Chapter 4
"If I were you, Mr. Atkins, I wouldn't have sex with my wife for a week."
Ted pulled up his suit pants' zipper and stared askance at the doctor whose name he'd picked from the telephone book yellow pages. One didn't come to a family doctor with suspicions of venereal disease.
"A week? But the results-"
"The results won't be in for a couple of days, and your penicillin shot won't protect her." The doctor peered through bifocals and scribbled notes in the fresh manila folder bearing the name of his new patient. "Remember it's for her own good ... and yours." He gazed accusatively at the pale faced husband and slapped shut the folder, then rose from his chair and opened the examining room door. "If you have any symptoms ,.. any itching or discharge, give me a call."
"Oh, Jesus," bemoaned Ted, raking fingers through curly hair. "That's all I need!" Wearily, he slipped into his suit coat and left the clinic, a dejected and fearful man.
Last night's sensual excesses and the anxiety of facing a grim Polly ate at the highs of infidelity. If the situation were reversed, he told himself rationally, making a tight right into the drive, and it had been Polly groveling in the arms of another man, he would be damned mad. Yet, as he pulled up behind the shiny bumper of his wife's Volkswagen, he couldn't deny the pleasures of oral sex. If only Polly could appreciate the beauty of mouth on penis, mouth on vulva.
Shyly, he opened the front door, tossed the evening newspaper on his recliner rocker, and called out a weak hello. The kitchen was alive with the frantic rattle of pots and pans, the smell of dinner warming the air. A cold chill rippled up and down his spine as he saw her in profile. Guilt/Fear of being neglected for wrongdoing? He paused at the door.
"Hi, hon ..." He came up behind her as she stood at the counter tearing lettuce into the wooden salad bowl, her movements brusque, jerky. Ted kissed his wife on the cheek and slunk his arms around her waist.
"Oh, hi," she answered coolly, ripping the leaves with vengeance. "Sorry I'm late. I had to work late." No answer.
A trembling hand grabbed for the refrigerator door and he pulled a can of Olympia beer from the shelf. He popped it open, keeping one eye peeled on his wife's stoic profile as she hurriedly set the table and grabbed the garlic bread from the oven.
"Italian or French?"
"Huh?"
"Dressing. I'm talking about salad dressing. Italian or French?" she snapped. "Italian's okay."
On nights like this when he bore the guilt of wrongdoing, it was a contrite Ted who added to their dinner a fine bottle of French wine or a bouquet of red roses. Christ, I can't even make love to her! She knows something's up ... I can tell by the glint in her eye. Jesus, she can be so cold. I'd rather she lost her temper and accused me so I could defend myself.
"Have a good time with the boys last night, dear?"
Ted chewed a long moment on his salad. "We went out for a couple of drinks after the board meeting. What a helluva long day that was!" He masticated unnecessarily, and heard himself say without thinking: "Oh the way home I got a flat tire, of all the damned things! Couldn't find a service station open so George had to drive me halfway across town. Wouldn't you know something like that would happen. I was looking forward to coming home and getting a good night's sleep too."
Ill- bet you were, you liar! She smiled sweetly and gingerly plucked a slice of buttery garlic bread from the bread basket and set it on his plate. A pang of regret, coupled with the ache of deception, chiseled at her appetite. Absentmindedly, she pushed the tomato around the salad bowl.
To fill the silence, Ted emitted a deep sigh. "Early to the sack tonight. Thank God tomorrow's Saturday," he talked as she chewed.
Polly blinked back salty tears. If only he would take her in his arms and erase all the ill feelings! The guilt of this afternoon's lusty episode with those filthy magazines and his nonchalant attitude, left her hungry for more than food. She needed love to put things right! Yes, she decided with a glimmer of hope, she would forget his infidelities and squeeze him and hug him and make love to him like a wanton slut if that would end this damnable uncomfortable silence between them! Her spirits lifted, she filled two wine glasses and hoped for the best.
