This story is dedicated to my friend SB
(Previously Published under the
Pen Name Marcia R. Hooper)
Steve sat at the edge of the mattress when I returned to the bedroom, his right leg folded beneath him, his hands clasping his knee, worry furrowing his brow.
"We need to talk, sweetie," he said.
"I know," I replied tiredly. Rubbing my forehead, I closed the bedroom door and made sure it was locked. The girls were in bed, but they could just as easily be awake as asleep and I didn't want either barging in on our conversation. Sex I wasn't worried about; no way was I having sex tonight.
Steve said: "Tell me what's wrong."
"You tell me what's wrong." Lately I had begun to feel alone in the marriage. Half the time I fell to sleep alone at night, and who knew what he did downstairs in his office. I suspected it had to do with pornography; I prayed it didn't involve another woman. He'd been acting distant and preoccupied ever since September and since his time away from home was mostly accounted for, the Internet was all I could think of.
I thought, not for the first time: What if he's got an on-line girlfriend?
I asked him outright if there was somebody else.
"Are you kidding me?" he said.
Despite sounding surprised, his eyes momentarily cut away. The guilt portion of his reaction was enough to confirm my suspicions of a girlfriend; but it was also slight enough to indicate that it hadn't yet reached a dangerous level of intimacy. He was talking to someone on-line, I thought. Well, so was I, and I could live with that.
"I'm feeling more than a little neglected lately," I said, with just a hint of a smile.
He smiled back, sheepishly. "I admit, I've been pretty stressed out from work. This downturn business has got everyone walking on eggshells. And," he added, blushing slightly, "maybe I've been spending a little too much time on the Internet."
My grin widened a bit. My own activities on the Internet had broadened significantly in the past few months, so I knew how addictive pecking those little keys could be. It was not a subject I wanted to pursue.
"We're okay with the girls, though?" he inquired.
I said yes, even though I still felt a bit rancorous over the business. Steve was twelve years older than I, and previously married, so I had to acknowledge that Family Number Two needed to coexist with Family Number One. I only wished Steve would get his head straight about which family was which.
Come on, I thought sourly. Half that mess was simply your feelings being hurt because you're jealous of his easy relationship with his kids. It clouds your judgment sometimes and you need to acknowledge that.
Okay, I agreed. I'll work on it.
He stood up and walked over to me, limping slightly from his right leg having gone to sleep.
"Don't start," I warned him, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You're tense. I know you have a headache. A massage would do you wonders, sweetie,"
"You just want a piece of ass," I countered wryly.
He grinned and tried to capture my shoulders with his hands but I shrugged past him and headed for the bathroom.
"I don't feel like it," I said.
"You need it," he disagreed. "A massage, not sex."
I pushed open the bathroom door and turned on the light. I tried to close the door but he stood in the doorway and refused to move.
"Steve!" I complained.
"I've seen you go to the bathroom before," he said grinning.
"I have to go Number Two," I lied, feeling my face flush.
His grin widened. "I've seen you do that also," he reminded me.
Now my face really reddened. "No!" I said sternly, pushing him back into the bedroom. "Not tonight!"
Before he could recover I closed the door and pushed in the lock. Alone, there was no stopping my grin. I had to admit that I certainly needed a massage. I also needed to admit that yes, I could see a massage leading to something else. Steve was randy tonight and his playfulness had put a match to the fuse leading to my powder keg. It had been a while. It had been even longer since we'd really gone at it hot and heavy. I wondered if I had hot and heavy in me tonight.
Un-belting my robe, I dropped my pajama bottoms and panties to my knees, reached behind me to feel for the seat before I sat down. I lowered it, saving myself a cold explosion of white porcelain and/or cold water on my poor fanny.
Men, I thought darkly. How many times had I asked him to lower that toilet seat?
I went pee, and then realized I had a Number Two coming after all. Its departure told me that Steven, should he get lucky tonight, would find a completely empty rectum to plunge himself into, no enema required. The twitchiness of it made me all squirmy inside.
God, I am hot, I thought.
I wiped, flushed the toilet and pulled up my pajama bottom and panties again, washed my hands and dried them, wondering all the while whether I could hide this sudden overpowering desire to be thoroughly fucked. My underarms itched and so did my vagina. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
He knocked on the door. "You all right, sweetie?"
I heard him go nowhere, and opening the door I found him leaning against the jamb.
"Okay," I admitted with a sigh. "I'd like a massage."
He grinned widely.
"Just a massage," I warned, keeping my arms folded over my chest. "I'm seriously not feeling like it tonight, Steven."
His grin moderated to more of a sad smile. "Whatever you want, my love. I want only what you want."
"Liar," I said good-naturedly.
He led me over to the bed and waited behind me as I unbelted my robe. Slipping it back over my shoulders, I let him remove and drape it over the chair-back.
"Lay down across the bed," he directed.
Climbing onto the bed, I lay down with my head at the far edge with my hands crossed beneath my cheek and the tips of my toes hanging off the other end. I was surprised (and a little disappointed?) that he hadn't suggested I take off my clothes. Maybe he really did just want to please me tonight. If so, I could live with that.
He started as always at my neck and after brutalizing it and making me squirm like a tickled teenager, he worked out across my shoulders and from there down onto my biceps. Already I was feeling sleepy and I listened to his soft patter of "This will help" "This will make you feel good" "Feel how tight these muscles are?" and "You feel like a coiled spring ready to explode." I found myself barely able to grunt back answers.
"I love you," I murmured.
"I love you too, Angie," he said softly.
"Call me by my name," I asked.
"I just did," he replied, his fingers digging into my shoulders again.
"I know. I love it when you say my name."
"You are so kookie," he said. He leaned down, moved my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck
"Nummmm," I protested, shivering and squirming away from him. "Stop that!" The slow-burning flame had leaped three feet farther up my fuse. My nipples hardened and vaginal juices wet my panties. My bottom involuntarily clenched in anticipation of what it expected might come later. I was fast losing the battle of feigning indifference to sex.
Returning to my neck, he slowly worked his way down to my shoulder blades and from there to the sides of my ribcage. Though I was pushed out on the sides, he took care not to encounter my breasts. It was maddening, but I dared not tell him to do otherwise.
"You're beginning to loosen up," he said.
"I feel like melting wax," I replied gratefully.
"Hmm," he said, kneeling back.
I lifted my head. "What?"
"Thinking about what you just said."
Getting off the bed--
"Hey!" I protested.
--he went to his dresser and opening the top drawer, dug around and came up with a plastic box, which he opened. Inside was a Bic lighter, I knew, and flicking it to life, he went around the room and lit half-a dozen candles.
"I know what you're doing," I said accusingly.
He grinned like a Cheshire cat, but said nothing.
"Don't you turn off those lights," I said warningly.
He turned off the lights.
"Oh, relax," he said, laughing softly. "It doesn't mean I'm going to rape you."
"I know what it means," I protested. 'You think you're gonna--"
He knelt down beside me and placed his hands at the bottom of my ribcage where they had been before.
"You're not getting any," I grumbled.
"I'm not expecting any," he replied.
For the next five minutes he concentrated on my lower back and the bottom of my ribcage. Then he shuttled backwards on the mattress in order to switch his concentration to my thighs and calves. Again, he took pains to stay clear of my private parts. It was so maddening. Did he really intend not to fuck me tonight? My subconscious began teasing me with frustration.
And then he put hands on my backside.
"Steven," I warned.
Angie! What are you doing?