A New Look for Marriage Pt. 02

After fusing over which purse makes a match I leave the house. The thoughts creep back into my mind. I can't help but wonder if there are others like us. I don't think I want to talk to anyone unfamiliar this morning. I'd rather be back in bed with my husband, with no reminders of society. In our bed I don't feel the sharp edges of the cookie cutter that social mores stamp each one of us with. The escape we found in sexual expression makes the houses I pass look dull and obstinate.

"Waiting in the car mom?" My passenger sighs upon swinging her bag in the back seat with the care of a wrecking ball.

"I didn't feel like coming in?"

"Well you could have said hello at least. Her mom's real nice."

"I'll say hi next time, ok?"

"Oh ok, well anyways, you look real nice mom."

"Thank-you dear. You have your dance stuff?"

"Yes mom, like I'd forget, in the bag. I like your earrings. I can borrow some time?"

"Which time? Have a date or something?"

"Come on mom, no! I just like them that's all and I think they're pretty on you. You don't have a date or anything." She says. "Just like'em that's all." She adds mixing a little bit of sadness with her cheerful demeanor.

"Honey, you look pretty without them."

"What are we talking about here? Can I borrow them or not?"

"Sorry dear, my mind is just wandering this morning, of course you can. I just didn't feel like being social, last time she talked and talked and then she talked some more. Just wasn't in the mood."

"So, you do that too."

"Ya, but I wasn't in the mood for it this morning."

"Well we're going to be real early then. Unless you want to go for coffee-e?" Her intonation trails in melody while testing the waters.

"You're 16, you're not having coffee. Is this what your father buys you?"

"Nah, he won't neither."

"And if he did, you wouldn't say anyways?"

"Ain't no snitch."

"Oh so he does?"

"M0-om! No, jeez you'd think you'd be happy bout not raisin' no snitches."

"No, but what I would be proud of is raising a daughter who speaks properly."

"Dat ain't no fun."

"Ok missy enough. How about you have some orange juice or hot chocolate?"

"Ohhh, hot chocolate! Love me some hot chocolate!"

One thing that's nice about having a talkative daughter is that she doesn't expect you to talk much in return. Over hot chocolate, she talks about herself rarely missing a beat. I try to stay engaged but I simply can't follow all her friends, who did what to whom or why it was unacceptable. I was never so social when I was her age; I have no idea where she got it. Perhaps some people just naturally see themselves as the centre of attention and never think twice as to why. The rest of us, who only taste it in pieces, the feeling can be intoxicating. As she gabs away, I can't escape the multi-mirrored realm of self-reflection. What is the validation that I seek?

The question lingers with me while I wait for her lesson to end. I try to shake it but it just won't leave. It wants to tell me that I'm wrong and that I'm in the wrong. It whispers in my ear that my family is all the validation I should need. I can't help but agree and at the same time I can't help but feel remorse at that conclusion. The wanting more, more of the wrong kind, pushes me to this disturbing fantasy world, a world I've now trapped my husband in as well. I want the sort of sexual validation the typical life can't provide and I can't deny in my deepest thoughts that I need it. The impulse is uncompromising. I keep looking at the other moms and wondering if it's just me.

"Honey, fix your hair we're almost home."

"What for?"

"Because you look like you just rolled out of bed. Take a bit of care, ok?"

"Jeez, it's just dad."

"Just look proper, ok? I'm asking you."

"Yes sir...wha-tev-er." She says while doing her best to fix her herself in the passenger mirror. I don't mean to be unreasonable, but a ragged looking kid wouldn't help to accent my well prepared look. He needs to feel good about his family and it's the details which matter most.

