Gwen padded back into the bedroom and it struck me once more what a
graceful, attractive woman my wife was. "It's okay," she told me. "The baby's
asleep. --What are you looking at?" "You," I told her. "Your breasts. Your
posture, which gives you those lovely clean lines. Your neck -- oh, I love your
neck. Your lips. Your other lips. That mad tangle of pubic hair. All the parts
that make you up." "Huh-uh," she said as she went to her side of the bed. "You
missed the jelly-belly from childbirth. And what do you propose to do with all
of those parts?" I said, "Make mad passionate love to them, wench." I reached
for her from the bed; she stepped away. "Oh, sweetie. I'd love to make love
tonight--" It was in her voice. I said for her, "But--?" "But," she said, "I
really don't feel like it tonight. I've been up and busy with the baby and I'm
_so_ tired..." "Um," I said. "That's okay." She got into the bed on her side. I
didn't move to cuddle her. "We'll make love soon, I promise." "Okay." I turned
out the light and we lay there in the dark. She shifted herself over and reached
for my cock. It was still hard, though my erection was fading. "Oh, my," she
said. I didn't move or respond, and she let go of me. Finally she said, "It
hasn't been that long, has it?" I sighed. "Depending on whether you count the
one time when the baby was six weeks old, it's been either six months or ten
months." "Oh," Gwen said, and was quiet again for a while. "I just don't _feel_
like it," she said. I mean, I want to in my head, but my body..." "That's okay,"
I told her again. Again there was uneasy silence, and somewhere during that, I
fell asleep, maybe for a long time, maybe not. I woke to the sound and shudders
of Gwen sobbing beside me. In my fogged and crusty state I managed in my fogged
and crusty state to place a hand on her shoulder and to croak, "Hey. Hey, what's
wrong?" "Oh, Rob, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Her voice stuck on the
vowels. I held her close to me until her crying subsided. She smelled of hot
tears and sweet milk and floral shampoo. "I hate not wanting to make love, but I
just _don't_. My breasts are these _feeding_ stations and they just aren't sexy
at all and I'm so _tired_ and I keep thinking you might-- might--" she was
sobbing again; finally she managed to squeeze out, "_leave_ me." "Hey," I
repeated, and calmed her again. "I'm here for you. I won't go away." "I just
keep feeling you get so horny and I don't do anything for you and you might have
an--" Her voice was starting to hitch again so I interrupted. "An affair?
Sweetie, we left 'to be faithful' in the marriage vow and I intend to abide by
it." She snuggled up against me, hot tears spilling onto my chest. "You
promise?" "I do," I told her solemnly. "None of those women from your past would
interest you?" Gwen had never asked much about my past. She knew I'd had just
over a dozen lovers, and I knew she'd had three, including me. "No," I told her,
and then, because I was still sleepy and because it was the truth, I said,
"well, only one." "Tell me about her," Gwen said in a small sleepy voice, so I
did. * * * Her name was Merle, and at first I had to fuck her with my eyes
closed. Not that she was ugly, quite the opposite. She was striking to look at,
raven-wing hair framing a clean strong face with pale blue eyes that held the
noon sky. Even when she was lying beneath me, wisps of that ebony hair
sweat-plastered to her, she was hypnotic. I knew I could lose myself in gazing
at her, lose the urgent rhythm of my cock in her slick wet pussy. Instead, I
buried my face in the hollow of her neck, sucking and biting her earlobe and her
sturdy neck, and inhaling her wild scent. The truth is, she intimidated the hell
out of me. In one sentence, Merle knew what she wanted. "Your cock," Merle
murmured. "I love the feel of your cock sliding into me. It's so _big._" She
pressed her hips up against me, trying to capture my entire cock within her. I
pulled away again and teased her with the head, popping the mushroom cap in and
