Chapter 4: Leaving Paradise

He found out what Marilyn had been working over, and worrying over, after breakfast the next morning.

“I’m going to be a housewife, and I don’t know much about it,” Marilyn told Mrs. Bryant. “I wrote out a meal plan for six days, and I’d like to have your opinion on it.”

“That a meal plan for here?”

“For Andy and me down in Champaign. We have a tight budget, and I don’t know many cheap meals.” Well, all of them had tasted like banquets to him.

“Well, let me look.” Mrs. Bryant read the list.

“I was wondering if you could teach me to cook some more cheap meals during the next couple of weeks,” Marilyn went on. “I feel rotten, because you’ve three people to look after and less time to do it in, but do you think you could teach me a few?”

“Ms. Marilyn, you’re worrying about the wrong things. Look, Mr. Trainor gives me few orders. He asks. I’m no fool. If the man who pays you asks you to do something and you don’t do it, he hires somebody else who will do it. Even so, it’s nice to work for a gentleman.”

“What does that have to do with what I asked?”

“His last order,” Mrs. Bryant said, “was about you. You’re in charge. I’m to do whatever you tell me to do. What you want is the most important thing to do. If you set me down here until time for me to go, and his bed doesn’t get made, I’ll just tell him that you needed me for something more important.”

“Well, it’s not more important.”

“If you want it, it’s more important to him.” Dad got it. “Now, for cooking cheaply, there are two things I’d ask first. Can you eat breakfast cereal? What do you think of rice?”

“Sure. I just think cereal is pretty far down on my list of choices for breakfast.” Well, Marilyn had standards. She was starting to see problems for her in her standards. “As to rice, I associate it with oriental food. I think of it as fairly luxurious.”

“Well, if I’m saving money on food, I don’t cook eggs or even pancakes for breakfast. Maybe save that for Sunday. And every meal has to contain starch. Potatoes and rice are the cheapest starches. Really, rice is cheaper. When you buy potatoes, you buy water and skin.

“Look, Ms. Marilyn, half of what you have here you could serve over rice. Buy as big a package as you can get, as big a one as Andy can carry. It’s cheaper that way, and dry rice doesn’t rot. Instead of a bun for sloppy joes, make the mix and put it over rice. Rice with milk and brown sugar makes a better breakfast than those packaged cereals, too, but white folk don’t eat it.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Marilyn said.

“Look, you want to learn to cook some cheap meals? What ones do you know?”

“That list is pretty much it.”

“Can it wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I have to make out a shopping list.” Up to then, he’d been a fly on the wall. A shopping list sounded like his business. At lunch time, it was. After the meal was over, he and Mrs. Bryant walked out together. After reading the list, he felt it called for the car. He bought what was on the list at the local grocery store and headed back.

Marilyn helped him put away the purchases, but neither of them could figure out where some of the items went. There didn’t seem to be any grits or navy beans in the place, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing any.

“That’s as far as I can go,” he said.

“Yeah. Strip race you to our room. First one in the room and out of her clothes wins. Go!” She tore out of the kitchen. Well, he had more experience running around the house, and he could take the stairs two at a time. He passed her doing that, but she already had her blouse off by then. She wasn’t wearing any bra.

In the room, he tossed his shirt and t-shirt on the dresser. She came in while he was removing his sneakers. By the time he had his jeans and his first sock off, she’d removed her sneakers and jeans. That left her naked and him wearing one sock and his shorts.

“You cheated,” he said.

“I won! That means you have to kiss my mouth and tits.” Well if he’d known those were the stakes, he wouldn’t have hurried. As soon as he’d finished stripping, he lifted her for a long, wet kiss. Then he got another grip and lifted her further. He got his left arm under her butt to hold her where her breasts were conveniently at mouth level. She cooperated by circling him with her legs and hanging on around his neck. He wasn’t finished with her breasts by any means, but he was thinking ahead.

“The bed’s still made.”

“Beds! Who needs them?” Well, they didn’t really. Sex in bed might be what marriage was about, but they were newlyweds in an empty house. Still, he carried her over to the bed, so she’d have a safe place to fall if his strength gave out.

Then he was holding her up and stroking between her labia. Her liquid was already running out, and she was holding on tightly. As his strokes continued, she clutched him against her until his mouth couldn’t reach either breast. He moved one hand from supporting her butt to holding her waist, but he kept the other hand stroking her softness.

