Chapter 1

Well, well, do my eyes deceive me? It does appear that young Mr. Davis, our local celebrity, is ogling my body. Oh, he does it so casually, speaking to distract me, keeping his head in motion, yet his eyes always coming back to my breasts or my crotch. Do you like what you see, Richard Davis? Maybe I did dress a little too provocatively this morning. I hope no one mentions it to the Reverend Michael Johnson before services begin, lest I be in for another of those interminable lectures about how the minister’s wife should present herself. ‘Melissa Johnson, people have been talking again about your costume. Don’t you think the minister’s wife should dress more sedately?’

Well, fuck him; he’s always thinking like a missionary, even in bed, where he acts like one, always on top, pouring his seed uselessly into me. Or should I say pouring his useless seed into me? The poor dear would die if he knew that I unfailingly used a diaphragm with him. Why would I ever want to bring another like him into this world? Oh Granny, why oh why did I let you talk me into marrying that boring man? Yes, I love him, but in bed I just can’t stand him.

Enjoy the view, Mr. Richard Davis. My goodness, wouldn’t that be something? Dick and Mrs. Johnson, two gutter synonyms for penis, coupling like animals. My own personal favorite word for it, though, is cock, a word from my youth that I learned from Granny. I was eight or nine, and she had taken me to Italy where we saw Michelangelo’s statue of David. She took one look at it and said, ‘my goodness, what a cock!’ She realized what she had said and turned bright crimson; it was the first dirty word I ever heard from her, and we still joke about it. We go to Caesar’s in Las Vegas every few months to see the replica, then hug each other and giggle, hundreds of people passing by and wondering what that tall young woman and that short old lady are laughing about. After dinner, I put my dear chaperone into bed and go out to party. I know she gets up to pee during the night, so she notices that I’m not there, and in the morning I get this secret smile from her that says she knows that I’ve been out sharing my body with strangers, but she never lectures me, except when I’m not back by dawn.

Darn it, he’s making me wet. If the dampness starts to show, I’ll be the laughing-stock of the congregation. I wonder what Dick’s dick would feel like inside me, or in my mouth. With a build like that, he must have a big one. Too big to swallow, maybe; I hope not. I think it would be better for me not to focus on that now; I’ll just wait until this evening, after Michael leaves me unsatisfied again. If I can keep Richard in my mind while I masturbate, if he can push all the others out of my consciousness until I orgasm, then maybe I’ll see where it leads. Until then, I’d better keep cool.

“Good morning, Richard.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Don’t make me sound like such an old lady; I’m not much older than you. Please call me Melissa.”

“But you’re the Preacher man’s wife. I must respect you.”

“Well, here we call him the Minister or the Reverend, not the Preacher. But I do have a given name, and you may call me by that name without offending me, Richard.”

“Yes, ma’am, er, Melissa.” That rascal’s smile had turned into a leer as he scanned my body up and down. I turned away so that he wouldn’t see my face redden and I walked into the Church toward my usual seat in front of Michael. My mind was still on Richard, and before services began, I realized that I must go to the Ladies Room to put some tissues in my panties to absorb my leaking moisture, lest I become the butt of jokes for the entire congregation. Staid old Michael would never comprehend what had caused me sexual excitement in Church.

The Reverend Johnson runs a tight ship. Services began as scheduled and lasted the same amount of time each Sunday. His sermon, timed to the second, would have put me to sleep even if I hadn’t already heard it twice in rehearsal; all that prevented it was the gravity of what would happen if I snored. Michael had never commented on that but several of my other gentlemen friends and acquaintances had mentioned it. I never cared, since in each case I had just given them sufficient pleasure to still any complaints.

For reasons I never learned, in fact never cared to learn, I simply love to couple with the bodies of men, that is, I love to fuck. Any time, any place, any body. And any style. Granny, barely thirty seven years older than me, had given me free rein to act up in my teens. Her lectures were very circumspect and circuitous. She never said in words of one syllable that I shouldn’t go out with black guys, but she unmistakably implied it; things like that. Sorry, Granny, I guess you never had a big black cock as a bedtime snack.