With a belly full of roast and salad, Ted settled down in his favorite chair, the recliner across from the television set; he kicked off his shoes and leaned back, loosening his tie. In the kitchen he heard Polly clearing the table and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He contented himself with the newspaper, paying special attention to the ailing stock market.
In a titter of nervousness, Polly cleared the dishes and dashed for the bathroom. A sudsy shower, powdered from breasts to toes, and she padded nakedly to her closet to slip from the hanger the black negligee with the red ribbon drawstring Ted had bought her for Valentines Day. A naughty little number, she wore it only when Ted was in one of his voyeuristic moods when he delighted in watching his wife parade about the drape-pulled confines of the living room.
The lace straps supported the draw-stringed bodice made of the finest French lace. The bumblebees of her nipples made dark circles under the transparent fabric, and when she moved, the melon-like weight of her creamy breasts moved in a Goddess-like rhythm. High and firm on her chest, the vee of her cleavage was marked by a red streaming ribbon, trailing down to the lace-edged slit that ran from the hem of the ankle length gown to the mound of her Venus.
Brushing her hair to a glistening sheen of gold, she dabbed perfume behind each dainty earlobe and behind each dimpled knee and, slipping into the black satin matching slippers, she sashayed down the hallway to make her appearance.
Ted sat contently in his recliner, wiggling his toes and squinting at the small print of stock market statistics; the television roared in the background. A fresh can of beer sat on the carpet beside him.
In a woosh of anticipation, Polly settled down on the sofa, and swept one lusciously creamy thigh over the other, awaiting a response. She cleared her voice. "Care for a glass of wine, honey?"
Ted's tired eyes peered over the top of the newspaper. He gulped. "Thanks .. . I've got a beer. Help yourself, though." Oh, Christ, she's wearing that see-through nightie! I know what she wants ... oh shit! The doctor said one week. What if I give my own wife syphilis? She'd never forgive me! As he peered at the lovely apparition, a contrast of golden haloed curls and blue eyes set in a pixie face, creamy skin-and the naughty black of seductive lace, he realized he'd never loved his Polly more.
And he couldn't have her. At least tonight.
With a moan of regret that only he could hear, he rested his eyes on the newspaper, deciphering the deliberate rustles and extracurricular movements designed to attract his attention.
"Anything interesting in the newspaper, honey?" chimed Polly, stretching one naked arm along the back of the sofa in an engaging pose.
"Naw ... nothing you'd be interested in," came the flat, heartless answer.
Brusquely, choking back a sob, Polly grabbed for the Cosmopolitan Magazine resting on the coffee table and flopped it open. The color spread of nymph-bodied models adorned in skimpy summer-fashion bikinis stared up at her. With a sniff, she turned the page, mentally comparing the luscious bodied females to the imagined woman who'd enjoyed the pleasures of her husband the night before.
Maybe he didn't notice I'm dressed for him. Maybe he really is tired. Maybe I imagined this whole rotten mess ... maybe I'm just paranoid because I wouldn't do that on our anniversary night.
A thousand may been rifled through her mind. A smattering of Myra's analysis galloped through her mind. Perhaps all these maybes and suppositions were the crux of her problem. She wasn't aggressive enough; instead of sitting there waiting for Ted to take notice, she should force him to take notice.
Slapping down the unread Cosmopolitan, she lifted from the sofa, wafting of perfume and sashayed over to his side. Gingerly she plucked the newspaper from hi fingers and let it butterfly to the floor. Resting pin polished fingertips on an outthrust hip, she wiggled as if settling into place.
Ted stared up at his wife, aghast.
"What do you say, big boy," she purred, hoping to make him laugh-at least respond. She nodded her blonde curly head in the direction of the bedroom. "How 'bout we move into the bedroom and make up for lost time?"
Ted gulped dryly. He flicked his wrist and pressed the button on his digital time piece. "It's only eight o'clock. Can't you wait?"