Then she writhed in his arms. While some of the motions almost broke his neck and others nearly tore her from his arms, her motions provided the most erotic sensations he could remember.

“Oh, love, oh, Marilyn, oh, darling, oh.” He couldn’t express it. Her arms were now away from his neck, and her legs, if still around his waist, felt looser. He lowered her until she almost touched his cock. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the right part of her. He opened her labia with his index and middle fingers and pointed his cock in the right direction with his little finger. She slid down a little more and he was in the right place.

“Oh, darling,” he said. He pushed his groin forwards and felt more of his cock’s head enter.

“Yes,” she said. She could feel it, too. As she slid down his body slightly, he went a little deeper. He could feel her heels dig into his hips. As she slid further, her mouth came into range of his. They kissed; their tongues met. As more and more of her surrounded him, his face went from pointing up to pointing down without breaking the kiss. He moved forward and backward, slightly in and slightly out, but always a bit more in than he’d come out.

When the kiss had to break, he lowered her less slowly. With her all the way down so his cock would have supported her if it was strong enough, he kissed her hairline.

“Darling, sweet darling.” And she was sweet. What had begun as athletic play had turned into close cherishing. He moved side to side on his feet to move within her. He was getting aroused, close to coming. Luckily, she was even closer. He felt her tense. Then she writhed in his arms and around his cock.

“Darling,” he said as he felt his orgasm rushing towards him. He lowered her to the bed just in time. His final thrust included his falling over her with only one arm to hold him up. Then he was throbbing and pumping himself into her while trying to keep his weight off her.

Then his last spurts were on the outside of her leg. He was lying with his knees on the floor and on his elbows on the mattress. Even so, too much of his weight was on her.

“Love you,” he said.

“You, too.”

He slowly got up. Soon he got in the shower to clean off his penis and lower body. He hadn’t set the alarm, and thought it was time to get dressed. Besides, Marilyn was lying across the middle of the bed. There might not be very much of her, but she didn’t leave much room, and what she left was divided into two parts.

Marilyn got dressed, too. She put on panties, bra, and socks this time.

They were back in the library and fully dressed long before Dad got home.

The next morning Mrs. Bryant started on the cooking lessons Marilyn had requested. She didn’t seem to want an audience, so Andy took his circuit-design book and a towel out to the back yard. The real value of sunscreen lay in Marilyn’s application, so he merely took off his shirt and lay down. His study took a back seat to dreaming of what they could do when they were alone in the house.

At lunch he learned that Marilyn had been learning to cook baked beans. Yeah. Mrs. Bryant’s version had tasted better than the canned version had. She had everything prepared and in the oven, but not yet baking. She’d set the oven when the time came. Mrs. Bryant didn’t quite say, “Have fun, kiddies,” when she left, but her smile did.

“I don’t want to go upstairs,” Marilyn said. “There isn’t all that much time.” Well, she had said that they didn’t need a bed.

“Let’s go to the library.” The library held erotic memories. Before he had his own collection of used Playboys, long before he had his own subscription, he’d read some of Dad’s racier books. That hadn’t been in this room, but the connection had lasted.

There was also a low foot stool. When Marilyn stood on that, they were at comfortable kissing height without his bending down. When they had had a long series of kisses and he had stroked all of her still-clothed body from her shoulders to her knees, he walked around her. He kissed her ears and neck from the back. When he caressed her breasts again, she unbuttoned her blouse. He got her bra open and cupped her breasts.

She leaned back against him as he kissed her ear. When his hands went to her belly, she opened her jeans to invite them lower yet. He pushed the jeans until they fell and then rolled her panties down. He kissed her ears and the skin behind them. He had restricted access between her legs because they were close together, but he managed to squeeze his hand between them. He parted her labia with a finger. The feeling was a little different when she didn’t have her legs spread, but it felt sexy.

“Let me get out of these,” Marilyn said. “I feel like I’m hogtied.” That was an arousing picture.

“Maybe I like having you tied up.”

“You say you have to do what Mrs. Bryant tells you to do, and she says that I’m the boss. So...” Well, he’d never rebelled against going to the store, but he wasn’t about to hand that much control over to Marilyn. Mrs. Bryant never played power games with him.