I'm always nervous to see him for the first time after one of our nights. By one of our nights, I mean the filthy talking about my affair. The pillow talk has become a regular thing when Lisa isn't home. He acts like nothing had happened, but every time I worry that maybe it went too far. Whenever you push toward the edge there is always the chance you fall off the cliff. I think this is why so many show such restraint in relating their fantasies to their partners. For my part, I have long accepted that sexuality is rarely straightforward and that desire can take many strange forms. Still my husband had never opened up to me in any kinky way and had, in the past, admonished my attempts to do the same to him. In many ways, I should feel liberated by him showing this new and darker side to his desire, but lingering doubts remain. How can he not feel jealous? Or feel hurt? In the reverse, I would be devastated.

As time passes these sorts of questions wax and wane in my daydreams. They begin to feel removed from my real life. It mostly just hangs in the background, occasionally it's spoken in code to get him off quicker, but mostly it remains unsaid. We're having sex more, but intercourse less. I'm not complaining as the intimacy is undeniable. The kisses, the holding and touching are all welcome in their increased attention. In truth, sex between us had become strained and stressful over the years. He was having trouble maintaining an erection and subjecting himself to all kinds of mental anguish as a result. It was a vicious cycle, whenever it happened he would put more pressure on himself for the next time. Any attempts made to comfort or console him were met with bitter resentment. Our bickering had sucked the intimacy right out of our sex life. Instead sex, when we did it, was mostly just him pumping until he was able to cum and I'd then fend for myself.

Intimacy does not come natural to me, so achieving it is very special. In the quiet of a typical evening, I retreat to my room, often with a glass of red wine, to enjoy a bit of solitude. Sometimes I read scientific articles, occasionally I try to learn something new and many nights I read or write erotica. This is not our bedroom, but rather a room we have set up simply for this purpose. My husband calls it my library but I just call it my room. Sitting up with one knee hugged into my chest in my swiveling chair, absent-mindedly chewing on the end of a pen this is one of those nights. I'm re-reading an article thinking about ways to mark it up. There's a knock upon the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course...it's not locked." I put down the pen and straighten my posture.

My husband opens the door a crack. "Are you busy?"

"Nah, just reading over this nonsense. I seriously don't know how some of this crap gets published." I vent a little in frustration.

"Just sometimes you're on the computer or something."

"Huh?"

"Talking to people or reading that stuff?"

"Colin, are we going to be doing this again? I'm not chatting with anyone, ok?" I get on the defensive sensing an impending fight over my internet habits.

"No, sorry, I didn't mean it like that, just meant that if you're busy then we can talk another time, so I didn't mean to stop anything if you were busy...sorry." The barely opened door does not do conceal his jitters.

"You're acting strange, what is it?"

He breathes deeply and steps in closing the door. "Just I wanted to, you know...to...you know...I wanted to ask you about something?"

"What do I know?"

"Huh?"

"You said that I know something."

"I didn't, what?"

"Colin, what is it?" I don't have a heck of a lot of patience for beating around the bush and I'm not projecting the most welcoming audience.

"That I think you know? I never said that and I'm not assuming you know anything...it's just that...you know...I wanted to talk about..."

Letting my glasses fall to the end of my nose so I can look under my brow I ask, "What did you want to ask me Colin?"

"Yeah that, well you know, like how you say we never talk about that stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"The stuff we talk about in bed."

"Yeah?"

"Well I want to talk about it."

"Oh? Are you sure it's a good time for that?

I can see his resolve harden. "If not now, then when, it's never a good time for you. Nobody's listening, we can talk about this right now."

Perhaps the façade is about to dissipate. He's going to tell me he can't handle it, tell me it's too much and that it needs to stop. I've been expecting this. I had gotten off the hook too easily. In any event, he's probably right, I'm the one who avoids it when we're not in bed and then shift the blame to him for that. I breathe in and exhale in a single motion as if raising my defenses. "Ok, what about it?" I say curtly.

He's seen this routine before. He fidgets and looks to the right corner of the room with his left eye still on me. "Michelle..."

"Colin just say it, ok? I don't have time for this." I move my hips to pivot the chair to face the computer with my back to him.