He was beginning to feel guilty as hell for his retaliatory escapades the night before, and her open invitation for sex was making it worse. Last night he had wanted to punish Polly for her rejection of his kind of sex, punish her for the frustration of three years of oraless sex. He had needed to feel for the sake of his own psyche, that the problem lay with her.
Before he could stop her, his wife threw herself in front of him and descended in his lap, wrapping one lithe arm around his neck and staring him squarely in the face. She grabbed his left hand and squeezed it to her hip urgently. She began to grind her warm buttocks into his lap. His other hand she cupped to her left breast.
Ted responded with stunned fascination. Polly had never acted this way before ... especially following a fight. By nature she was a pouter, a you-come-to-me type. Yet he had experienced her passion for three years and realized her love for him. Where this kind of aggressive behavior fitted into her character, he wasn't certain.
Ted glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye, frightened of the intensity glimmering in her dilated pupils. She looked almost demonic, possessed!
"Darling, you're hurting my leg. You know I hurt that knee playing handball," he said, frightened of this sudden split of personality.
Struggling to maintain her composure, Polly shifted her weight. "Better? she choked, starting to feel the flush of embarrassment rouging her cheeks.
He grimaced in feigned pain. "I... I think you're going to have to get up, hon." As she lifted, he teasingly slapped her on the buttocks.
That he would mock her advances stung her heart. She stood with her back to him and when she rose from his chair, desperation took charge. Urgently, she clung to him. 'Ted, please," she begged. She ground her pelvis into his desperately. "I want you, darling, please, let's make love!"
"Polly, it's only eight o'clock, we have plenty of time," he cajoled. A wrinkled furrowed his brow. "Really, what's with you?"
"Oh, Ted, don't ask questions now!" she moaned, needing him to erase the guilt of her self-induced ecstasy earlier that day. Instead of fulfilling her desires, it had only left her hungering for something greater and manly, Ted. Frantically, she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts. Her dimpled face contorted with the maddened need for love. "Just make love to me, Ted. Do it to me now!"
"Honey," he pleaded, "what's come over you? It's not like you to beg like this!" When he tried to uncoil her grip from his wrists, she wailed in anguish.
It was true! He had another lover! Why else would he reject her? The frustration of lost love compelled her to need him more.
"I'm not begging, I'm asking you to make love to me!" Her face was contorted with anguished need and desperation.
A shocked silence was filled only by the roar of television game show roaring in the background. Ted was taken aback. He was used to being the seducer... the fumbling of hands, the kissing. He wasn't prepared for the desperate act of aggression on his wife's side. Making love was a man's game, played by male rules.
"I'm just not in the mood, baby. I'm tired. I've put in a full week's work."
"Damn it!" she railed. Frustration was stoking the fire between her legs. She needed him to make love to her to prove she was still number one. "I need your cock! I need your cock deep inside me, Ted, fuck me now!"
With that, she pulled him toward the sofa and threw herself down on the sofa beige pillows. Ted's face burned hotly with confusion, fear and a thousand emotions he couldn't identify. His gabardine pants tented from the hardening bulge. He felt her fingers toying with his belt, pulling at it, yanking at the metal tab of his zipper.
He panted, despite doctor's orders, as her groping fingers came into contact with the naked flesh of his pulsating cock. Christ, how could he reject her now? Yet, he must! Somehow, he had to fight his way out of this bag and come out smelling like roses.
Polly pushed him away and raised up on her elbows. Mewls of lustful desire gurgled from her throat as she worked feverishly to unsheath the hardened stalk of his penis from his tight-fitting trousers. Suddenly the fleshy monster leapt into view and poked between the open fly to bob before her sex-starved eyes. She then caressed it lovingly, stroking the soft outer skin of sensitive nerve-filled flesh up and down. Her blue eyes were glassy, fixed on the swollen muscle as she twisted feverishly around on the sofa.
"Fuck me, honey," she implored, her eyes searching his face with a look that coupled animalistic desire and supplication.
