"For godssakes stop the silly crying, Oliver, and be a man. So Billy screwed me. So what? It isn't like it means a damn thing," said Emilie. "It made me feel good and didn't hurt you or us one little bit."
"I'm not crying. I've just got something in my eye. But, as for the rest of it, it means plenty to me, and in case you actually give a damn it did hurt me. And also in case you actually give a damn there is the indisputable fact that this marriage is over," I said.
"Oh, pooh," she said. "Talk about overreacting. Go out and get yourself a revenge fuck if you're so bothered by it," she said.
Who was this woman? I sure as hell didn't know. But, she was going to be history in short order. If and when, that is, I could swing the cost of a divorce lawyer. Oh, yeah, history for damn sure! But, I knew two other things, also for sure: one, I couldn't afford a lawyer at the moment; and two, there was no way any other woman was going to let me into her pants. There had been a time, but not now, not at my age fifty. My days of scoring were long past, and my wife knew it. She on the other hand was clearly by no means done as the sage might have averred.
All of the above said. I would not be sticking around so she could humiliate me anymore than she already had. No sirree, I was getting the hell outta Dodge. She might not believe it, but it was going to happen and happen immediately. I headed down the hall to the bedroom we'd shared for most of the past twenty some years we'd been married. I needed a couple of suitcases, and a box or two to pack up the stuff I'd need for work and to set up housekeeping in whatever new digs I could—well—dig up. She smirked as she watched me march off.
I was busy packing when she came into the room. "Oliver, you are wasting your time. You know it and I know it. You'll be back with your tail between your legs begging forgiveness, and you'll just have to be putting it all away again," she said. My turn to smirk.
"Think so," I said. "You're wrong!" She'd just put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage. Her look did change a little with my tone. She decided to soften her original stance.
"Look, I'm sorry. Okay? But, it was nothing but a little funnin' I swear it. It won't happen again. I promise," she said.
"What won't happen again, Emilie? You fucking other men or just not doing it in our bed!" I said. I went back to my packing.
"Jesus, you're making a federal case out of nothing whatsoever. You need to stop and we need to talk," I said.
"You still haven't answered me," I said. I continued to pack.
"Answered what?" she said. I stopped packing for a moment and looked her straight in the eyes.
"What is it you're not going to do anymore," I said. She looked away. Her look was pure frustration—no—disgust.
"Neither in our bed nor at all," she said. "How's that?" My eyes were hot from the acid of my tears, the tears I'd denied having but shortly before. She shook her head sympathetically.
I sat down heavily on the bed, the half packed bag I'd been loading up beside me. "How do I know you'd keep your word?" I said, and that not unreasonably. She came toward me, but stopped a few feet away.
"I don't know. I guess you'll just have to take a chance. But, I will not break my word. No more hurting you by screwing other men. I really do promise. And, I was serious about you going out and getting yourself a little strange on the side. A little revenge so to speak, like I said," she said.
I'd heard her, and I'd also heard something else. Her tone when she said she'd not be hurting me anymore by screwing other men. It, her tone, bothered me. It was like she was almost saying that she wouldn't hurt me because I would never know she was screwing other men. That she was just planning on being ultra-careful in the future. She'd not said that obviously, but she'd sure as hell "toned" it. Tone of voice is everything; boy did I know that for a fact. How did I know? Well, maybe it's time for me to introduce us.
My name is Oliver Wright, age fifty, short at five-six, spare at one-thirty-five, slightly balding, and perfectly average in the face. I'm a voice coach for wanna be actors. I know pretty much all there is to know about tone of voice; hence, my earlier remarks. The job—I work at Merlin Studios—pays well, and I meet lots of interesting people, that including any number of celebs.
Emilie Wright, nee Allen, is my wife of many years. Emilie is forty-six; also five-six, maybe one-fifteen, she won't say. Emilie has long flowing dark hair, a dazzling face, shoulda been a movie star herself; and a personality that's purely magnetic. Oh, and a figure that is but a trice short of amazing. Yeah, yeah, I know totally out of my league. Emilie is a hair dresser, a fairly talented one as it happens. She works at Merlin's too. In fact it was at a Merlin's New Year's Eve party those many years ago that we met. She gave me a tumble—in the hay—appreciated my enthusiasm if not exactly my more or less than average skills and tool; decided I'd do, and married me.
