Chapter 6
WEDNESDAY EVENING, WHEN JOHN CAME home, I knew right away he wanted some that night. And after a day of recuperation from Monday, I had to admit I was itchy again. But the idea didn't thrill me as it generally did.
He had been treating me somewhat better since our swap with the Uptons, though, acting like he had something in the house besides a housekeeper and a twice-a-week playing female. Maybe the suggestion that Ed had found me appealing was working on him. Of course, we didn't talk about it; he seemed rather ashamed of the whole party. We just weren't able to discuss sex.
As he kissed me and put on some pressure, I wondered if he had been looking at the girlie books down at the drug store. They had a whole display of them. I had left his little dandy hidden in the news magazine where he had hidden it.
Terri had called on Tuesday, saying she would be tied up evenings for a few days; an old boy friend had come to town. I suspected she had perhaps found another girl to break in, but I had no way of knowing.
John was a stay-at-home; we never went any place evenings.
And with Ed still out of town, I had only my hubby left!
"You've been acting different lately," John said, his hands around my waist.
No wonder! Since Friday night I had been properly screwed and had indulged in a Lesbian affair. I had watched Sally pump her joy out top-riding Ed.
"How do you mean?" I asked, trying to act bright and flirty. I did need some sexing; I hadn't masturbated recently, or used my new dildo.
"Well, you're wearing your clothes different," he said, looking down at me. I had put on shorts and halter, at Sally's suggestion, despite my ample proportions. But a strange thing had happened, too. Since Friday I had lost about fifteen pounds, and in the right places. Maybe if I got enough, as the saying goes, I'd trim down even more.
"I'm glad you noticed," I said, a bit dryly.
He acted a trifle embarrassed, and let me go. Why couldn't he pinch me on the rump and squeeze my titties, once in a while? A girl-likes to be touched and cuddled, even if there isn't any big sex thing coming up right away. Terri certainly understood that, and even Ed did, to a certain degree.
"Why don't we have a beer before dinner?" I asked, standing in the living room entrance. He already had the TV going. I had bought a six-pack that afternoon.
He looked around, frowning. "Alcohol dulls the sensibilities."
"You liked that wine Friday night," I reminded him. He flushed. "Did you buy some beer."
"Yes. We should have some for company, at least." He couldn't quite figure me out; I was surprising him. The fact that we both knew we had cheated had changed our whole behavior. And what if he knew about Terri?
He would probably blow his stack! It was a delicious secret. And the first time Ed called me I'd be willing to "help Sally out" again, too. I had already decided that. And if John didn't improve-well, divorce was nasty, but I'd go through with it, if necessary.
I had more confidence about being able to latch onto another man. Ed loved my big titties. This was a breast-conscious age. When love starts flying out of the window a girl has all kinds of errant, sensual thoughts.
"Okay, I'll have one," he said, settling back in his favorite chair.
While I opened the beer cans and found glasses, I took time to wonder why he was afraid to act normally in bed, as I had so many times before. The ultimate goal of most men was to put it in a desirable female. That was the way things had worked since the beginning of time.
What quirk in his make-up caused this dread or revulsion, or whatever it might be? I had read quite a few sex instruction books and articles and only once had I heard of a similar case. This man had been told by a domineering mother that sex was nasty, unclean and so on. He had masturbated regularly, as most men-and girls-do, in the growing-up years, and his marriage to a strong-minded woman had ended disastrously. In his case no remedy had been found.
John wasn't weak; I certainly didn't dominate him. He could hardly be called the athletic type, but he kept in good shape and didn't overeat. He had never mentioned his previous sexual experiences, and neither had I. Which is generally the best idea!
What made him go soft at the crucial moment? I was certainly no doctor, but if he could tell someone it might help. He knew plenty of doctors, being a druggist. Once I had hinted about him seeing a specialist, and it had made him angry; he hadn't acted sexy for a whole week afterward. Well, I couldn't put up with it much longer.
And, considering the fact that he had been slightly more attentive since Friday night, perhaps he wanted me to get my regular sex with someone who could function properly, like Ed. I had to be practical about Terri. I adored her, but it wasn't the answer. Someday I wanted a couple of children.
I had cooked a meat loaf and baked potatoes; they were already in the oven. The table was set. A salad was crisping in the refrigerator. He said I was a good cook; I kept the house spotless. He made good money. We were successful in every area except the most important one. Perhaps he thought he was, as long as I had my orgasm, and he had his-but I was sick of the way we did it.
Ed had reminded me of what a good, virile screwing was like. I loved it; I wanted more of it.
I was sure he wasn't queer. He liked girl-watching as well as any man. The girlie books he sneaked home were a good indication, too.