out of her with short eager thrusts. "Oh, Jesusssss--" she said, and the final
syllable fell into a long sibilant sigh as she came again, her splendid body
tightening against mine and then falling slack for a moment before she was ready
to go on. "Fill me," she urged. "Fill my pussy with your big fat cock." I
adjusted position, pulling her knees up around my shoulders and bracing myself
for fast hard strokes. I fixed my gaze on her breasts as, I fucked her hard,
filling her with the full length of my cock on every stroke, slapping my balls
against her ass, grunting with the effort. Her breasts bounced and sagged
slightly over her ribs as she thrust against me. Her broad brown areola were
soft again after her orgasm. "Touch my clit," she whispered. "I love the way you
touch my clit." I tweaked one nipple and was rewarded by a slight change in
texture, a nubbly stiffening; I traced a path down to her tidy arrowhead of
pubic hair. Her clit was as sturdy and eager as her body, a hard marble of
excitement, and I played it with my index finger. She was wet, always wetter
than any other woman I had ever known, and every stroke and caress made her gasp
and tighten, until finally I had reduced her vocabulary to a single obscenity,
over and over: "Fuck," she whispered and gasped and moaned. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh
fuck, ohhhhh fuck fuck fuck..." and I did. I changed positions again, putting
her legs back down: this time I wanted to fuck her slowly. I wanted to come
inside her. For me with Merle, that meant moving so I wasn't fucking her as much
as I was rubbing the top of my cock with her cunt. "I'm going to come in you," I
told her. I sensed her nod in the jostle of her breasts and the movement of her
hips and the slow bounce of the bed. Her pussy held my cock, caressed it as I
slowly pushed it into her and pulled it out -- Merle gasped as the head came out
and again as it slid in. Her nails dug into my back, hurting me but that was
only a spice to the age-old banquet, the slippery velvet tingling that moved
along my shaft, to the corona and glans and back again. I kept my pace
deliberate; the pressure built within me until I couldn't stand it any more and
I groaned, "I'm cummmming." She moaned "Unnnh" as I frantically shoved the full
length of my cock into her, grinding my pubis against her clit. My cock jerked
and throbbed with orgasm, and I filled her with my come. * * * I stopped then.
My cock was very hard, and I thought that Gwen had fallen asleep. With luck, I
thought, I could manage a quiet jerk-off without waking her. As I shifted to
roll away, she reached up and held my hard-on loosely in her hand, the way the
baby holds the rattle while she sleeps. Gwen murmured, "Tell me more." * * *
Merle wasn't the first woman I fucked, or made love to, or slept with, but she
was the first I did all three with. I met her in a grocery store: I was
wandering through the aisles, buying whatever looked interesting, when I glanced
at her as she passed by me. She was, as I said, striking. I made a show of
having bought the wrong thing (silly of me; they were oyster mushrooms, and you
can't really mistake them for anything else) and backed up to get another look.
Sometimes you glimpse a face and your impression is quite different from the
reality. Other women are striking but only from one angle. But Merle really was
that striking, from every angle, and I was dumbfounded. We stand at the doorways
to new lives every day. I don't know what you'd call those possibilities:
epiphanies, or maybe cusps. You have to be ready for one, though, or the doorway
is closed. The first time I saw Merle was one of those cusps for me. I followed
her for three aisles before I worked up the courage to use the oldest
conversation-starter in the world. I said "Hello." It was a bumpy conversational
start and I got the impression that she was _amused_ by me, but I kept talking
to her, about anything that came to mind -- except sex, at least overtly. I
remember asking her what the "virgin" meant in "virgin olive oil;" she told me.
