Chapter 2
Strangely alone.
And painfully together. Jane and Bill. They huddled beneath their private solutions like wanting-to-jump frogs under a rock. The patterns of their lives were spinning out in different worlds, as so often happens. The San Francisco house, where they lived as two separate entities in one cubicle, was situated in one of the plushier sections of town. That night they watched Maude, The Jefferson, and Adam Twelve. And that was it. But Jane's mind couldn't center in on any of the T.V. shows; it kept wandering, remembering the afternoon, some on-again-off-again feelings of guilt, some on-again-off-again warm smiles to herself, something that confused Bill, but he never bothered to ask about it.
Jane had to ask herself, Am I a double personality? Was that really me that did that this afternoon? And another question: When will I feel the urge to do it again? Bill was laughing at something Maude was saying, and Jane watched his face, the slight greying of his hair, the fortyish body, so unlike the young animal that had devoured her just a few hours before.
Was that really me? she asked herself again during Adam Twelve. She was to learn the answer to that one two days later.
It was raining, and her car had stalled downtown, just after her morning of shopping and a quick lunch at a chain coffee shop. Jane was standing under the overhang of an office building, debating what to do until the mechanic finished the overcharged repair. Then she heard a young male voice yell, "Hey, Mrs. Morrow! I'm Glen -- saw you when you were towed into the garage. I work for Don, the mechanic that's working on your car. Want a lift home? Don's a slow worker, may be hours before he locates the trouble."
He sat there and smiled at her, a young, boyish smile again, from his beat-up 1965 Rambler.
Jane smiled thinly, thinking that a ride would be better than getting wet. Besides, she liked his looks, had even noticed his tall and thin frame bending over the fender of a car when she talked to the mechanic. She nodded, putting a package over her new hairdo, protecting it from the rain, and tried to run to the car gracefully. The rain was coming down harder, and although she had thoughts of her own as they rode through the downtown traffic, she managed to look flabbergasted when she felt the boy's hand on her knee after he stopped for a red light. But she was even more -- and sincerely -- flabbergasted when she found she enjoyed the feel of his hand moving higher! She did not attempt to remove his fingers, slowly crawling up her leg, along her thigh, past the top of her stocking, while the teenager with the shiny, apple-cheeked face drove with one hand on the wheel.
His fingers lay there, tapping impatiently until he finally parked the car in a deserted section of town, beside an abandoned warehouse. Then his soft lips came down upon hers and his fingers continued their journey underneath the elastic of her panties, until they were actually thrusting through the hot moist lips of her cunt.
Jane just stared out the car window, watching the sprinkle of rain with glaring, hot eyes, not daring to look at the boy's face; for it would remind her that he was fifteen or sixteen years younger than she. "I have to go home now," she said, but not convincingly, and still not looking at him.
"Don't you like it, huh, Mrs. Morrow?"
"It's -- it's not that. I... "
"Because I'm a kid?"
"No, no. It's -- Glen, I've been so lonely, so lonely, but... "
The finger kept at its circling motion inside her cunt. Jane was having trouble getting her breath. Her attractive face was getting filmed with perspiration. But she didn't move away from that wonderful finger!
"Just put your hand on this hard-on a minute, that's all, Mrs. Morrow. Gee, I watched you walkn' around the garage, talking to Don and... "
His finger was working a new and faster rhythm, flicking at the moist lips of her vulva. Jane gasped in sheer delight, naked passion claiming her entire body, heating her vagina to a white-hot rage. Yet she still remembered where and who she was -- My God, I'm -- I'm old enough to be his mother -- and remembered she had had that same thought just two days before. She tried to mutter something, but not loudly, certainly not at all convincingly. "N-no! NO! Y-You must not -- I - ohbhhhhhhhhhh!"
The rain continued to tip-tap on the car, clouding the windows, and Glen, his face a mask of half grin and all lust, continued to work his fingers in Jane's vulva. She opened her thighs to permit better ingress, moaned slightly when she felt his other hand move over her breasts.
"Faster! Do it FASTER! DO IT FASTERRRR! Uhhhhh!", she finally moaned, giving in to that other self of hers.
"I've got -- got a big hard-on," Glen said, a whine to his voice. He knew this woman was at fever pitch and figured if he insisted, if he pushed long enough, she would consent. She was hardly conscious of his words, lost completely in her first orgasm, and as the intense heavenly joy of come began to subside, Jane was all-possessed with the consuming desire to see his prick. She wanted to feel it, twist it. She wanted it in her mouth.
She put her hand on Glen's lap, felt the stiff hardness, the throbbing rise imprisoned within his struggling trousers. Not caring anymore, she unzipped the youth's pants and pulled out his pulsing penis, gasping under his kiss when she felt the size of the handsome young prick She pulled away from his kiss and looked down at it. It was very white and bigger than Bill's. She began to masturbate Glen, firmly clutching the hard, pulsing shaft, working it with an experienced hand.
With jerky movements, young Glen continued to finger-fuck her, gasping and sobbing, twisting and squirming, as Jane's hand raced up and down his cock.
"L-let -- me -- p-put -- on a r-rubber," the boy sobbed, feebly attempting to open the compartment in the dash. Jane ignored his request, continued to jack him, working her hand faster and faster over his inflamed peter.
"Ohhhhh -- uhhhbh!" he finally cried, automatically raising his loins and ejaculating with such intensity that some of his semen splattered on the windshield over the dash. Then Jane cried, having still another orgasm, which even pulled at the roots of her hair. She couldn't resist. She lowered her head and licked the weakening peter dry.
"Oh, lady, lady," the boy grinned, "I love to watch your mouth going up and down on my prick!"
His organ was growing hard again. Jane took it all. Murmuring, whimpering, sobbing, licking, sucking, groaning... and sometimes gagging at the swollen size of it.
In the early morning hours of the next day, Jane was awakened by a hand on her smooth, long thigh. It was Bill, and he was not just straightening the blanket.
As she rolled over, Jane was reminded of the first days of their marriage -- the lovemaking bouts in the bedroom, on the living room floor, on the stairs, even once when she was in the bathtub.
She came awake abruptly, as she felt Bill's hand now slip beneath the covers and slide over her willowy thigh. The hand searched, and searched, and finally found its nest, like a large, meaty bird.
Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Now!" she whispered, shivering at his touch, her lips parted. "Right now, Bill!"
Slowly, Bill's body moved over hers, and she slid out of her nightie audaciously, quickly. She wanted him inside of her, wanted the last chance for her life to return to its norm... before she went mad. Abandoning herself to this last hope, Jane flung wide her thighs, wrapping her fine, sinewy legs around Bill, who rose over her, rampant, like a lion.
"Take me!" she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly, as she felt herself moisten, warming at the center to the good, full entry which she expected.
And then, oddly, Jane felt herself relax, as she knew the hard, insistent thrusting of the man -- that self-centered ramming which told her that Bill was interested exclusively in his own pleasure. She let out a tiny groan which Bill, in his eagerness, mistook for passion. It was actually a groan of disappointment.
At last, Bill let out a long grunt as he discharged within her, plunging and bucking to the end of his own climax. Once finished, he rolled over and in a few minutes was sound asleep again.
Jane turned over in the bed, and put her back to his. She squinted at the alarm clock, and saw that she still had an hour before she had to get up. Already, she could hear the first stirrings from the children's room. It would not be long now before the morning "realities" had to be faced. Getting Bill off to work, getting the kids off to school.
A tear formed at the corner of Jane's right eye, and she blinked twice, sending the drop of moisture rolling across her right cheek.
What, Jane wondered silently, had ever become of the man she married.
And what, she then asked herself, was becoming of her?