I served him the beer and sat across from him, letting my thighs drift apart, so he could see the outline of my pussy. The shorts were rather snug. He looked me over, all right. Those pounds I had lost hadn't decreased the size of my titties, thankfully! Ed had reminded me that I had something a lot of gals didn't, even if I was no raving beauty. My ability to arouse him, a handsome more sophisticated man, was doing wonders for my ego.
"Did you go downtown in that outfit?" he asked.
"No. Some gals go."
He squirmed uncomfortably. He even flushed slightly. Was he thinking about Sally?
"like me in shorts and halter?" I asked, smiling.
"Well, yes. You're just different, lately."
"I keep hoping," I said, sipping my beer.
He looked away. He wasn't even watching TV. "I'll ... try to be better," he muttered.
He had said that before. I had an answer ready, a hot one, but why spoil the evening? I did need some loving. If he failed to penetrate me again, I could give him a broadside.
"Oh, I know you will, honey," I said, encouragingly. "Come on, let's have dinner."
He brightened. I made a kidding remark about the girls who worked at the drug store, and the meal went along fairly well. The beer seemed to unlimber him a bit. But why does a wife have to be so proper and lady-like with her husband-and turn into a slut with someone else? It was ridiculous.
I remembered how Sally and Ed had talked, and my titties started to itch. I realized that sexy conversation helped stimulate me. Nothing wrong with it, certainly.
After dinner he watched a couple of TV programs, and I tidied up the kitchen. When he thought I wasn't looking, he took that news magazine out of the rack and began his secret little game of enjoying the girlie publication tucked in the center fold. I felt that nudge of annoyance, again. I wasn't sexy enough to give him the stimulation he evidently needed.
I decided things tonight would be a bit different or maybe he wouldn't get any! I always had my dildo.
About eight o'clock he went in the bedroom to put on his robe and pajamas. Same old deal. He always took a lot of time in there, getting ready, and I felt a real sneaky urge to peek. The door had a keyhole, a lock put there by the former owner. The key had been lost, but the aperture remained.
I sank down to my knees and peered through the tiny metal hole. As it turned out, I could see him okay. The overhead light was on, the drapes were drawn. He had just taken off his clothes, and stood naked in front of the vanity mirror. He was stiff! He made hunching motions with his hips and his right hand went down to his angled-out prick.
My eyes really opened. What in the world ... He started playing with himself! He was watching a small photograph that lay on the top of the vanity. His hand moved up and down on his cock. I had never watched anyone masturbate; I didn't feel it unnatural in itself, because I had plenty of times-but why, just before having sex with me, his wife? Maybe he wouldn't finish, though. Maybe he was just working himself up a little.
I heard a faint moan, his hips bunched, his hand went fast, and he shuddered. He grabbed a tissue and held it with his left hand-just as the white stuff spurted from the head of his penis.
I couldn't believe it. But there it was, in vivid reality. I had heard about some men who did this before going to a whore house, so the prostitute would have to work hard to get seconds.
John sank back on the bed and rested a moment. He cleaned off his pecker, and hid the small photograph in the pocket of his robe. I would have to have a look at that.
When he started putting on his pajamas, I left the door. All my previous ideas about him had to be changed, drastically. On the nights when he wanted me, I wound up with seconds, too. He was capable of two orgasms within an hour or so!
Why? That was the big question. Was he afraid he'd have a premature ejaculation if he started playing with me, as he always did?
I started getting mad. Of all the disgusting things. Hiding his real sensuality from me, having his fun with pictures of girlies. I felt cheated, put down.
Naturally, Sally wanted another swap!
This explained why it took him so long to have his come, the second time. But I didn't think it could explain his aversion to putting it in. Was he reluctant to let me know his true sex drives?
Ohhh, hell!
Before long he came out of the bedroom, smiling. He came around the end of the sofa and sat down in his accustomed place. Now, I was supposed to go in the bedroom, put on something slinky and get all perfumed up, so he could begin his long playing session.
"Mind if I don't change, honey?" I asked. I had already added more lipstick and cologne, in the right places, before he had entered the boudoir.
"But, don't you like ... the way we do it?"
I was determined. "Let's change the routine," I said. "Don't you get tired of the same old way?"
I wasn't being meek and submissive and eager. He was sorely puzzled.
"How would you like it, then?"
"I read this article about Oriental women. Sometimes the girl is the active partner."
He flushed. "Isn't that kind of sissy-fied?"
"The experts don't think so."
The cozy mood was fading. He seemed nervous and with what I now knew about him, it was no wonder. "I don't understand you, Diane."
"I don't think you ever tried," I said, dryly. My anger was rising. I knew I was going to blow the whole deal, and I didn't care. Watching him shoot his passion into a tissue had put a coldness inside me. "You know I'd like to have you put your cock in-at least once in a while!"