Finally she invited me to her place for dinner because she lived alone, she
said, and if no one came over for dinner, she'd eat out of cans. Four hours
later we were fucking, and I've already told you about that. (My fault, mostly,
as it turned out.) Merle had standards, and I had to live up to them, in the
bedroom as well as elsewhere. And after we settled the disease and birth control
issues, we continued to fuck. But this is about how we made love, and that came
later. Some relationships which start in bed never move out of it -- they never
find those cusps -- but Merle and I had good prospects. We talked, before and
after sex, about everything. Mostly we talked about sex, of course: what we
liked and what we didn't like -- I learned a great deal about what Merle liked
and didn't like; for instance, Merle could deep-throat a man, but she didn't
particularly enjoy it. I discovered some things about what I didn't like, as
opposed to what I _thought_ I didn't like. And we talked about our other
partners. She was quite circumspect about names -- it was always, "Well, I knew
a guy--" or once, "A girlfriend and I--" So one night after sex, she began
telling me about this guy, her first lover and her first real love. And she had
a nightgown, a red flannel nightgown from her grandmother, whom she adored. The
guy had a problem: he was vicious. He was not only vicious in big ways -- he hit
her a couple of times, but he always said it would be the last time, she always
believed him, and it always was, for a while -- but he was also vicious in small
ways. He left the toilet seat up, because it bothered her. He lost things, but
only her things. I pictured him saying, "Your virginity? Geez, I don't know what
happened to it. It was around here someplace." And smirking. One night, this guy
wanted sex, and she didn't. It was cold, she was dressed for bed, he'd come in
half-drunk, dropped his pants to reveal his hard-on and announced his need. They
argued about it, and finally she agreed to a quickie. Merle laughed ruefully at
this point and called herself an idiot in those days. But I think that each of
us has someone who gets under our skins, who reaches places in us that no one
else does, and for whom we do the unthinkable. This guy was like that for Merle,
just as Merle was like that for me. Well, the quickie wasn't coming quick enough
for him, and he tore the nightgown off her. He didn't quite tear it in two, but
it was un-wearable. Merle let him finish -- she said it didn't take long, with
another rueful laugh -- and after he rolled off her and rolled into a deep
drunken sleep, she packed and she left. She said she didn't even clean his come
from her until she arrived at a friend's place, because she wanted the
discomfort to remind her of how stupid she had been. She had kept the two pieces
of the nightgown, because she meant to do something with them, maybe make them
into throw pillows or something, but she couldn't bear to destroy the nightgown
any further. The next morning, she was off to work early and I was left behind
to fix my own breakfast in her place. I explored a bit and found what I needed,
and I stitched together the nightgown as best I could. I wasn't too pleased with
the results because my stitches were big and sloppy but I kept remembering what
my dad used to say, that a thing worth doing was worth doing poorly. By the time
I was done, I was certain that this was absolutely the wrong thing to do, and
that she was going to hate me forever for desecrating the nightgown but I didn't
have time to undo it before I went off to class myself. After class, I went
straight back to her place, maybe to sneak the nightgown out and unfix it. But
she'd had a shitty day at work and she wasn't feeling well and she just said to
me, "No fucking tonight," and I said, "Fine." And she looked at me as though she
expected me to take off immediately once I knew we weren't going to bonk; she
was surprised I hadn't left a hole in the air as I left. She stood before me
like a fighter stands when he's facing the last of a line of opponents. I had
nothing to lose by confessing at that point. So I went to her dresser and I
lifted out the nightgown and put it in her arms and I left. I hadn't gotten to
the stairs when she called hoarsely to me. Her cheeks were wet with tears and
those blue eyes were red-rimmed. She held out her arms and we held each other
for a warm fragrant time. Then she kissed me, and it was like no kiss I'd had
from her before. It was...the difference between a photograph and the real
person. This was the real Merle, and her kisses were tender and sweet and hot. I
kissed away her tears from her jaw and her cheeks and the corners of her eyes.
Merle opened my shirt and began to kiss her way down my chest: hollow of neck,
collarbone, nipples and ribs (I giggled from nervous ticklishness) and then down
to my belt. She pulled me back into her apartment and into her bedroom. The
dampness of her kisses cooled on my skin and hardened my nipples. She rimmed my
belly button with her tongue while she stripped me of pants and underpants. My
thickening cock brushed her blouse's collar. She knelt in front of me and,
gently grasping my cock behind the head, guided it into her mouth. Her mouth was
liquid fire, swirling and tickling me. I closed my eyes, because Merle was very
good at this. Then, holding the cheeks of my ass in her hands, she began to bob
up and down the length of my cock. I felt her relax the muscles of her throat as
my cock grew and hardened. I had never had a woman take all of me down her
throat before. This was, I understood, a gift. It felt...nice. I didn't find it
to be the ultimate sexual experience: I was worried about her, about hurting
her, but I was very flattered and turned on that she had decided to give it to
me. After a few minutes of this, she pulled her head back from my cock, a clear
string of saliva still connecting us, and she smiled shyly at me. I pulled her
up beside me and kissed her. "Thank you," I whispered. I stepped free of my
clothes and began to undress her. I eased her blouse off her shoulders, onto the
floor. Her black skirt and her pantyhose followed. She stood before me in her
lingerie, and I admired her for a moment. Striking, I said before, and she was.