Oh, I knew it likely had more to do with my six figure income—she makes a third of what I do— than either my wonderful good looks or my aforementioned bedroom skills; but what the hey, I wanted her body. Oh yeah, I wanted it real bad. Pussywhipped? Me? Damn straight. She knew it, and she used it. She's gotten everything she's wanted from me over the years, but not this. Not my willingness to be her cuckold. Not in this life nor any other: no way in hell I was going for that.
I looked her askance. Trust her now? That was the question. A moment before I had one foot out the door. But, did I really want to dump her. The short answer was no. This despite the fact that she had thoroughly humiliated me, and that with a man we both knew well and considered a friend. I decided to go for it.
"Call Billy's wife now. You're going to tell her all of it over the phone," I said. She actually smiled.
"She already knows. Mavis and Billy have an open marriage," said my wife. My lower jaw dropped a yard and bounced off the floor.
"Mavis Walcott's into other men!" I said.
"Yes," she said.
I decided to test the waters. "Call her anyway. Tell her to come over. I'm going to screw her. You told me to go out and get some strange, so okay, I'm ready. After all you did her husband; I'm going to do her," I said. Now it was time for my wife's jaw to bounce off of the floor. And, hell, Mavis was a dazzler.
"I can't do that," she said.
"If you and her Billy can cuckold me, I can cuckold him. That's fair," I said.
"What if she says no?" she said.
"Then she says no, and you get one of your other friends in here to do me," I said. But, I really do want her. And put it on speaker phone; I want to hear it all," I said.
"Ollie, let's talk this through a little more, okay?" said Emilie.
"No, call her. Call her now," I said. She shook her head.
"Okay, then, I'll do it," I said. I headed for the hall and the little phone stand that was there with our personal phone book beside it. I looked up the Walcott's. I dialed as she watched me.
"Hi Mavis, this is Ollie, Ollie Wright ... yes-yes you too ... uh huh ... Look Mavis my wife just got done doing your hubby ... right, right ... really ... so you really do have an open marriage? ... Really ... Well okay, that's cool, but now I have a request ... yes a request ... I need you to come over here so I can do you ... Huh! ... but..."
"She laughed at me, hung up on me. Guess you were wrong about me having something to offer another woman. Hell if I'm not enough for my own wife, what could I expect," I said with a sneer. "No problem though, now I go after the two of them—and you." I continued my packing.
"Ollie, wait. You and I need to talk things out. This is not good," said Emilie.
"No it's not good, not at all," I said. Five minutes later I was out the door.
I hadn't known a bit ago where I was going to go, or really, what I was going to do, but now I did. I knew just where to find what I was looking for, at least in terms of a place to stay. It was but four blocks from my shop at the studio; it was called the Coronado: my new place was a fourth floor three bedroom that was more than tastefully furnished. It was a bit pricey, but what the hey, I did make the big bucks.
I'd picked up a bottle Old Overholt at the liquor outlet near our house on my way to the apartment building. I liked rye better than bourbon when I could get it; it was hotter than bourbon and maybe a tad less sweet. At any rate it, Old-O, was my friend. I sipped it now as I looked out at the city lights spread out before me. I wondered what she was doing, who she was calling. It was going to be a busy next few days; I was sure of that. Tomorrow? Tomorrow I would have to be doing some thinking, planning. Oh yeah. But tonight, tonight I would be kicking back and brooding, maybe feeling a little bit sorry for myself. And—getting blasted. Hell, I was entitled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. And, you were right, but we were in a hurry. Billy had an appointment or something. He told me..." started Emilie.
"Yes, he had an appointment all right—with Jessica hardass McCoy," said Mavis.
"You're kidding me!" said Emilie.
"Nope. Anyway, whaddya gonna do about Oliver?"
"I don't know. I don't even know where he is, and his cell is turned off," said Emilie. "But to answer your question more directly, find somebody he can get revenge with. You could have been a bit more helpful there, Mavis! I mean would it have killed you?"