“Nope! You have to tell her what orders to give me.”

“Andy!”

“You’re supposed to love, honor, and obey.” That would tell her.

“That wasn’t in the service.” She was probably right. When did they take that out of the service?

“You just weren’t paying attention.” Right now, they were in no position to look it up.

“So what do you plan to do, caveman, drag me away by the hair?” She was full of good ideas, first the hogtying, now this. He got in position.

“Sounds good,” he said. Then he took her by the (pubic) hair and pulled very gently. He wanted to give her an idea, not hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her -- rape her, maybe, but not hurt her. She giggled at his play-acting.

If her bra was loose and had given access to his hands, it was still hiding her breasts from his eyes. He ducked down to push it up with his head. That brought his mouth where he wanted it. He kneaded her butt while kissing her breasts. He sucked one nipple and then kissed a trail over to the other one to suck it. The kitchen timer went off. She’d been right. There hadn’t been enough time.

“Now you have to let me go,” she said. “I’ve got to set the oven.” Well, she had to set the oven. This was her first lesson in cooking, and he certainly didn’t want to be to blame for any problems. On the other hand, letting her go?

“Maybe not.” He put her over his shoulder and carried her into the kitchen.

“Andy,” she said on the way. He was too busy spreading her moisture down to her clitoris, easier in this position, to answer. Marilyn might complain, but she didn’t sound serious about it.

“So set the oven,” he said when she was within reaching distance of the controls. She fiddled with them and then dropped her hands.

“Now I have to set the timer again,” she said. So he walked over to the countertop where the timer was and turned around so she could reach it. “Andy, you’re making it hard to concentrate.”

“I’m concentrating just fine. Besides, you’re the one who’s making it hard.” She picked up the timer and, presumably, set it. When she put it down, he started to walk away from the kitchen. He patted her butt. That felt so good that he slapped it -- a little harder than he had intended.

“Andy!” She got that right.

“Yeah. Who did you think had you over his shoulder?” She might be light, but he’d been carrying her for some time. As he stroked her some more, he considered where he should put her down. The bed had its attractions, but so did Dad’s favorite armchair in the living room. If he remembered correctly, it was just the right height for what he wanted to do. He walked there, being careful to avoid banging any part of her against the walls or dining room table.

“Andy! Put me down!” she said when they had reached the living room. The back of the leather armchair was the right height.

“Okay.” He walked over to the armchair. “Use your arms to brace for the fall.” He turned around and slipped her off his shoulder. She landed over the back of the armchair. Her hands were on the cushion, her face against the back, and her legs falling to a foot from the floor behind the armchair. He turned around again, and he was standing behind her looking down at her lovely butt. He kept a hand on the middle of her back to keep her there, and he used the other hand to excite her some more. Her legs were still bound by the panties rolled down to just above her knees. The jeans, which now trailed on the floor with only the cuffs still on her ankles, were no longer effective in restricting her.

“Andy! You can’t bring me off in the living room.” He couldn’t? Well, he could try.

“I can’t? ... Ever hear about the experimental process?” As he kept stroking the moisture down to her clitoris, she kept producing more moisture. Her other mouth might say it was impossible, but this mouth was saying that it was happening. He thought she was stiffening, but the position might have misled him.

“Ahh!” she said. He’d been right! She writhed and her moisture poured out. The way she was supported by the chair and by his hand on her back, her middle stayed where it was, and she writhed at both ends. Some of the kicking connected to his legs, but she was wearing sneakers and the jeans were hampering her. He pulled her back a little by her hips. Then he kept one hand on her while he opened his belt and unfastened his jeans with the other. When his briefs were down around his ankles, he stepped on her jeans to hold her legs still. Then he put himself at her opening.

She was smooth and warm, but tighter than ever. He raised himself on his toes as he slid slowly into her. When he was as far in as he could get in this position, he grabbed her by the hipbones and pulled almost all the way out. He got into a rhythm, but she clasped around him on his third stroke. He moved in and out through her climax. He sped up as her internal tightness eased, but she soon clasped around him again. Moving through that was too much.

“Darling,” he said. He pulled back with his hands, raised himself to his tiptoes with his legs, and drove into her with his hips. He felt himself spurting into her depths. Then she milked the last from him as his relaxation moved him part way out.