He stood up, his face pale. I had never uttered words like that, to him. It was time we had a showdown.
"I realize that," he muttered, unable to meet my eyes. He fumbled out a cigarette.
"You ought to go to one of your precious doctors," I flared, rising. "Or a head-shrinker kind, and find out why can can't screw the way most men do!"
His face twisted. He walked away to stand by the TV set, now off, thankfully.
"You get all those words from Sally, did you?" he sneered.
"Any girl knows the words, darling," I shot back. "I just never used them, on you. A little sexy talk never hurt anybody. It might even help!" I was really mad, now. "Why do you look at girlie pictures and then go in the bedroom and jack off before you play around with me?"
His eyes blazed; I thought he was going to strike me. Maybe I deserved it. "How did you..."
"Oh, I've found your smelly tissues, after you drop them in the wastebasket," I said, coldly. "I think it's time we talked about a divorce."
"You're lying!" he said. "About the tissues. I flushed them down the toilet."
I recalled now, after I had left the peep-hole, that I had heard the familiar sound from the bathroom. I had improvised.
"Does that make it any better?"
His shoulders slumped. He looked beaten. "No, I guess it doesn't. And if you want a divorce ... it can be arranged."
"I don't really want a divorce ... but what am I supposed to do? When we first got married you said you would do better ... and you know what I mean. I'm normal. Am I distasteful to you? Is that why you won't do it the way most men do? Is there something offensive about me?"
"No!" He was looking off into space, rigid, his jaw muscles working. "I ... don't know what's the matter with me."
"Well, could you do it with Sally?"
"No ... I never have!"
"I suppose you made it twice with her, though," I muttered.
"God! Do we have to go into all the details?"
My temper was fading. In a way, I felt sorry for him. But I couldn't build a marriage on compassion.
"You know what I'm talking about," I said. "You didn't use your hand before you went down by the river with her, surely."
He shook his head. "No. I was half-drunk."
"I'm sorry I brought all this up, John. But I'll tell you something if it'll make you feel any better, about your ... habit. I've had to do it, too. I just can't wait around for days and days. I enjoyed it with Ed. I'd like to swap again."
He sank into a chair, the one I had used when I had spread my legs and let him see my pussy. He mashed out his cigarette.
"Can't we start over, somehow? I don't want to lose you, Diane."
He looked very helpless, and I almost melted. But the old anger, the two years of frustration, couldn't be pushed aside in an instant.
"I'll think about it," I said. I left him and walked into the kitchen. My nerves were shot. I sank into a chair, tears in my eyes. I heard him go into the bedroom. The door closed. No reunion; no touches or kisses. I had knocked him down.
And how sweet and innocent I was! Having my fun with Terri, and Ed-and a dildo. But I don't think I would have done any of those things if I could have enjoyed normal, regular sex.
I watched TV awhile, not really seeing it, and the old restlessness returned. Denied again. He had taken his robe into the bedroom, so I wouldn't get to see that photo which had excited him so much, but I would take a closer look at the girlie book he had hidden in the news magazine.
I took it from its hiding place and shut off the TV set. I turned on one lamp and sat on the sofa. The girlie magazine was one I had seen at the supermarket newsstand, small in format, but with many colored pictures of babes in various stages of undress, most with their titties showing.
At least I could indulge my curiosity, and some of the poses I found mildly stimulating. The picture he apparently liked the best, since the pages opened there by themselves, was of a somewhat plump big-fitted brunette. Her heavy legs were drawn way back, her almost exposed crotch facing the camera. A wisp of blue scarf covered her pussy; evidently showing pubic hair was forbidden.
Her head was raised, she was looking at the camera, and her thick lips were rounded into an O, her tongue extended between them. I had to admit it was a very provocative colored shot, taking up the whole page. It was obviously posed to suggest that she was all ready and waiting for a turn-around, or sixty-nine.
I wasn't a man, naturally, but of course, with her rump in that position it would seem natural for a man to want to poke his prick into her pussy or play his tongue along it. But the invitation of her lips, rounded, with her big tits rising straight up, brown-crested, seemed to hint that she would prefer the prick in her mouth.
Would John really like to be Frenched? Maybe he was afraid to start; maybe if I took the lead and dropped my lips over his cock, which I had often craved to do, he would be willing to suck my pussy.
And I did want to get a prick in my mouth, just once, at least. Having Terri tongue my cunt had been dreamy. Some men did it, loved it. Perhaps John needed this added feature to come on strong, but was too reluctant to ask me. Another point about this picture intrigued me; the model was built just about the way I was-large, firm boobies, plump in the hips and thighs, even brown-haired. Her face wasn't especially pretty; her expression was very sensual, she wore a lot of makeup. Did he prefer plumpish gals, after all? Evidently, because he had married one.