"Em', we've talked about this; he's not my type: too short, too boring. Hell, he's clearly not enough for you. What'd you expect letting him pin me like that! That said, I do hope I didn't queer things for you. I didn't mean to hurt the guy's little feelings. He's okay so long as a body doesn't have to sleep with him." Emily gave her a look that was less than appreciative of her sentiments.
"But, the other thing, I can maybe can help you find him. Jimmy Corson said he thought he saw him pulling into the Coronado," said Mavis.
"Really. I should go there and try and talk some sense into him," said Emilie. "He's not going to be able to find someone to replace me' he's too old and to short and too boring, as you accurately point out, to really be allowed out without supervision. Plus, he's vulnerable right now. Some little chickee is certain to come along and dig for his gold as soon as he flashes that black Amex of his. But, until she does, he's gonna be one lonesome critter. And, he's gonna be stayin' that way if he doesn't cool down and learn to fly right."
"Dig for the gold? You mean like you did?" said Mavis.
"So what. He got value for his money. It's not like I deny him his due when it comes to sex. Hell, he gets more than any of the others. I treat him right. But...
"I really should not have had Billy over to the house. That was a major error in judgment. Now, I have to figure a way to make it up to Ollie, make him forget his hurt and embarrassment. And, damned if I have any ideas," said Emilie.
"Yes, I see what you mean," said Mavis. "That's gonna be a toughie. Better be thinkin' about lookin' your best when you go to see him, I mean your very best. You gotta see to it that his little head does his thinking for him." Emilie snickered.
"Yes, that would be the ticket if I can, I mean if I even get the chance," she said.
"You can, and you will. Men, all men, are the same. They need us a helluva lot more than we need them, especially men like your Ollie," said Mavis. "I don't know if I ever told you. When I first met Billy he was bragging to a group of us, but mainly to me, about how his cock was something no woman had and all women wanted. I told him that, while what he said was so, it was also true that a pussy like mine could get a 100 cocks like his and then some. That shut him up right quick.
"Funny, very funny," said Emily. "But, the Coronado, you say?"
"Yes. Corson seemed pretty sure about that," said Mavis.
My morning hangover was stupendous. I'd dumped a dozen ice cubes in a towel and was conscientiously holding it to my right temple which seemed to be the primary seat of my pain. It was then that the German army attacked! Well, it sounded like an attack by the German army. But, in reality it was the damnable doorbell. I considered not answering it. But, creature of habit, I did.
"You!" I said. "Fuck!"
"Yes, if you want. And I can't deny it. It is me," she said. "Got any coffee."
"What I got is a hangover. And, I ain't sharin'" I said.
"Then, stand aside. I'll doctor you and make the coffee too. You can toss my ass out afterwards. How's that," said Emilie. I turned and walked back inside without answering her. She followed me in and closed the door behind her.
I fell into a chair at the dinette. I was still holding the ice pack to my head. I could hear her fussing around in the kitchen.
She emerged five minutes later with a couple cups of coffee and some toast. "Eat," she said.
"I can't, I'll throw up," I said.
"Maybe, but that wouldn't necessarily be bad," she said. I ate the damn toast. "Now, drink the coffee." I started to sip it.
"Whaddya want, Emilie? There ain't nuthin' for you here. You're getting' your jollies elsewhere."
"No I'm not. I was, but no more," she said. "It's time you forgave this old slut and let me come home. Or more accurately, you come home to me, to our house."
"The coffee and the couple of pieces of toast were reviving me. That fact was both good and bad. Good, because the German army was in retreat. Bad, because I was remembering just how bad the hurt was that she'd laid on me.
I leaned back in my chair. She was the one holding the ice pack against my temple now. I took it back from her and laid it on the place mat in front of me.
I took a deep breath. Jesus she was pretty. She must've spent an hour doing herself up to snooker me.
"You don't want me, Em'. I doubt if you ever did. I could wish that you did because I do want you, big time," I said.
"I do want you big boy. And, I want you way more than you can ever imagine. I thought that I needed something more, but these last days? Well, I discovered that it was all a chimera. I don't need, and likely never really did need, anyone but you. So, if you'll just be kind enough to give me another chance; well, I will more than make up for my crimes against our marriage. Whaddya say?" she said.