"You're beautiful," I told her, and I meant it. She smiled. It gave her a dimple
in her left cheek. "Thank you." I kissed her again, and we fell giggling onto
the bed, mouth to mouth. Her tongue flicked over my tongue, my teeth, the tip of
my nose, the inside of my ear, the roughness of my chin. I wanted my cock inside
her, but I also wanted this to go on forever, and I was afraid that once I was
inside her, I would come immediately. We struggled for a moment to get her
demicup bra off, and then it was on the floor. Merle liked a lot of attention to
her breasts: I kissed and sucked her big brown nipples until they stood to
pebbly erection. I sucked one entire breast into my wide-open mouth and tongued
it; then I bit delicately on the nipple. I cupped the other breast in my hand,
pressing and stroking it with my thumb. I scraped the undersides of her breasts
gently with my stubbed cheek. I stroked one breast with the back of my hand
while I scratched the other lightly with my fingernails. Every once in a while,
she gasped and thrust her hips into the air. I could smell her excitement, sweet
and musky. I kissed my way down her ribs and belly button and between the horns
of her hips. Her panties were transparently damp, betraying her raven pubic hair
and swollen inner lips. I tasted her mound through the cloth, hungrily. She
pressed herself against my face. I sat up to peel off her panties. She scooted
down the bed so my hard cock rested between her lips. I rubbed the length of my
cock along her, teasing her, caressing her big hard clit with the head of my
cock. I tried teasing her by holding my cock right at the entrance, only a
quarter-inch of it penetrating her, but she moved and captured it. She felt so
good that I pushed and suddenly I was buried deep within her. I held motionless
for a moment, afraid I'd come, and then I slowly withdrew. She whimpered. When
only my head was left within her, I had to decide if I wanted to come: and it
took almost all my willpower to pull out entirely. I kept moving down the bed
until my knees were on the floor and my mouth was on her pussy again. I ate her
with little cat-licks: gentle tongue caresses from the outside in. I slowly
moved from back to front, tasting every inch. I sucked her marble-hard clit into
my mouth and diddled it with my tongue. I slipped a finger into her, then a
second, then a third, and I massaged the inside of her pussy as I played with
her lips and clit. She tasted as delightful as she smelled. Finally I pulled my
head away and gently stroked every slick fold of her flesh. Merle moaned as I
circled her clit with my middle and forefingers. Her throaty moans excited me. I
held one finger just above her, and the rhythmic thrusts of her hips brushed her
clitoris against my finger with a feather-light touch. She began to pump her
hips, seeking my finger. I moved it away and clambered up the bed to lay beside
her. "Now," she said to me. I positioned myself over her body, and she guided my
hard thick cock into her. I gasped as her warm wet pussy gripped me tightly.
"I'm glad you like it," she murmured. "I do," I told her. "I do." We were
familiar enough with each other by then that there was no need to talk: a shift
of weight or a tiny gasp said as much as we needed. We settled into a
comfortable rhythm, one that would sustain us. And we kissed. I tasted myself on
her, she tasted herself on me, our scents and flavors mingled like our bodies.
If our fucking had been a dash for orgasm, this was a leisurely stroll. I broke
free and raised myself up once, to admire this goddess beneath me. She moved her
hand to where we were joined and said softly, "Thank you." "My pleasure," I told
her. "It's mutual," she said. Eventually our need grew, and my thrusts grew
stronger and faster. Her hips twitched against mine and our bellies slapped
together as I drove my cock in and out of her. We held hands, twining our
fingers together as we both sought release. She came first, with a long
drawn-out sigh, pulling my hands down against the bed and pressing her feet
against the sheets. Shortly after that, I grunted and then moaned as I poured my
orgasm into her and I saw her face surrounded by stars. I sank down and nestled
against her. And in that moment of silence afterwards, Merle whispered, "I love
you." I said, "I love you too." * * * Gwen's eyes were still closed, and she was
breathing evenly and deeply, as though she were asleep. But her hand was moving
slowly, almost absent-mindedly, up and down my hard cock. She knew she could
hold me at this level for a long, long time, and she knew how, with only a minor
variation, she could make me come in a minute. I wiggled my hips, trying to
convince her to give me that release, but she said, "Tell me more. Tell me about
when you slept together." I didn't want to, but I did. * * * Both Merle and I
had been at one of those cusps the day I mended the nightshirt, and we crossed
that doorway together. But togetherness is tough work, and there's a new cusp
every day, and finally I was -- metaphorically -- alone in the house. The signs
were small ones, and if I'd been good enough at reading those signs of ripeness
as I was at reading the signs of departure, I might have gone with her. That's
the best explanation I can find for the fact that after six months, we had a
very decent conversation, and a lot of tears. "It's not you," she said. "It's
me." "No," I told her, "it's me." We cried a bit. "I'll always love you, you
know," she said. "But I'm not _in love_ with you." "But I'm in love with you," I
told her. "It won't work," she told me. "Why not?" "Because of me," she told me.
