The Masters Project - Book Eight (Sabrina)

By Robert Lubrican

Bob had one more interview to do before he could write up his project, get it published, graduate, and move on to ... well something. This last interview was a favor to another couple he'd interviewed. It wouldn't take long. It probably wouldn't even be in the paper because the woman wasn't married. It couldn't possibly affect him like some of the other interviews. Yeah ... right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Lubrican
• Release date: Nov 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465777676

Robert Lubrican

I grew up in the fifties and sixties, and that is reflected in my books quite often. I spent twenty years in law enforcement, and traveled the world, which also can be seen in my books and stories. While the genre I write in is technically called erotic romance, what I actually write are stories with a plot, which include sexual behavior on the part of the characters. That is because most people's lives include sex and erotic gratification. And, since most people wonder about lifestyles that are sometimes called taboo, or forbidden, I write about them, occasionally too. I believe that two consenting adults know more about their own happiness than anyone else, and that even if they are mistaken, they have the right to make their own choices. I also believe that love is the key to making choices that will not turn out to be mistakes.Many of my ideas involve coming of age, which usually takes place in the early to mid teens. Publishing standards, however, require that all characters in the published version of the book be over 18. That's not realistic, but it's just the way things are. If you purchase one of my books and would like to have the original version, unedited for age, send a copy of your receipt to [e-mail] and I'll happily provide you with a copy of the original at no additional cost. It is not illegal to write or possess such versions. It's just unpopular with certain special interest groups who desire to restrict your freedom.

Book preview

The Master’s Project

Book Eight (Sabina)

by Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Robert Lubrican

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Rights to use of cover art purchased at iStock.com

Foreword

This is the eighth, and final in a series of narratives concerning a research project done by the author for his Master's Program.

In all the other narratives, the story stood more or less alone. It was helpful if you read them in order, but maybe not critical. This one, however, must be read after the others. Just take my word for it. If you don't read the others first, it will be like picking up Lord Of The Rings and starting on the last chapter of the last book.

Not that I'm comparing myself to J.R.R. Tolkien. Far from it. It's just that most people are familiar with his work, and can visualize how important it is to have the beginning clear in your mind before you try to understand what happened in the end.

Bob

******

Chapter One

One morning I got a call from Martha, of Fred and Martha, who I had interviewed for my Master's project. They were a couple that fit my hypothesis to a T, looking so much alike after 30 years of marriage that you would have sworn they were brother and sister, born on the same day. This chapter isn't about them, though. They were a completely normal couple in every way and there was no hanky-panky between them and me.

But Fred and Martha had a neighbor, named Sabrina, and that's who Martha wanted to talk to me about when she called.

Bob, she said, I want you to hear me out on this. I know you only have married couples in your study, and Sabrina, bless her heart, is a widow, but we were friends with them for fifteen years before Pat died and they would have been perfect subjects for your study.

I don't quite understand, I said.

Well the thing is, said Martha, If you saw the pictures of them around the house, you'd know they would have been perfect, and even though he's gone, may he rest in peace, I think you should still interview Sabrina. They were together for fifteen years or more, met in High School and married before they even graduated, and the resemblance is eerie.

What was eerie was Fred and Martha's resemblance, but then, these people never think they actually look alike.

I'm sure she could answer all your questions, even though he's gone. I know you'd only get one side of things, but it might help your study. Martha was really pushing on this. If I'd have thought about it I might have suspected she had an ulterior motive, but she was a nice lady, in a solid marriage, and I didn't think she'd be up to anything. I thought she was actually trying to help. I didn't really think that data from just one partner would be of much use, but I told Martha I'd call Sabrina and see if she was interested.

"Oh she is interested! said Martha excitedly. I told her all about your project and how you interviewed Freddy and me. She said it sounds interesting. There was a pause. I think she still misses him. She looked kind of sad when we talked about your theory."

How long has he been gone? I asked.

I think it's been four or five years now, said Martha, sounding unsure, and a little embarrassed about not being sure. He was sick for a long time.

Okay, I'll give her a call. Thanks Martha, I said.

When I hung up she was still saying excited thank-yous and goodbyes.