"I don't know. I want to believe you. But—another hit to my heart like a few nights ago; well, I don't think I could handle that. And, the truth is I don't trust you anymore, and that's a fact," I said.
"I know it's only words, Ollie, but I love you, and you can trust me. I can't prove it except by being trustworthy from now on. I know it'll take some time. But, I want to start proving it to you right now, right here," she said, " at least the loving part. Whaddya say?" I was wavering.
And, while I wavered, she came and stood in front of me kinda swaying back and forth. Then she started to strip. She went real slow, and the tease was working. My little head took over and controlled me.
Naked, she lay down on the floor. Her legs were straight out in front of her and together. Her mound was bald and the mere sight of her slit was capable of enslaving any man, especially a wimp like me. Her arms lay by her sides immobile. She looked the picture of vulnerability. But it wasn't her that was vulnerable; I knew it. The really vulnerable one was me: short and less than useless in bed me. I stood and stripped. I had no hope of defending myself against an onslaught like this. I lay down beside her on the carpeted floor.
I didn't touch her with my hands at first. Instead, I leaned over her and kissed her nipples; I could feel them harden. Well, at least I could get that much of a reaction from her. I began suckling on them. I allowed my hands to grope the fleshy parts of her breasts. God she was a turn on for me. She might not love me; she might not appreciate my love making skills, but I sure as hell got off on what she had to offer.
I began to kiss my way down her body. I was close enough now, to her pussy, to smell her femaleness. She hadn't cleaned herself; that was clear. She'd made herself up to entrap me, no doubt about it, but she hadn't washed her cunt, and I loved it. The smell of my woman had always done me in; she knew that about me. I had no hope!
I gently helped her spread her thighs. I spent some time licking and sucking her. I paid special attention to her pee hole. I loved the acrid taste of it.
Looming above her, I pushed my way into her. All very thick almost five inches of my manhood began pile driving into her. I heard her suck in her breath as I was less than gentlemanly about the way I was treating her. She bucked and drove back at me as I began to feel myself about to cum; I had the feeling she was trying to get even with me. I exploded inside of her. Had to have been the most cum I'd dumped in her in years. I fell off to the side.
She was breathing hard; I was breathing hard. I was satisfied. Her? Doubtful. Oh, I knew what she was going to say, but I was so warned as to doubt the truth of it.
"Jesus, honey that was good. Best in a long time. Try and remember the formula, okay?" she said. Like I said, I knew what she was going to be saying. I weren't no idiot, although I'm sure there were those out there in readersville who would fain argue the point.
"It was good for you then," I said. "You came. Right?" I said. I was pushing her buttons.
"Oh yeah," she said. "Big time!" Now, she was pushing my buttons.
The experience and her enthusiasm were enough—barely—to convince me to try one more time. Try yes, but I had a very bad feeling about doing so regardless; that's what a lack of trust will do to a person. There is always that feeling in the pit of the stomach that one could wish wasn't there; it made every day a sad day or seemed to.
Once back in the house, things only tangentially related to my problem of trust with Emilie began to cause some little bit of tension; well, and not so little actually.
For one, since her basic insult to me, Emilie's friend Mavis was going to forever be a pariah. I made the case to Emilie that the Walcotts were no longer welcome at our place: she'd insulted me, and he'd cuckolded me. The combination made any kind of fence mending with them an insuperable problem. Emilie countered that they had done nothing that was not forgivable. She owned to the fact that everything was at least as much her fault, Emilie's, as it was either of the Walcotts. Yeah, I said, but I ain't married to them; have no investment in them, and really couldn't even stand to be around them anymore.
Emilie acquiesced, but grudgingly. I figured she'd still talk to the woman while avoiding the man, but if she did, talk to Mavis, it would never be in or around our house; that was ironclad. And, yeah, avoiding the man was not negotiable.
We fell into a groove of screwing almost every night. I think she was trying to prove two things. One, that she did want me sexually. And two—and this was only a suspicion—that I wouldn't be able to keep up with her, and that maybe her playing on the side actually made sense on some level. Well, it was just a suspicion I had.