I wonder if Granny would like to do a threesome with me and some guy. I know she has no idea who my grandfather is; she got herself knocked up when she was about eighteen. And my mommy got herself pregnant with me when she was about the same age. Only mommy knew who it was, and daddy was a man of honor, as well as being rich. He made an honest woman out of mommy, gave me a name, if you will, and they lived happily ever after until I was about ten. That’s when they left me with Granny to go on the damned ski trip; shit, sometimes I wish I had been there with them. Anyway, next time we’re in Las Vegas and go look at that statue, I may just ask Granny how long it’s been since she saw a real cock like that and if she’s like to take an afternoon nap and go out with me after dinner. Except maybe the guy would want Granny and me to put on a show for him, and I’m not sure about that part. Oh, I enjoy a juicy clitoris as much as the next girl, but after all, Granny is blood kin. I better think about that one some more.

As I listened to Michael’s words of damnation and salvation, punctuated by an occasional thump of the lectern, I thought about Richard Davis, only by then in my mind I was calling him Big Dick. I was between lovers; should I try to see how far he’ll go or not? Physically, it would be a blast, of that there was little doubt. But what was the potential for scandal, for publicity that would force us to move out of town, might even cause Michael to leave me. And did I even care about that? Oh, Granny, why didn’t you get me to marry some stud instead of that limp noodle?

Big Dick’s parents were big contributors to the church, often dinner guests in our home. Michael if nothing else was a good fund raiser; that could be why they hired him. Richard himself was a quiet boy, not a trouble maker in religious school like many of the kids. His celebrity came from a summer internship at the White House, so he probably did have discretion; that’s all I needed would be to have a bunch of young men whispering about me. I knew from his parents that Richard was shy and that even as an athlete, he was not a braggart. I was sure he had what I needed, wanted, couldn’t get enough of; had he ever used it for real or was he still a virgin? Not likely. I resolved to keep the possibilities open.

Michael finally ran down, we all murmured our Amen’s, and soon I was at the front door with him shaking all the hands in sight. Richard never passed by; probably he had chosen to go out the side door. Embarrassed by his earlier leering, perhaps? How interesting!

The day dragged, partly because I was positive that Michael would roll over to my side of the bed that evening; it was a Sunday night ritual. The problem was that I never knew which other nights would require me to spread my legs for him, so I always had to go to bed with my diaphragm in and fully creamed. If he would keep to a regular schedule, I wouldn’t waste so much money on cream. I used a Jewish doctor and pharmacist to be certain that neither of them would be part of Michael’s flock.

Sure enough, he was in bed by ten that evening. I delayed as long as possible, fantasizing that he would fall asleep, but that was a pipe dream.

“Come to bed, Melissa, I’d like to make love with you.” Talk about subtlety.

Michael was on my side of the bed even before I got into it. Though he usually slept with pajamas, when he wanted me his bottom half was always bare. For some reason, he kept his top on; maybe he didn’t like the way I sucked his nipples. As he kissed me, his hand roamed up the inside of my thigh, squeezing the flesh there. His hand moved up to my snatch, rubbing all over it, but his fingers never went inside me. Perhaps that was due to his Puritan upbringing. Why oh why didn’t he rent a porn movie and get some lessons on how to fuck a girl properly? If I let him see one of my stash of DVDs, I’m sure he would die on the spot.

He spread my pussy lips with his fingers as he hovered over me. Despite my being uninterested, my juices flowed, easing the entrance for his so-so cock. Did you notice that I didn’t mention any touching of my breasts or of my clitoris, any use of his mouth for more than words? That wasn’t part of Michael’s repertoire. Yet his cock was big enough so that I felt it stretching my vaginal walls; if only he could hold out until I could cum. Under any other circumstances, with any other man, I would be grabbing his backside to pull him tightly into me, but with Michael that would only make him cum faster.

Yes, Michael, fuck me, fuck me, rub that cock against my clitoris, hold out, Michael, hold out, make me cum, make me cum, oh shit, damn you, I hate you, you thoughtless selfish excuse for a man! As I felt the throb of his cock, pulsing his cum into me, I wondered what would happen if I said all of that aloud. Did I give a damn if he left me, or threw me out? I surely didn’t need him for support, but I knew that Granny would be very hurt if I somehow brought disgrace to her in front of all her friends. Michael, you had better pray that Granny lives forever.

He rolled off me and I soon heard the deep exhales that told me he was sound asleep. Had no one ever taught him to say ‘I love you’ or ‘you were fabulous’ or ‘clean off my cock for me’ or even ’good night’? Of course I could have cleaned off his cock without being asked, but he gave me no reason to do so. Maybe someday I’ll teach a course in Divinity school about how to fuck a woman properly, how to eat pussy, how to save your own marriage.