I returned the girlie publication to its hiding place and returned to the sofa. I was over my mad now. I was hot. I would need a come before I could even consider sleeping.
Slipping up to the bedroom door, I listened. He was snoring. Sure, he had shot his wad. I opened the door, crept in and sneaked my vibrator from the lower vanity drawer. While there, I found a nightie, too. I would sleep in the guest bedroom. After I relieved my tensions, naturally.
Out in the living room again, I removed my shorts and halter. I sat down naked on the sofa, placing the dildo handily at my right. I sank back into a comfortable position, spreading my thighs, and began toying with my nipples. Ohhh, it was good. I did need it, badly.
The points tumesced quickly and stings of pleasure radiated from them. I compared very favorably with most of the big-breasted models in the magazine; in fact I had larger tits than most of them, and no sag, either. I squared my shoulders, bringing them forward even more. I caressed them all over, shivering. Now, if Ed were here to kiss them. Terri was good at it, too.
I closed my eyes and let sensual images dance in my mind. I was bent over a sofa and Ed was pushing his big prick in from the rear. Then, after awhile, I was on top of him, taking the active role, swinging my ass slowly up and down, making the head of his cock hit deep. Now, Terri had her mouth on my pussy, her tongue building my passion.
Oh, damn! Why did it have to be this way, taking substitutes? When Ed came back to town I'd be ready to tumble into his arms; the memory of his prick in my puss was sweet, sweet. If John didn't want to swap, poop on him! I needed good, steady manning; I needed nooners. I'd take him on anywhere-in the back seat of a car, out in the bushes.
Now my right hand went down to my moistened cunt, while my left stayed on my achy breasts. I played my finger along my slit, shivering. I hunched. Not too fast, though. I craved a nice, long buildup. My recent sexual experiences seemed to make this even better. I pushed the dildo under my right thigh, to warm it. My clitoris was erect, tingly. The erotic pressure in my loins and titties built even higher. Ohhh, I was going to have a dandy.
My pussy was slick and ready. I took the dildo in my right hand and started the pink head between the tender lips. It wasn't exactly like a prick, though. It was rather tapered on the end. But at least I was having something irk I watched it sink out of sight, except the handle part, and my cunt shivered around it. Ohhhhh ... delicious!
I rode it high, against my clit, and the spicy sensations increased. I hunched carefully, panting. This was the best part, almost-working on my need, delaying the fun. I shaped my lips as though I were receiving a prick; I squeezed my titties as the tips stiffened.
A lonely young housewife, having her pleasure with an object. A husband who wouldn't put it in.
I knew now I could have at least two orgasms; the achy need for it was just too much. I moved faster, liking to swing my rump, making the sofa squeak.
Ed was pouring the shaft to me, now. He was filling my box with stiff, vibrant prick. I imagined he was panting, stroking faster, faster. I wouldn't get that heavenly swell of his knob, just before he went off, but I had the vibrations. I turned on the power.
I moaned. Delectable quivers started in my pussy, fanning outward, along my thighs, up to my titties. Ohhh, God, it was coming, coming! Hard and fast now. Sock it to me, baby! Sock it, sock it. I shook all over, my heels hit the floor, my hips shimmied, and then the heaven came in sweet jerky waves. I think I cried out. I don't remember. I was having it, having it; my starved nerves were going bang, bang.
I sagged back on the sofa, breathing hard, savoring the balm of relief, my cunt still twitching. I left the shaft inside, but I turned the power off. I needed a moment to rest, to catch my breath.
See what you missed, John, I thought. You could have had that if you weren't such a jerk.
Presently, I cleaned my pussy a bit with some tissue and started again. Having another peak was a necessity. My cunt hadn't convulsed, my pelvis hadn't exploded as it had with Ed, but I couldn't have everything!
I played and played. I spent about twenty minutes building up to it, holding back, waiting, then jazzing it in and out again. Ohhh, I had a ball. And when the peak hit me, I did yell. I really went off big.
The deep sensations were somewhat better. But even when I was ready for bed, everything put away, my tensions eased, an ache still lay inside. I hadn't had what is known as a vaginal or total climax. I needed a male partner for that-a real virile man. Someone I could respect, adore, as I had John when we were first married.
Tomorrow, when he was gone, I would find that photo in his robe pocket. I had to know what he looked at when he used his fingers on his prick, and squirmed his come into a tissue.
I had trouble going to sleep. The guest bedroom was rather an unfamiliar place. I was lonely. I hadn't felt so completely alone since my single days.
But I was stubborn. If John didn't improve, we were through, finished. Ed wouldn't care whether or not I was divorced or married. He just liked good old-fashioned screwing, and that's exactly what I needed.