"It's not you, it's me." And finally, after we'd gone around that a few more
times, she asked me if we could still be friends, and because I was young I said
yes. And she took me up on it. We had lunch every week. She told me her problems
over salad and entree. I told her about my life, making it up over dessert. My
heart ached when I saw her, though I was trying to be a friend, to be
sympathetic to her problems, even though I desperately wanted her to leave the
thirty-two-year-old advertising account executive who suffered from premature
ejaculation. I once made a joke about being willing to finish her off when he
came too soon; if she realized how thoroughly I meant it, she didn't let me
know. The lunch dates became monthly and then bimonthly and then it was a year
since she'd left me. I took stock and realized that I'd been insane in a
clinical sense and started dating other people: drab boring people as it turned
out. Then it was a year and a half since she'd left me, and I realized I'd been
insane six months ago but I was far better now. I rediscovered simple pleasures:
laying in the sun, Baroque music, massages (giving and receiving), punishing
exercise and bubble baths. I was in the tub one summer's night, soaking after my
nightly regimen, when someone let him or herself into my apartment. About a
dozen people had keys. I wrapped myself in a big terrycloth robe and padded out
to the living room to see which of the dozen it was. Merle was standing there,
soaking wet and dripping rain onto my welcome mat. Still striking. Still
beautiful. My heart filled my throat. "Hi," she said sadly. "Mind if I come in?"
Over her? I suddenly realized that I wasn't over her at all. "Please do," I told
her. I took her coat and she started to shiver. I called myself stupid, and
busied myself: I put her in the bedroom with a towel and some of my clean
clothes while I made tea. She came out in my new blue jeans, stiff and rolled at
the ankles, a singlet and a green flannel shirt that lent her eyes the color of
the sea. I almost couldn't breathe, she was so lovely. My apartment had no
washer, no dryer, so we arranged her wet clothes on radiators and lampshades to
dry: blouse, skirt, hose, bra, panties. The place looked like a Gypsy encampment
when we were done. Wrapped in my comforter, she curled up in the corner of the
big fake-leather couch with her tea. I perched at the other end, ready to fetch
anything she might need. Ready to be of service. She looked at me and
misunderstood. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm not here for long. I won't disturb
your life." "That's okay," I told her. "You can disturb my life any time. What
happened?" "Men," she said. "Me. They're a bad combination, Rob." "I thought it
was pretty good." She smiled in an exhausted way. "You were sweet. No, this was
David." David was the advertising executive. "He didn't...hit you, did he?"
"What? No, nothing like that. Rob, why will someone who has been avoiding
marriage, avoiding commitment, suddenly decide that nothing else will do?" My
heart swelled in my throat. "Cusps," I said to her. "He, uh, he proposed?" "Oh
no, you sweet turkey. I proposed to him." My heart sank then, like the Titanic,
though the band played on. "And he turned you down?" She nodded. "Just as well.