He quickly, but clearly blurts out, "I want to do it! I mean I want you to do it. Ok? I want you to do it."

I take off my glasses and slowly place them on the desk squinting my eyes and tilting my head around and sideways. "Want me to do what? We aren't doing this now."

"I want to do it. You say it's just pillow talk and we never talk about it while not in bed. Well we aren't in bed and I want to it." He settles to an even footing after finally jumping in with both feet. His voice smoothed with conviction no longer stutters.

"Lower your voice!" I say in a loud whisper crinkling my forehead and bulging my eyes.

"Well? Will you?" He doesn't flutter.

"Are we talking about what I think we're talking about?"

"What do you think we're talking about?"

"About me f-u-c-k'ing another man?" I whishper.

His stomach pulls in forming a slight hunch in his spine; the sudden discomfort of clearly getting hard. "Yeah." He nods.

"I don't know...Like for real? Are you sure?...What will you do?"

"I want to watch. I want to see it."

"Honey, your mouth is dry, do you want some water?...I only have wine..." I turn toward the computer again and look frantically for a place to rest my eyes.

"I don't need any water. Just tell me that you'll do it."

"And you want to watch? Are you sure you really want to see me like that?"

"You don't want to?"

"Colin, I'm not a porn star, I might now be able to, that's a lot of pressure."

"Pressure, from what?"

"What if I don't perform?"

I turn to see him give me a crooked glace. "Michelle..."

"What if he doesn't perform? It takes patience sometimes...It's not one of your pornos."

"I know it's not, you already said that, and we can have patience."

"What are you going to do?"

"Just watch, that's all."

"I think I need some wine." I turn the chair to face the computer again. My fingers shake while pouring a glass of red.

"What's the problem? We have talked about it and we both aren't getting any younger."

"No, you're right we have, just feel nervous, what if it isn't what you expect?"

"I don't have any expectations other than to experience it with you. It's ok if you're nervous."

I dip my finger into my wine and taste it off my fingertip. "That's sort of sweet honey."

"So will you?"

A smile comes to my face. It's the type of gaping mouth grin you can only have when you're taking a solemn oath of deviancy. I nervously drip more wine off my finger into my mouth. My breath feels like it's coming from beneath my stomach. "With who?"

"I don't know yet...Are you saying you will?" He swallows hard.

"I mean yeah...yeah I'll do it!"

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll do it."

"You're not just saying that? Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"No, I mean it, I will, I promise."

"And I can I watch?"

"You really want to? Like in the same room? How?"

From behind, he pivots my chair and I'm facing him once again. He blinks slowly and nods his head solemnly.

"Yeah?" I nod with the same gaping grin recoiled slightly in amazement.

He drops to his knees beside my chair. His head falls into lap and moves his forehead from side to side. I run my fingers through his hair affectionately and down his neck feeling a great deal of tension. "It's ok honey, relax, it's ok...it's ok." His muscles begin to loosen as I talk softly. It's a scene I doubt many would understand but that doesn't bother me. It's an expression of dependency and a deep bond. A bond we don't always express in the way we would like to. Busy lives, children, responsibility and even sex can create walls but the foundation remains. In moments such as these, it's plain without saying it: we depend on each other. "You're the love of my life...you are the best...so good to me...I'd never find anyone so good to me." I continue to softly whisper and cradle his head in my lap.

His arms wrap and around my hips and he pulls at my yoga pants.

"Colin, not now, we can't." He slightly backs off before renewing his pursuit. "Honey, cut it out!" I laugh.

"I just want to taste it...please let me taste it...just need it...just want to taste...please I need it...I need it...I neeeeed it." Inhaling deeply and pushing his forehead into my lap, he keeps pulling at the waistband making a bit more progress with each tug. I make feeble protests with no expectation of success, until finally relenting. I slouch in the chair and kick one leg out leaving my pants hanging off my right ankle. He starts fighting with my panties finding less success with my legs already spread. Wasting no more time he buries his head between my legs and starts liking whatever he can pushing my panties to the side, licking on top of them and taking in my scent with deep inhales through his flared nostrils.