Ted's emotions roiled. What had happened to his wife? Did one night of staying out late threaten her enough to beg him for sex? Was she that desperate, that insecure? She was behaving worse than Jody- and that was conceding a sore point! The thought that she would never act like this again crossed his mind, that maybe she would come to her senses and be his submissive Polly again encouraged him.
Wiggling her hips, she managed to yank open the flap of her nightie, exposing the creamy expanse of luscious thighs to her confused husband. He bent over her, staring at the blonde fleece of her pubic mound. "Help me ... out of this!" she yelped.
He pulled down the straps of her nightie, allowing the ripe melons of flesh to tumble into view. His lips lapped hungrily at the tiny, throbbing nipples, his swirling tongue stoking desire in her goose-bumped body. A shiver of hot lust convulsed her body as his tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh. Yes, he must still love her... must still desire her-as he had before the other woman. She squirmed and panted beneath he husband's fervent caresses. She was crazed with the need for him.
It was unnatural lovemaking, and Polly knew it, but the need drove her on. When she could stand it no longer, she wrenched his head away from her breasts, creating a suction when his lips were pulled back fro her breast.
"Oh, darling, get between my legs and make love me!"
Her eyes stared up into his wrinkled brow. What was wrong, her mind raged. Why was he still in h' clothes? She suddenly felt her body begin to chill at the thought of his rejection. She was lying beneath he husband with her legs spread, begging for him to take her... and he stood transfixed as if she were speaking a foreign language.
"Please, Teddie?"
To mobilize him into action, she fumbled for h' swollen penis and grasped the heavy hardness between her tiny fingers.
Ted swallowed tightly. Oh, God, what to do? Should he take the chance and shove his hard prick inside he and be done with it, hoping he didn't infect her with imaginary diseases and guilt, or should he?
It was worth a try.
With a deep moan of anticipation, he spread her wide apart, and parted the slippery cunt lips. Holding the swollen flanges wide with his thumbs, he stared at the nub of her pounding clitoris and feverishly dipped his head and probed the pulsating pussy flesh with his tongue.
Before Polly realized his intent, he'd lapped straight up the full length of her hotly quivering pussy, sending fantastic shocks of delight through her trembling body. He poked it, like a finger, into the hole, and tasted for the first time the piquancy of his wife's sexual juices. The sweet aromatic aroma filled his nostrils with love and appreciation for his blonde haired darling.
Polly's eyes rolled in her head deliriously. With an effort, she raised her head and gaped at the brown curly head bobbing between her legs.
"Nooo!" she yelped, pushing him away, and nearly gouging out his eyeballs. "Don't do that, Ted. Please, not that!"
But it was too late. Polly Atkins had known for the first time the delights of mouth on vulva; yet the indignity, the deception of his intent seared hotly in her mind. How could he attack me... when I needed him to make love to me... putting his lips on me down there ... disgusting, horrible! Like in those terrible photographs!
"Ted... how could you?" she burst, struggling to sit up, her melon-like breasts jiggling from the abrupt movement. Burying her face in her hands, she wept. The image of his chin dripping with her inner juices stung her mind, and her cheeks flushed with abject humiliation.
Ted backed off, a hurt, injured expression clouding his handsome face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping clean the evidence of his lust. For a long silent moment he stared at his wife.
"Please, be reasonable, Polly ... let me give you pleasure the way I want to. Don't be so uptight."
"Uptight?" she wailed, shivering with sobs. "Just put it inside the way you always do!"
Ted straightened. He eyed his wife critically. "For once I'm going to have my way," he retorted, clenching his fists, secretly relieved at having found a way out of this entanglement. "Nope, I'm not going to make love to you 'like we always do' until you get over your phobia! I've been damned patient, Polly, but this is going too far!"
With a gruffness unbecoming to him, he yanked up the pants zipper, leaving his whimpering wife to sob pathetically on the sofa's arm, and kicking into his shoes, grabbed his coat and decided to do some serious drinking "You're more disgusting than that slut, Myra!" he yelled, slamming the door after him.