It was three months later, and after a particularly raucous night of rolling in the sheets, that things started becoming a little dicey.
"I came this time, harder than you, I think," she said. I smiled.
"Yeah, like that's the truth," I said. She didn't take offense at my obvious disbelief because I was laughing. I remembered a scene form an old movie: the Virginian. Two gunfighters were in a saloon. One says something mildly insulting to the other, to the Virginian. He retorts: "When you say that, stranger, smile." It was the same kind of thing.
"No really. I think our little problem a few months ago has actually done us a little bit of good," she said.
"Hmm, maybe, but I don't want any more help with our problems from the Walcotts, ever!" I said. Yeah, I knew what was coming; there'd been hints.
"Honey, could I ask you for a big favor, but really not that big?" she said. I knew for a fact she could feel my back stiffen.
"I'm not going to like this, am I?" I said. I heard her sigh.
"Honey, I ran into Mavis at the market today." My look must've cued her.
"No, we didn't socialize. She was buying carrots and I was buying cabbage, that's all. We did say hello to each other. She asked how you were doing. I asked how they were doing. Well, and then we went our separate ways," she said.
I knew what she was about. Like I said, I twern't no idiot. "No," I said.
"No? No what?' she said.
"No, there will be no thaw in our relations with those two. Not now not ever," I said. "Find another store to buy our groceries from."
"Fuck it, Emilie. The answer is no. Now, do you understand me here?" I said.
"Please, can I at least get a word in edgewise," she said.
"Say it and say it fast. You're beginning to bore me," I said.
"What if she did you?" she said.
"Huh?" I said.
"What if she slept with you? You know like you wanted that one time," she said.
"You said a lot more to each other than hello didn't you, Emilie," I said.
"Okay, yes. I—I—well, I wanted to break the ice. She was my best friend forever, and because I was stupid; well..."
"And, what if I said yes? What would be the next step? You sleeping with big dick Billy?" I said.
"No, no, I mean no!" she said.
"Uh huh, really. Okay, call her up now. Tell her to get over here—now. I think I still have enough juice left for another go or two. Call her now," I said. "I'd make the call, but one humiliation asking her for a little relief is a lifetime's worth."
"Now?" she said. "I mean you mean now!"
"None other, Emilie," I said. "A big affirmative, a loud you better believe it, got the imprimatur of the Pope on it. Put another way, yes, I mean now."
"Okay, Ollie. I'll call her. And, oh, just to be clear. She didn't mean to insult or humiliate you that last time. Frankly, she thought you were half kidding. Kind of a turn off for her, if you know what I mean. The truth is she asked me to ask you this time around. She said she'd really like to sample you. That's how she put it." I knew she was lying, but I had a plan.
"Okay, fine. But get to it. I ain't talkin' Chinese," I said, "now, actually means now, not when you get done yakking. Oh, and remember, for Billy it is gonna remain forever never. Got it?"
"No, no, I get it. Okay, I'll make the call," she said. Oh, I knew she was setting the wheels in motion for what she thought could be a phased in assault on my resolve, but she had no idea the degree of hate I held for mister Billy Walcott. The only way I'd ever allow that asshole around me or in our house was to fuck him in the ass myself—I smiled at my mind's picture. Yeah Billy how do you like getting' in the ass from your cuckold; kinda fun huh? For me at any rate asshole. Yeah, well I could dream,
She headed into the den to make the call. I didn't follow her in, but I did lurk just outta sight of her in the kitchen. I didn't know what I might hear, but whatever it was, it was sure to be interesting.
"Hi Mavis ... Yeah, I asked him ... He's real suspicious, but he did go for it ... Yeah, yeah, yeah ... No, he's good to go ... Well, so what; it won't kill you ... Oh yeah! Well if you wanna know, he ain't half bad in the sack ... No, Billy is better, but my Ollie's okay ... Yeah, yeah ... Maybe someday ... but for now he's still persona non grata ... baby steps, girl, baby steps ... I hurt him pretty bad, and so did you when you turned him down ... Yeah, well he won't believe that, nor would anyone else ... Okay, anyway, get your ass over here now and fuck him ... yeah, yeah, I mean now. Otherwise it's a no go ... Okay good ... you too. Hurry up," she said, and hung up.
