Chapter 3: Her Space

Bill Peirce got home Thursday night to find Carolyn arranging her office space. Her kiss was warm even though she looked a little distracted. She tasted only slightly of tobacco.

“I was going to cook for you, but this was just sitting here.”

“I understand. Too bad you couldn’t have had it for writing your papers. You still need a desk. Anyway, we can go out to eat.”

“No! I’m done with school. I’m going to be a wife. Mind if I thaw something out?”

“Not at all.” Carolyn’s left-overs were still Carolyn’s good cooking. Still, he should take her out while she had attention to enjoy it. “If you’re done with school, why don’t you meet me downtown tomorrow night? We can shop for a desk, and then go out to eat there.”

“Really?” That expression had bugged him at one time. But she wasn’t doubting him; she just wanted to hear it again.

“Really. You don’t need me, you know, for the shopping. Your card is good. Still, I’d like to see it with you.” Carolyn had a tendency to be penny wise. Scrimping now and replacing something later would be pound foolish. And he ought to warn her about where he planned to take her. She still thought of jeans as normal wear. For a Friday night, he’d make a reservation.

For all her apology, she fixed a meal that was delicious, if a little late. His times to get back home were -- even now, and he was better than he’d been when he hadn’t had her to come home to -- erratic enough that it would be silly to expect to eat as soon as he entered the door. She might well be projecting her hunger onto him. She’d missed a lot of sleep, and that always made him hungry when he did.

“Feel better?” he asked when they’d eaten.

“A little ... Look ... I’m awfully tired. I want to make an early night of it.” Now, that was another thing entirely. He’d been understanding when she stayed up late the night before. She’d had a deadline. But he wanted her and wanted her more tonight for the deprivation of last night.

“Two nights in a row? And you’re not bleeding.” Her cutting him off during her periods was still a sore point.

“Let’s compromise. I want to go to bed now, and to sleep fairly soon. I’ll crash. I certainly won’t be in the mood if you wake me up at ten or eleven. On the other hand, if we both go to bed now, I won’t blame you if you get up later.” That was entirely different. Right after dinner was probably not the best time for sex from a practical standpoint, but it would be fun.

“That’s different. Want your bathroom time first?”

“Not tonight. I don’t want to lie in bed alone.” Which wasn’t what she’d said about his getting up later, but that was no problem. He got his contacts out in case he wouldn’t get up again and hurried through his other chores.

She, despite her insistence that she was in a hurry, took more than her usual time. She reset her alarm -- standing there naked but looking blurry at that distance -- before coming to bed.

If she didn’t want him, which her excuses suggested, then he should work at making her want him. Besides, not having had anything the night before, he was probably on a hair trigger. He took his time with the kiss, loving her tongue, exploring her mouth, returning to her tongue. Meanwhile, he slid his fingers all over her lovely body from thigh to neck and back again. He might have spent more time on her melons than on her shoulder, but he touched her shoulder on the way.

Apparently, she did start to want him. She pulled his hand to her mound. That was another place to play, but she probably intended him to investigate her snatch. When he did it was damp, if not as flowing as he sometimes found it. He stroked some of that moisture up to her nub. He kept stroking here while he kissed up her melon to its tip. Soon after he started sucking there, she went over.

That was one. He changed melons, but she was impatient. She grabbed his dick and pulled it to her.

“Huh.” That wasn’t the brightest comment he could have made, but she wasn’t usually that direct.

“Now, Bill.” Well, that was clear. He got between her legs, and she put him in. She was warm around his dick. The sensations were exciting, maybe too exciting. When he began to move, she encouraged him by clutching his buns. He tried to take it slow enough to bring her along, but his body took over. The slide of her snatch around him on every withdrawal made the next plunge more necessary. The clasp along the length of his dick when he was inside made the next withdrawal more imperative. Against his will, he moved faster through her warmth. He rose up above her on straight arms and drove his hips forward until every in stroke was hard, deep, and fast.

After he’d gone over, quite alone, he kept his right arm straight while his left arm collapsed. He fell to his side and out of her. Somewhat later, he got off her leg and straightened the sheet and blanket over the two of them. He cuddled against her as close as he could while she was lying on her back.

“I love you, Carolyn.” But she didn’t respond. Really, if she hadn’t gone over at the end, it was her own fault. He could usually control himself early in the sex session, but he’d never claimed to be able to delay orgasm at the end. Well, if she’d gone to sleep angry, she was now asleep instead of angry. He got to feel all her luscious curves without objection. Except, he didn’t. After a bit, she murmured and wriggled under his hand. He got up, lifted the covers, and looked his fill. The hair on her mound was damp with dampness he’d caused and mussed by the friction of his pubic hair against it. Then he covered her again.

If they were going to get her desk the next day, they should probably get the dining room table, too. He put on his robe first. Then he measured the dining room with a yardstick, wrote the figures down, and put them in his suit coat for the next day. He drank a beer in the kitchen. It was stupid to miss Carolyn when she was in the next room. If she was paying him not the least attention, she hadn’t for most of the time in the past week. He put his contacts back in watch television, including two news shows. The news wasn’t that different at ten than it was at eight.

When he went back to bed, Carolyn hadn’t moved. He turned off the lamp and lay beside her. This time, she didn’t stir when he felt her up. He could understand necrophiles, now.

In the morning, she didn’t wake when his alarm went off. He looked in after his shower to see if she wanted to share breakfast. Her alarm was set for 10:00, and she didn’t look like she’d notice anything earlier. He could tell that she was breathing, but otherwise she looked ready for an undertaker. Before leaving for work, he set his alarm for 11:00. It might not be needed, but something might be.

