Hindsight can be comforting or sickening. As I look back on those days,
it is indeed a comfort to be able to make sense of what was going on. At
the time, I was mostly just confused and angry. Pamela was struggling
with something, though – something she couldn’t possibly have explained
to me, because she didn’t even come close to understanding it herself.
Looking back, I now know that she was as tormented in some ways as I was
– at least at first.
Pamela continued for some months to be completely unpredictable.
Distant, quiet, and unaffectionate for days at a time, then all of a
sudden, she’d do something so sexually exciting that I couldn’t believe
it was the same woman. One night when I came home from a poker game, I
found my wife in our bed, lying on her tummy, with several quite new
copies of a popular sex magazine on the pillow beside her. Only her
reading lamp was on, and the soft, long curves of her slender body was
the very picture of feminine beauty. She had only her panties on, and
she had one hand under her body, obviously hard at work in her panties.
In her free hand, she held one of the pocket-sized magazines, with one
finger apparently holding her place. I thought she must not have heard
me come in, but she almost immediately proved me wrong.
With a deep, anguished moan, she let go of the magazine, and pulled her
hand free of her panties. She kept her face turned away, gripping a
pillow in one hand and reaching back to pull the crotch of her panties
aside with the other. There was a light sheen of sweat on her skin, and
she seemed to glow in the relatively dim light of the little lamp.
“Do me, Danny. Do it to me.”
It took a moment for me to find my voice. I was feeling mellow from a
few beers – for a brief moment I felt vaguely ill, then sort of dizzy.
“Pam, I’m sorry, I just…”
“Don’t talk! Please, Danny….please just do it. Now. Don’t talk.”
By this time, I had already realized that nearly every time she
presented one of these “episodes”, she asked me to be silent. And I had
begun to understand why: my voice would spoil whatever fantasy she was
having. Again she said it, still in the harsh, urgent whisper I’d come
to associate with these encounters:
“Now. Do it or go away.”
I dropped my jacket, kicked off my shoes and undid my slacks as I
approached the bed. I got on my knees between her thighs and began to
caress her ass…..god, that ass. Still makes my heart beat faster just
thinking about it, and it’s been years!
I slid my hands up her thighs to the firm, smooth fruit of her ass and
began to massage her, but she reached back – still without looking back,
her face turned away from me – and pushed my hands away.
“No! Just do it, you bastard. Just do it…..please. Oh god, please.”
I probably knelt there blinking for a few seconds…..hurt, but so
aroused I could have passed out. My hands shook and my heart pounded. I
looked down and saw her sex open and wet from what she had been doing
when I came in…..and then I just plunged my fingers into her, two or
three of them, screwing them into her as I pressed down on the small of
her back.
She made a deep, raspy noise as she pressed a pillow to her face and I
felt her sex gripping my fingers. I roughly withdrew them, and her ass
rose as if to snatch them back.
My cock was in position already, and when her ass rose, I pushed into
her. She pressed both hands against the mattress as if to do a push-up,
and her upper body began to rise. I astonished myself by roughly pushing
her back down with the flat of my hand between her shoulder blades. She
gave a little yelp of surprise, and when I took her small hips in my
hands and yanked her up to me, she seemed to briefly struggle before
beginning to writhe against me.
I pressed into her as deep as I could and when I was all the way in, her
hands came up and back, and she crossed her wrists over the small of her
back.
It seems silly, I suppose, but when she did that, I immediately began to
come. One of her hands whipped around to her clit and in a matter of
seconds, her muscles were gripping me again in what I now know was her
orgasm.
She fell forward and began to sob. So did I – releasing only a small bit
of the tension and confusion of those months. She didn’t say a word as
we drifted off to sleep. When I awoke a little while later, with my
trousers still around my knees, she wasn’t in the bed. As usual, she’d
gone off somewhere else in the house. I went back to sleep.
I believe it was about a week after that night that she came into the
library where I was going over the mail and asked softly if we could
talk. She dimmed the lights, asking me to sit in my “favorite” chair, a
leather wingback. She stood behind me.
“Danny, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. I’ve been a terrible wife
to you lately and you deserve some kind of explanation….”
I got up to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it was alright, but she
turned away.
“Danny, I can’t do this if you’re looking at me – I just can’t. Please.
Sit down. Let me do this my way.”
Suddenly I knew what I was about to hear. She was going to leave me. I
felt like the whole room was coming down on me. God, I loved her so!
This beautiful, warm, sweet, person that I had married – who had chosen
me over so many others that had pursued her. I was losing her. This was
the night.
I sat on the edge of my chair and held my head in my hands, staring down
at the carpet as the lump in my throat spread and numbed my body. Anger
and grief washed over me and mixed somewhere in my stomach….but I kept
control.
“I’ve been changing. You know I have. I … we … it’s not us. I mean,
it isn’t you. It’s me. It’s not something I can really …” she slammed
the back of my chair with her small fist. “Damn! This is so stupid …
how do I …”
She must have heard my heavy breathing … or maybe I was crying. I
really don’t know. I was still sitting there with my head down and she
came around the chair and stood in front of me and took my head in her
hands, pressing my face to her tummy. My arms went around her and held
her tight around her hips and again we cried. I still hadn’t seen her
face since she came into the room. I held her to me tightly and I heard
her say:
“You just have to be patient with me, Danny. Please. Please, Danny, try
and understand. There’s something happening that I can’t explain –
something inside of me. Please give me time, Danny. Please…..”