I have to admit it; it was nervous time, and that for the both of us, me and Emilie. It was maybe half an hour later, and close to 11:00PM when we heard the knock on the door. She answered it. I was standing next to the dinette table when she came in. Emilie for her part wasn't quite shaking in her boots, but she was clearly concerned. I looked from one to the other of the two women across from me standing side by side.
I spread my hands in a what's next gesture. Mavis took up the slack.
"Ollie, before we get down to business, I'd like to apologize for the last time; I mean the way I talked to you. I wasn't very nice. Please forgive me, okay?" she said. I nodded, but it was a noncommittal nod.
"Would everybody like a drink or something?" said Emilie. She looked to be wanting to do something for us, or, more accurately me. She wanted me calm. This was her idea, sort of. She had a vested interested, or so I presumed, in me getting what I wanted—whatever that was—out of this strange as hell situation.
"Yes, that would be nice," I said.
"Ditto, that for me," said Mavis. Emilie headed for the den.
"So, does Billy know what's going on here tonight?" I said. I was actually more than a little interested in what she was going to say in that regard.
"No, he was out when I got the call from Em', I think he's out grousing around for some strange," she said. "But, it doesn't matter. He'll figure I'm doin' the same thing and just go to bed if he gets home before I do." I nodded. Just then, Emilie reappeared with the drinks.
The two women took their seats. Emilie on the couch and Mavis in the easy chair across from her. I smiled.
"I think maybe we've got things a little backwards here," I said. I was still standing. They looked askance at me.
"Shouldn't Mavis be sitting on the couch so I could sit next to her?" I said. Both of the women flushed.
"Oh—oh!" said Emilie. "Yes, yes, of course. I wasn't thinking. Just habit, I guess." They switched places. I moved to the couch and sat right next to my wife's best friend. I reached for my drink which Emilie had placed on the coffee table.
"To a thrilling night of sex," I said, raising my glass. I almost laughed out loud. Mavis had the look of one who was throwing herself under the bus for the team. It was clear to me that she didn't really want to be with me, didn't want me to screw her for sure. For my part, I hadn't quite decided if I was actually going go through with it or not. Mavis forced a smile onto her face.
"To good sex," she said, echoing me. We all raised our glasses and sipped. Mavis leaned in against me, reluctantly, I thought, but definitely. I put my arm around her. Her hand went to my lap. She found my bulge and now she smiled for real. "Hot for me, big guy?" she said.
"Sure," I said. I kissed her. Em's face was a mask of passivity.
"Well, I'll let you kids alone for the duration. I'll be sleeping in the guest room tonight. She passed by me, placed her hand briefly on my shoulder and headed off down the first floor's hall.
We, Mavis and I, made out for a little while, and then I stood. I offered her my hand. She winced, the moment of truth, I guess. She seemed a condemned prisoner being marched off to the gallows. I decided to call her on it.
"You don't want to be here, with me, do you?" I said. "Almost anybody else but me. Right?"
"Oh no! Ollie. That's not it at all. It's just—well—she's my best friend..."
"But it was all right with the two of you if she fucked your husband," I said. She looked away. Suddenly, she was ugly to me. I not only didn't want her. I wanted to be away from her—far away from her.
"Just leave, Mavis. I've lost interest. Just leave," I said.
"Ollie, please. I'm just—well—a little uncomfortable. I really do want to sample you. Just give me a chance. Please. Okay?"
I paused, made a decision and nodded. I took her hand leading her up the staircase. I would be screwing her on the same bed her husband screwed my wife on. It was poetic as hell.
I sat on my wife's vanity stool while she stripped. C-cups, narrow hips and waist, bubble butt: she was a winner if female body parts had anything to do with the equation. But, the acid test was still to come. Was she going to be into it, or was it just a case of her tolerating me so I would lighten up on her communing with my wife.
Naked, she lay on the bed and eyed me. I stood and began to do my own strip tease. Down to my skivvies, I hesitated. I pushed them floorward, and straightened up. So far not a word had passed between us since we'd come up the stairs.