When he was next aware of the outside world, he was lying over her, gasping. He was barely holding himself up by his hands on the chair arms, and his elbows were digging into the chair back.

“Get up, can you?” she asked.

“Sure.” He moved back awkwardly. Her position looked even more awkward. He stepped off her jeans. “Better let me get your jeans back before you get up, though.” The jeans were inside out and mostly off her. He got them back on and around her ankles. He got his own clothes back on.

He stood with his right hip against hers and his right hand on her other hip. He grabbed her shoulder before saying, “Push back.” When she raised herself, he tightened his grip and lifted her. He bent at the knees until her feet touched the floor. When he unrolled her panties, she put them on. Then she finished her jeans.

“Andy...”

“What’s the use of having the house to ourselves if we don’t use it?”

She laughed while fastening her bra. “You’re impossible.” She straightened her blouse but didn’t button it. “You’re sure of me, aren’t you?” Well, yes.

“We’re married.” They were together permanently. They had this house only temporarily, but they had each other forever.

“Well, if you’re going to tire me out downstairs, you know what you’ll have to do, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Carry me upstairs. Not over your shoulder, but in your arms like you do across thresholds.” Well, she hadn’t been the only one tired out. He’d been doing some heavy lifting, and he’d had an orgasm. He managed to carry her up, though, and managed creditably. He set her on the bed and kissed her belly through the gap in the blouse. After taking off his sneakers, he cuddled her on the bed until she suggested a shower. Probably they needed more than a rinsing off this time. It was a lovely shower though it started to run cool towards the end. Marilyn finished up the dinner before Dad got home.

“Marilyn cooked this,” Andy said when he couldn’t wait any longer.

“My compliments to the chef. It’s delicious.”

“Well, I cooked it under Mrs. Bryant’s watchful eye,” Marilyn said. “I don’t know enough cheap dishes, and she’s teaching me some.”

“Excellent. You did a great job on this one.”

“You don’t mind my kidnapping your menu?” she asked.

“I told her that you were in charge,” Dad said, “that your every whim should be fulfilled. Then you ask her for help in making your future family life better. My family, too, you know. And you apologize? The only question is whether this will make you happier.”

“Well, you know your distinction between pleasure and satisfaction. This is about satisfaction, maybe dissatisfaction. I couldn’t serve my husband a rotation of six menus for months.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“My son,” Dad said, “you would eat porridge every meal and be happy if she served it.” That was very nearly true. He hadn’t eaten the broccoli, though. “She wouldn’t be happy without fulfilling her image of a good wife.”

“Then, too,” Marilyn said, “I’d have to eat them. I’m not sure that I could tolerate porridge for more than one meal, if that.” They went silent while they ate -- savored in his case -- the baked beans. Marilyn broke the silence.

“I think your analysis is incomplete, Mr. Trainor.”

“Oh? Your opinion, his opinion, and what? Porridge, maybe, someone else would hear about -- not a six-meal rotation.”

“Your analysis of happiness. There’s pleasure, and satisfaction, and contentment.”

“Perhaps,” Dad said, “but it sounds rather bland.”

“Maybe it is, by itself. But you can’t experience a life of ecstasy, not even a day of ecstasy. You can experience a lifetime of contentment -- as far as yourself goes, although maybe not the way of the world.” Marilyn was usually quite articulate, but she hadn’t been on this distinction. Dad must have understood, however.

“An interesting trade.”

“But not a trade. There’s nothing in contentment that precludes pleasure or even satisfaction. Maybe the satisfaction is about something you did when you were discontented. As you say, you seldom get both from the same period of time.”

“And, Miss ... Pardon me! And, Marilyn, what gives you pleasure?” Dad was really into this discussion. He didn’t slip like that very often. “What gives you satisfaction? What gives you contentment?”

“I get satisfaction from a great many things, from actually learning in a class what I took the class to learn, from having had an impact on Zeta -- a positive impact, from feeding the two of you. On the others, if you’ll pardon me, I’ll pass.” Marilyn could hardly be saying that she didn’t get either pleasure or contentment. It must be that the examples off the top of her head couldn’t be mentioned in mixed company. If the first pleasures she thought of were with him in bed. he was quite happy to hear that.