He got to work early. His normal morning schedule allowed some time for dealing with Carolyn before leaving for work. At noon, he called home. She answered promptly, proving all his worries unnecessary. He ate a cheap lunch, planning on an expensive dinner.

Carolyn came to the office a little before quitting time. She looked rested, lovely, and quite over any anger she’d had the night before. She got to see his office, and they left promptly at 5:00.

“Sorry if I disturbed your day,” she said when they were away from the office. Well, he was an executive, and entitled to have guests sometimes.

“They wanted to see you. That was fine. A pattern of visits, though, would be disturbing.”

“You have rules?” she asked.

“And they’re never written down. Who did you ask about how teaching assistants dress?”

“Cynthia who’d taught the year before.”

“And not the people who told you where to go and what your pay was,” he pointed out.

“Well, no.”

“They’d tell you that anything would be all right. If I asked Mr. Watkins if it were all right for you to visit me every afternoon, he’d say that it was fine. He’d say that, and he’d mark me as unfit for my present position, let alone any possible promotion. Anyway...”

“Anyway, we’re off to get me my own desk.”

“Want to select a dining-room table on this trip, too?” He might as well ask that now. They didn’t have to.

“Sure, but the people who’ll be judging it are your friends.”

“I have the measurements -- got them last night.” Which brought up the subject of the previous night. Well, better get it out in the open. “About last night ... I’m sorry.”

“For what? Look, Bill, I didn’t get all that much sexual pleasure on the last two nights. Neither of them can be blamed on you.” She wasn’t mad, and she wasn’t going to be.

“Feel better now?”

“Feel rested now,” she said. “Ate us almost out of our larder this morning -- this noon, really.”

“Yeah. I saw that your alarm was set for 10. I set mine for 11. Was it a great bother?”

“It was needed,” she said. “It almost wasn’t enough.”

“You were awake when I phoned.”

“Bill, you’re sweet.”

“Well, I was worried. You didn’t even stir when I got up. I checked that you were still breathing before I left.” And he had been worried. She put her hand in his on that statement. They were an old married couple, but not too old to hold hands.

As he’d expected, her first choice in a desk was a light student desk. He pointed out that she’d want something for the rest of her life. Besides -- although he didn’t mention this -- when he saw some of the solid wooden ones, he thought of another use for them. She could spend most of her time in front of one, but she’d look splendid spread-eagle on top of one.

The dinner table was a less permanent acquisition. The restaurant dinner was fine, and he suspected that she enjoyed some good eating which didn’t involve any cooking on her part. Back home, they had a nice kiss and settled down on the sofa together to watch television. These days, he paid more attention to the programs than he did to her body while the set was on. He could still enjoy, however, her responses to the shows.

“Let’s not,” she said when the news came on. She was probably right. The news media were biased, ‘nattering nabobs of negativism’ in Vice President Agnew’s memorable phrase, and she always got sucked in. That was certain to cause a fight.

“You’re right. I can get it all from the Trib tomorrow.” And the Trib was less biased than the newscasts. Nothing on the news would change anything he did before tomorrow -- well, he could check the weather on the radio before going out the door. It’s just that getting the news a few hours earlier had become a habit.

“Brush my hair?” Now that was an offer, and she was being sweet. He’d suspect that it was ‘cause they’d just bought her a substantial piece of furniture, but not from Carolyn. She actually had wanted a less-substantial piece of furniture. It might be making up for the deprivation over the past two weeks of crush time. It might be that she was feeling extra loving.

It might just be because the hair obviously needed the attention he was more willing to give it than she was. She had some awful snarls. One he even had to cut out. He managed to tease the rest straight with only a few pulled out. He winced each time, but she didn’t seem to.

He was really turned on by the time they went to bed. She, too, was receptive and warm. And, by the time he got to her snatch, wet. He watched her go over. It was incredibly arousing, and then she went over again and then again. She reached for him after the third. He might have got her readier, but discussion on that subject wouldn’t help in the slightest.

“Okay!” He got in position, and slid in. If her groove had felt nice to his fingers, the inside of her snatch felt marvelous on his dick. “Carolyn.” If the name couldn’t communicate how he felt, the tone might give a hint. He thrust deep into her, withdrew slowly until his dick was barely inside, and then thrust slowly all the way home.

As he rose on his arms to get more depth down below and repeated those motions, her welcoming smile turned to a frown, the frown to a scowl. She looked worried, then frightened as she kept rose against him to match his slow rhythm. As her expression went through pain to agony, she went over. Her legs rose around his hips at the same time as her snatch clasped his dick.

He took one more stroke, buried himself in her depths, and poured out into her. He let his left arm collapse while his right kept straight. That dropped him to his left side, but Carolyn went with him. Her thighs were gripping his hips.

“Sweet,” he said when he’d caught his breath.

“You’re the sweet one.” They lay in that mutual sweetness for a few more minutes before getting themselves into true sleeping positions. It was almost too warm for a blanket in this weather, although it would be cooler before morning and the electric blanket didn’t hold much heat when it was turned off. Carolyn snuggled back against him -- too warm or no -- and they went to sleep.

After offering him her hair Friday night, she offered to share a shower Saturday morning. That led back to bed, and he’d have been content to spend Saturday there. She wasn’t, however. He cooked breakfast and she prepared tuna salad sandwiches for lunch.

Still in full domestic mode, Carolyn cooked a western omelet for Sunday breakfast and a pot roast for Sunday dinner. She served meat loaf, left-over meat loaf, but delicious and with new vegetable, salad, and dessert, for supper.