I stood straight and still as she finished her appraisal of me. She gave me a very slight nod. "You'll do," she said, chancing my reaction to her analysis. I snickered.
"It is what it is," I said. I was feeling confident for once, and, I was feeling really really horny. She giggled.
I lay down beside her and kissed her, gently, almost lovingly. She gave me a quizzical look, but said nothing. I let my hand roam her body, eventually finding her slit and playing with her clit. She purred; I don't think it was fake.
I pushed my finger into her slit and pulled it out. I licked it. She smiled. I rolled on top of her. My arms consciously and relentlessly pinned her arms to her side. I began probing with my dick, now steel hard. I was in no hurry. I wanted the first time to last. Finally, I slipped in. She was wet enough to make the slide inside of her an easy one. She grimaced slightly as I impaled her. I began screwing her. It might be the only time I ever did her; I wanted it to be if not memorable, at least not too bad.
Having had Emilie twice earlier in the evening, it took a while for me to cum; she didn't, cum that is, but she mooed. I took that as a sign that she at least more or less enjoyed it. I rolled off of her.
We lay breathing heavily side by side. "Was it as bad as my wife thinks it was sure to be," I said. I figured she'd tell me I was wonderful. I was wrong.
"One, your wife has never said you were all that bad, not as good as my Billy; but, well, not that bad. Still, you've got a lot to learn if you care to know," she said.
I rolled onto my side and studied her. She wasn't joking and she wasn't putting me down. I was sure of those. She was being honest?
"Really?" I said.
"What, you expected me to stroke your ego? I'll do you again, in the future. You show promise. Just not a heckuva lot of imagination," she said.
"Really?" I said.
"Yes, really," she said. "And, for my money your wife should appreciate you more. Your tool is a little on the short side, but it can get the job done if you learn a few things. Give me a call later in the week. We'll talk. Okay?"
"Yeah, maybe," I said.
We talked for a few more minutes, and then cuddled up and napped for about an hour. It was a little after 1:00AM when she got up to go to the bathroom. When she came back she dressed as I watched her. Done, she came to me, kissed me on the forehead, and left.
It was quiet the next morning. I was up first. She must have slept okay in the guest room because she got up an hour later than usual. I heard her footsteps on the floor of the dinette before I saw her. I turned. She was dressed, and she was gorgeous. I was in my jeans and a t-shirt.
The mug was half way to my mouth when I saw her; I paused with it hanging there. "You look good. Going somewhere?" I said.
"Yes, to breakfast, with you," she said.
"I was just going to have coffee and little toast," I said setting my mug down.
"Your plans have changed. You're taking me to breakfast," she said.
"Well, I guess a man does have to do what he can to please his woman." I got up and headed for the bedroom. I needed my wallet and my keys. I got 'em, grabbed my hat, and was back downstairs and ready in less than a full minute.
"Where to?" I said, as we exited the back door.
"IHOP would be fine, the one on Chester. We can eat and maybe talk," she said. I nodded.
"Okay," I said.
Hotcakes consumed, second cup of Java in front of us: we settled back in our seats to talk.
"So how was it, dare I ask?" she said.
"Good, I guess. She seemed to appreciate me more than you. But, maybe she was faking it. I mean how am I to know for sure?" I said.
"Boy, I did screw up your head didn't I," said Emilie. I didn't respond to that; I mean, what would I have said.
She sighed, "Can I ask, you know, are we okay now?"
"No." I said.
"What? You think one roll in the hay with one of your confederates is going to make us even? You imagine that all of the hurt you laid on me, the arrogance of it, is going to just magically disappear?
"If we do manage to straighten things out, Emilie, it'll have to be you figuring out a way to get me to trust you again. And, as the old country boy might be likely to say: They'll probably be driving Buicks to the moon by then."
"Jesus. Ollie, can't we just forget the past and try and start over? I want to start over. I haven't been real smart in the way I've handled things up to now, but I can do better," she said, "a lot letter." Her words were wrong.
"Whaddya mean handle things better, exactly. Sounds like you mean to keep on doin' what you've always done, but maybe hide it better than before. Is that what you mean to say, Emilie? How about a little honesty here, okay?" I said. She grimaced. She sighed.