I think life with him would be hell. But still -- all of a sudden, I _want_ to
be _married._" She laughed. "A hell of a thing. And _who_ I marry doesn't seem
to matter so much." "Well," I said, as lightly as I could, "I'm still available,
though I would have to check my calendar." She laughed and that was the moment I
knew I would never have her for my own. Though she said it didn't matter who she
married, she would not think of marrying me. Halfway through the laugh her tears
started coming, and I went to her and cradled her in my arms. I stroked her hair
for a long, long time as she cried. "I'm sorry," she finally managed to say,
"I'm so _tired..._" I picked her up though my aching muscles protested, and put
her on the futon. She gave me a little help in undressing her and I yearned for
her as I peeled off clothes to bare the woman I had dreamed of for the past two
years. I covered her with the comforter; before I could leave, she touched my
sleeve and said, "Please stay." I dropped my robe and lay beside-behind her,
spoon fashion, her cool still-damp buttocks pressing into my pelvis. My erection
fit neatly between the cheeks of her ass, poking me in the stomach. I rested my
head on my right arm, and curled my left arm loosely over her, my hand resting
between her breasts. I was too conscious of her to sleep, though I dozed now and
then. After one of those brief naps, I discovered my insistent cock nestled
between the lips of her pussy, warm and wet. Moving my hand slightly, I felt her
nipple harden under my fingertips. Her hips made a nearly-imperceptible
movement. Perhaps I imagined it, but I took it as an invitation. I began to move
my hips, sliding my cock back and forth along her lips. The quality of her
breathing changed, became a little shallower, a little faster. I rediscovered
the path from her nipples down her belly to her hot hard clit, and I began to
stroke her, occasionally touching the heavy head of my cock. I don't know how
long I kept up this torture; the sweet urgency built in my hips, my balls, my
cock. With every slide back, my cock rested at her entrance. I pressed slightly
but did not enter her. It would take a little -- very little! -- help from my
hand, but I didn't do it. I'm not sure why. After some more time, Merle moaned
softly. She reached down and adjusted the angle and the head of my cock popped
into her. "Ooooh," she sighed. I started to push my cock in farther with each
stroke, fondling her as I did so. Not just her clit; all of her, careful to make
it good for her, holding myself back. She responded in the old familiar ways,
and very soon, her body tightened and she sighed as she always sighed when she
came. She rolled onto her stomach, the signal that she was done. I was not near
orgasm yet. It seemed to me that she didn't care if I came. She had never cared
if I loved her. I began to fuck her angrily, with full harsh strokes, in and
out, her thighs gripping the length of my cock. My hips slapped against her
asscheeks as I pushed my hard cock into her, again and again. I didn't care if
she liked it, I didn't care what she wanted or what she thought of me; I would
never have her, and there was a kind of freedom in that. In my anger, the feel
of Merle beneath me, prone and warm and helpless. I reached up and held her
wrists down against the futon. She gasped, but did not struggle. If she had, I
might have really tried to hold her wrists, really tried to restrain her, but
she didn't and I didn't. Instead I thrust my heavy cock into her, thrilling to
the feel of her captive body beneath mine. I don't know how long I fucked her
like that, careless of her needs or wants, slapping her ass with my hips,
driving my cock in her cunt. Somewhere in that I let go of her arms,
concentrating on the feel of her pussy, the rubbing of her thighs against my
shaft. She lay still beneath me, moaning in time with my thrusts, faster and
faster. My orgasm was pure, beneath words: I barked with pleasure as I came. My
cock throbbed inside her several times, and then I lay quietly on her. I rested,
feeling our heartbeats slow down and the slight pull of sweat-sticky skin each
time we breathed. After my cock softened and fell out of her, dollops of my come
oozed out and tickled down the limp length of my cock. I shivered, and pulled
away from her. Finally I slept peacefully. The next morning, I was sure it was
over between us, that I could look at her as just another woman I had known
once, and it was almost like that. But at the door, as she was leaving, she
kissed me goodbye like this: with her mouth open and her tongue caressing mine.
When she was done, she whispered, "Thanks for last night." And that was another
cusp. But she went out the door, and I stayed behind. * * * As I spoke, Gwen
changed her grip on my cock and I squeezed my eyes shut as I came, shooting
semen onto my chest and belly. A third pulse ran over her fingers and into my
pubic hair. Before I opened my eyes, Gwen sucked my cock clean as it softened in
her mouth. Finally she let it fall from between her lips, where it lolled on my
thigh. Gwen clambered up my body and licked the come off my chest. She kissed me
with surprising force, sharing my come with me. The astringent aftertaste of it
caught in my throat. "You'd have an affair with her?" Gwen asked me, her voice
throaty. I couldn't back out of it now, and besides, it was true. I nodded.
Gwen's eyes were fierce. "If you do, I want you to know--" I could feel the damp
heat of her crotch pressing against my belly. "--I want to watch." On the cusp,
at the doorway, whatever that meant, I took a deep breath and stepped in with my
wife. "You will," I told her. "You will."
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