I should remind you here, that this was more than a year after I had met Ralph and Tanya. I was, at this time in my life, actively involved sexually with Tanya, Lisa, and Gertie, once in a while. All of these women had me in their lives occasionally. Then there were the two most recent women I had become involved with, Micky and Susan, the lesbian couple. And, of course, there was my newly found sister, Kathy. That mattered. You'll understand why later in this narrative.

Sabrina had one of those cultured voices, with excellent diction and a kind of clipped way of speaking, as if she were in a hurry to say whatever she had to say. But she didn't rush anything, or talk about how busy she was when I called. She just acknowledged that she had gotten interested in my hypothesis and would be happy to help if she could. We set a date for the first interview. I asked her if she could have some photographs available and told her about how long the first interview might take - things like that.

I have all the time in the world, she said.

Sabrina turned out to be one of those women called 'statuesque'. She was thirty-six, and looked like she might be twenty-five. She had that naturally auburn hair that has red highlights in it when the light hits it just right and looks as shiny as the hair they show you on TV when they're trying to get all those twenty-somethings to buy Pantene or whatever. It hung straight and loose just past her shoulder blades. She had high, arching eyebrows that gave her a slightly inquisitive appearance, and high, prominent cheekbones that pulled the corners of her lips in a way that made her look like she was always about to smile. Her dark blue eyes, with gold flecks in them made you feel like she could see right into your brain. She was tall, over six feet, and had a classic hourglass figure. She met me in a silk blouse and those pants women wear that only go to their calves. She had what I call 'bullet breasts'. If you've ever seen the front bumper of a '56 Buick, you know what I'm talking about. They practically exploded off her chest, firm and looking like they were rock hard. These days that suggests those breasts are supported by a healthy dose of silicone, but breast augmentation was very rare back then. Her breasts were so firm looking I half expected a woodpecker to land on them any minute and begin searching for supper.

They affected the other kind of pecker too - the kind I had - a woody-pecker. You know ... the kind that craves milk and gives cream? I have to admit I thought about supper too when I saw them stretching that lovely silk ten or so inches away from the rest of her body. I already knew she didn't play golf. She couldn't address the ball ... because she couldn't SEE the ball.

In short, she was the perfect image of an Amazon warrior princess who had been brought to America and had tried to fit in with her drab surroundings. Just about any surroundings would seem drab when Sabrina was in the middle of them.

I closed my mouth, which I'm sure had been hanging open, and followed her into the living room. She settled gracefully into an easy chair, and I more or less collapsed into another, being a little weak in the knees because of this woman's impact. She crossed her legs with that fluid movement women can do that makes the moving leg look like it's floating.

I left my clipboard in my lap, for obvious reasons. This woman just screamed to make some lucky man's life incredibly interesting and happy and tiring. I couldn't believe she was alone. I doodled Drop dead gorgeous on my list of questions where it called for a basic physical description of the wife.

So ... she said.

Well, she didn't need to be a talker with looks like that. I could happily sit there for hours listening to her not talk.

Oh! ... um ... yes! I managed. I fumbled with my clipboard and almost picked it up off my lap. I didn't notice it then, but later on she'd tell me that my clipboard was sitting there at a slant, one edge of it being lifted off my lap three inches by what was obviously an erection underneath it. She was used to that, though.

I explained everything to her and she reached for a stack of picture frames on a coffee table between us. When she leaned forward, the cleavage she showed, while not all that much, looked like the Grand Canyon to me. I tore my eyes off that dark valley and looked at the picture she showed me of herself and Pat.

If she was the Amazon princess, he was the barbarian prince. He had been two inches taller than she, built like the rest of that Buick I was talking about earlier, and so handsome even I thought he was gorgeous. He had the same arching eyebrows and high cheekbones, though on him it made him look rugged. His hair was darker than hers, and more brown, but his eyes had that same dark blue look to them as hers did. You couldn't tell in the pictures about the little golden flecks that just mesmerized me whenever I looked into hers.

Their pictures started in High School, with a photo of them ready for the junior prom, and you could see the resemblance between them, even back then. A series of later pictures, some of them taken by amateurs and some in a studio, confirmed that they kept looking alike as they spent the next seventeen years together. It turned out he'd only been gone for two years.

I started asking the normal questions.

She was attracted