"You want honesty. Right, honesty. But do you really? Okay, I'm going to give you honesty. And, I'm going to give you point of view too. Coming here this morning, I was not deluding myself that everything was going to be hunkydory from now on; I knew it wasn't. But, I did think that maybe the groundwork might be laid for future progress if that's the way to say it. But, it looks as though this little breakfast meeting might be for all of the marbles, or, maybe most of them anyway," she said.
"I think you may be right in thinking that," I said. "It just might be for all of the marbles.
"So, okay, lay it on me. The honesty part I mean," I said.
"And, the point of view. Okay?" she said. I nodded.
"Honestly Ollie, to be honest I am dying for a good screwing and I mean right now. You can take it to the bank that what I'm saying is the god's truth. Problem is, even if I could get you interested enough to do me with the enthusiasm that I require, you couldn't. I mean do me satisfactorily. And, before you get up and storm out of here, it's not because it's beyond you. You could do it, or rather learn to. But, you have never really been into listening to me on that score. And, it's not something that is easy for a woman to talk to a man about, I mean to push him to do it right," she said.
"And, so where does that leave me? Leave us?" I said. "Seems like your saying that there is no hope for us," I said.
"No, I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that, I love you so much, and need you so much, that I am willing to settle for less than I would like. How's that for being honest?' she said.
"I can't fault your honesty, but I do fault your logic. I do not recall a single instance of you trying to teach me the ins and outs of pleasing you," I said. "One would have thought that at least you would have made some small effort in that regard. But, there is more isn't there. It isn't just me not knowing things is it?" She looked away.
"You promised to be honest, so let's have it," I said.
"It's cock size. I'm not exactly a size queen, but large cocks are a major part of it. It's the one thing that I couldn't overcome for us even if you did learn to do me good," she said. I could feel my mood darken.
"So, I ask again, is this the end of us?" I said. "Because I will not stand for you fucking around on me," I said. "Not in any imaginable world. And I am really and truly not into pity sex."
"Get real. Why do you think I did what I did calling up Mavis for you? Why do you think I am trying so hard to keep you, to get you to trust me, to forgive me for all of the mistakes I've made by sneaking around on you? I did it because I love you and only you. In most ways you do it for me, and you would for any woman. You don't have a big dick. Your bedroom skills are pure junior high; but those realities, as big a deal as they collectively are, should not be the end of the world for us. And, yes, I'll say it: for me—selfish though I'm sure I sound," she said.
"Sure it's not just my income you love and not me?" I said. "Let me put that another way—and here is where honesty will be at a premium—what if I didn't have the kind of income that I do. How would you feel about me then? Convince me that you'd love me, and only me, even then, and all will be well." She gave me a look that was utterly unreadable.
"Your income? I suppose one could make the case that without it you wouldn't be as—what—attractive as you are. I do like being able to spend and go and do the things I like. Who wouldn't? But, then none of that really answers your questions does it."
"Well, then, honestly, yes it would change things, change how I look at you in some ways. But, that said, if you lost your job, and we went bankrupt or something; I do believe that I would still love you just as much. Can't prove it. But I'm sure of it," she said.
"Hmm, right words but of doubtful credibility.
"So that's it?" I said. "Doesn't change much. And, if you care, my self-esteem is still pretty much in the shitter."
"I do care Ollie, but no, that is not quite it, as you say," she said. I looked her askance.
"My point of view—and yours too if you want," she said.
"Oh yeah, I forgot," I said. She snickered.
"I wish I could get you to forget a few other things," she said.
"Yeah, me too," I said. She studied me. I was sure I was going to hate this one, but, whatever. I mean how much worse could things get?
"Ollie, when you caught me and Billy that day, I was embarrassed. But, truth told, I wasn't all that concerned about your feelings. Frankly, I wasn't worried at all. That was my very very bad! I didn't consider how you might feel. Jesus, stupid stupid stupid on my part! Anyway, then I treated you as if 'you' were the moron when it was me all along. All of that said, there was and is, in my mind, the reality of things," she said.
"The reality of things?" I said, really not getting where she was going with this.