Her hands held my head to her tightly, her fingers in my hair and on my
neck, my ears. Perversely, I suppose, I became aroused. I began to press
my face down into the front of her dress, into her mons. She held my
head there for a moment, and then pressed forward as I pressed my face
to her.
Now, in all our married life, oral sex had been entirely out of the
question. I’ve already described her minimal oral flirtations before we
were married. But cunnilingus was particularly taboo. And I must admit
that it was as much my problem as hers. The thought of going down on a
woman seemed somehow less than masculine to me – sort of demeaning. And
actually, I felt the same about her going down on me. I mean, I wanted
it, but it seemed wrong to me. And the one time I had playfully moved to
kiss her “down there” during our first year of marriage, she was
genuinely shocked, crying out my name, and pushing me away. It was, as I
recall, the abrupt end of what had been a rather promising foreplay
session.
But just then, in the half dark of the study, my face hot with tears, I
wanted to bury my face – my *self* in her sex. I breathed in sharply,
and imagined I could smell her through the material of her panties and
skirt. With my hands on her ass, I pressed harder against her, and I
felt her press back, a small circular motion of her hips that ground her
mons against my nose.
“No….no…..,” she whispered, and I recognized that it was *that*
whisper – the strange, troubled, urgent whisper I had lately come to
associate with the strange, intense sex she’d been initiating.
“No……please…..,” she kept whispering as she pulled her pelvis back
and pushed me away, her small hands on my shoulders. Again, I briefly
imagined forcing myself on her, making her give herself to me on MY
terms, but I didn’t. Maybe I should have, I really don’t know. After
all, in those days, no one had ever even *heard* the phrase “no means
no.” In fact, it wasn’t at all clear that it was even legally *possible*
for a man to rape his own wife. But I let her push me back, at least
partly because – get this – I wanted to see
her face, I wanted to kiss
her softly and make her smile as I had done so often over the years, and
hold her and tell her everything would be ok. For a moment I imagined
that would happen.
But she kept her face down and as I lay back in my chair, she knelt
down, her loose hair hiding her face. Her hands slid over my thighs as
she settled down between my spread knees, and although it had never
happened before, I knew what would happen next.
Gripping my spread thighs, she pressed her face into the front of my
trousers, and her mouth slid over the shape of my stiff penis. I
actually tried to gently push her away, but she persisted and began to
hurriedly open my pants. Almost painfully, she extracted my cock from my
half-opened pants, and immediately took me into her mouth. She began to
bob up and down over me in the time-honored fashion, slowing
occasionally to take me deep into her throat.
I gently stroked her neck and shoulders as she did this, but soon
enough, she took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to my thighs,
all the while continuing to suck me and to fuck me with her mouth. I
could easily have overcome her, but I didn’t. And in a few more moments,
she firmly put my hands on her own head and *made* me push her head down
onto my cock. I started to say something, but again she pressed my hands
to the back of her head, and moaned as she slid down over my erection.
I began to feel my orgasm building and I tried to squirm away.
“Oh, god, baby, I’m almost….. I’m gonna…..Pammy, please, I can’t
hold it….please, I’m gonna….”
Right up to the end, I was trying to pull out of her mouth, but she held
me fast. For so long we had colluded in making oral sex taboo – now she
was *making* me demean her, use her like some kind of whore. She
released my hands and I found myself pushing her down on my own, pushing
myself even further into her as I felt my balls tighten. At the last
minute, though, I just couldn’t do it – I believed so deeply that it was
a gesture of disrespect that I finally pulled free, pushing her away
from me as I did so. She fell back and caught herself on her hands and I
saw her eyes wide and excited as my ejaculate came shooting forth into
the space between us arcing up and out onto the carpet, her bare leg and
thigh, and even her dress.
She just looked up at me from the floor, breathless as I was, not
exactly smiling, but with a look of deep, raw excitement on her
tear-streaked face. Our eyes met for only a moment before I put my hand
over my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone.
*******
It went that way for a long while. She refused every sexual overture
from me, but every now and then, she’d initiate something – always
something that had her in control.
Fact is, it was the most sexually intense time I had experienced in my
life. She was so exciting, so unbelievably hot. And when she felt safe,
when she had in mind exactly what she wanted to do – she was shockingly
inventive and hungry – demanding. A few things were always the same. She
wanted me quiet. She wanted no eye contact (even blindfolded me once)
and no conversation. Usually, she was behind me, or I was behind her.
And she never repeated herself. It was always explosive sexually, and
totally baffling emotionally.
Twice during that time, she came up, as if casually , and hugged me, her
face turned to the side and down, and whispered “It’s going to be
ok…..it’s all going to be ok, Danny.” Then she’d be gone.
Then one night she stopped into the library before going out to her
volunteer work. She seemed thoughtful as she entered. She walked slowly
around the room making a show of looking up at the shelves.
“Help you find something?”
“Hmm? No….oh. No, I was just thinking….”
Soon she’d come around behind my chair. I was pretty sure she was
initiating one of her “episodes” as she slid her hands down over my
shoulders to my chest and leaned down to whisper in my ear from behind.
Her voice pure warmth, pure love.
“Danny, darling, I love you. I love you more than anything…you are so
good to me. You’ve been so patient….so good. Just a little longer,
honey. Please. Just a while longer. And whatever happens, baby, I love
you. I do.”
With that, she left, and I watched her ass swing as she made her way out
the door and down the hall.
It was later than usual when she came home.
She wasn’t alone. She introduced her “friend” as “Mick.”