"Honey!" He's like a wild dog attacking its last meal. He has no target except everywhere and when he finds my entrance, he's sticking his tongue in and everything. "Oh honey!" I'm caught off guard, I squirm in my chair and clasp at the armrests, looking for a way to keep from sliding off.

The oral in our bedroom has almost always been a one way street. I don't ask for it, despite being quite oral myself, and when it' happened it's always been from a timid tongue. Oral sex is not something I've ever felt a loss for, I've never really liked it with any of the men I've been with. If anything, I've put up with it to get to the good stuff. It's always just been more of a bother and I'd rather have lips used on my nipples. This however, is anything but timid. Once he started, he went from passive to wild as if a switch had been pulled. He sucks, licks, bites and runs his open lower lip anywhere and everywhere.

His hands wrap around my legs and grip my thighs holding me in place with some measure of force. Every now and then, my hips buck and break his control before he clamps down even tighter. His fingers press into my skin where they will leave deep red marks in their wake. He licks the inside of my thighs, all around my pussy and up to my stomach and he even sucks on my panties. He softly bites the skin around my belly trying to take as much as me as he can into his mouth. I can feel the broad middle of his tongue and his nose crushes against my skin. Saliva drips from his mouth as he takes deep, naughty breathes through his nose right at my centre.

He's fucking me with his tongue, pushing it in, licking around in circles and taking it out to drag it over my clit and all the way back up to my belly button. Animals have never been so feral and out of control. No crevice is left unexplored. He teases me, keeps me on the edge while threatening to push me over. The saliva drips contributing to the puddle forming on the floor beneath us. I catch his eyes; I can see that he's in a trance of lust. I don't see the edge, I grasp the back of his head in an attempt to hold on while falling over it.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum...oh fuck...oh fuck..." I try to muffle my voice before letting it all out. "I'm fucking cumming! I'm cumming!" Dirty words flow from my lips as they are so prone to accompany a hard orgasm. My hips shake and buck violently, my hands press into the back of his head in an effort to help him as he struggles to keep his tongue in place. I gasp, exhale, kick and scream more profanity in the throes ecstasy.

I'm completely soaked. My chair is soaked, my thighs are soaked and my panties are soaked. The mix of my juices and his saliva drip from his chin. His shirt looks like he's been out jogging. He stays kneeled between my legs and looks up at me submissively. I feel that sense of control and power again. I'm getting more used to this.

"OMG! What was that?" I feel the need to fan my flushed red face.

Looking up at me he says, "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Honey, what was that? Yeah I liked it."

I gather myself, catch my breath and push the chair back making some room to stand. He remains on his knees with both of his arms grasping my right leg as if his grip were the only think keeping him upright. He presses his face sideways into my thigh. I feel a wicked sensation shoot up my spine. "You really want to watch? You'll be ok...seeing it?"

"Yes, yes, I'll be good, I promise."

I run my fingers over the top of his head and around his ears. "What if he fucks me really hard?"

He trembles to my touch. "I...I...r-r-really want to see *gulp* that."

With both of his knees planted firmly on the ground, we conclude this odd proposal with a solemn oath. With his head bowed slightly he leans on me while we complete our promises. It's still the same mundane room as it's ever been. The walls are still pale in the most neutral shade of beige, my comfort blanket still drapes over the back of the sofa and my bookshelf still has the same boring books. It's all the same, but it feels like I'm standing in the halls of Aphrodite oozing sex from every pore. A mundane couple have found a celebration in a dirty secret. He is lust and I am desire, in that we are transformed. As we cling together allowing our vows to set in, questions still remain. What sort of odd ceremony will be born from such a proposal? What rituals will we observe? What guidelines imposed? Of course, the biggest question of all, who will our guest of honour be?

End Part 2