was surreal but it happened.

Approaching my Mountain View turnoff and then my driveway, however, I became anxious of coming home. It was well past 1 AM when I pulled into the garage, dreading the coming confrontation.

I told myself.

I’ll never take Edward’s call again.

I did, however, again and again. I was in love, in love with a man not my husband, a man I could never marry. It was love which could destroy what I loved, my family.

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