Call me paranoid, or whatever you please, but my wife’s“volunteer work” was really about sex all along, and Iknew it from the beginning. She went on about self-actualization and needing to “discover herself” and todo something about society’s problems. And I wentalong, reluctantly – unhappily. I knew this was reallyall about us. It was about sex. I knew my marriage wasin trouble.
Problem is, what do you do about it? My brother and mybest friend had both warned me. They told me Pamela wasa brainy, sexy, spoiled rotten bitch (“just like Gail,”my brother warned – a reference to his wife’s sister,who had left her husband for a professor soon after shestarted as a part-time grad student).
Lately, they said, she’d been showing all the signs of“turning hippy.” What they meant was that she had begunsheepishly defending the antiwar protesters, hadexpressed curiosity about pot, and had taken to wearingless makeup and letting her hair fall loose and full.
Moreover, they said, she seemed to be bored at familygatherings, which my Dad regarded as the very mostdisturbing sign. Unlike my brother, who had never likedPamela (although he’d made it clear he found her sex-ually desirable) Dad had a genuine affection for her,and seemed to think of her as the daughter he neverhad. She returned his warm feelings, too – even whenshe started to get strange.
Naturally, I told them they were crazy. She had a rightto her own opinions, didn’t she? (Well? Didn’t she?)And, I added, I happened to really like her new look.What’s more, I lied, our sex life was better than ever.
Why did I say that? It was completely out of characterfor me to even mention our sex life, for one thing. Andfor another, our sex life was a source of total con-fusion to me. My wife had never, to my knowledge,anyway, had an orgasm, and she had steadfastly refusedto discuss it, brushing the topic aside on the twooccasions when I’d asked her about it.
“What difference does it make?” she’d said on ourhoneymoon. “You were great and I think you’re probablythe sexiest man alive.”
And later, once when we were tipsy following a NewYear’s party, we made love for much longer than usual.Probably due to the alcohol I’d consumed, I’d been ableto continue without climaxing for probably twice thetime of our usual brief couplings.
“Did you…?” I asked as we lay there afterward, theroom spinning just slightly.
“Did I what?” she answered, her tongue as thick withbooze as mine.
“You know … did you have an orgasm?”
She gave a long sigh… “How the hell am I supposed toknow?”
With that she rolled over and almost immediatelystarted snoring softly.
So that was that.
And lately, things had just gotten stranger. She always– repeat: ALWAYS refused when I made the first move.Always. But occasionally, just lately, she wouldinitiate the first contact and each time, it was some-thing strange.
The first time, she came to bed late and snuggled upbehind me, her chest against my back. I woke up abouthalfway and thought little of it. After all, she waswearing the chin-to-floor flannel nighty that usuallysignaled a chaste bedding.
But as I drifted back to sleep, I felt her lips pressedto the back of my neck, and her hand slid down into mypajamas. She is a lot shorter than me, so she had toscoot down for her hand to reach my penis. As she didso, she pressed her cheek against my back. I could feelher heat through the material of my pajama top.
I tried to turn to face her, but she held my slackpenis and resisted with a murmured “No…”
I lay there blinking as she pressed up against me, herhand on my penis for a while. I just listened to ourbreathing, wondering if she’d gone to sleep.
Eventually, her hand began to squeeze and stroke me.Ineptly, at first. Not really sure what to do with asoft penis, I guess. But as I began to swell in herhand, her breathing began to grow rougher, along withmine. And soon she was masturbating me… stroking mycock rhythmically – a slow, maddening slide of herfingertips along the underide of my cock, with herthumb pressed to the upper side. The loose skin slidover my shaft under her fingers and she milked meinsistently.
Soon I was nearing orgasm, and I was frankly embar-rassed. Did she really mean to make me do this?Shouldn’t I at least get a tissue or a towel or some-thing? My years of masturbation with a wash cloth andsoap came back to me… was she going to make me squirton the sheets?
“Honey, I’m going to…”
“Shh!! I’ll stop,” she whispered harshly, resisting mysecond attempt to roll over to face her.”
She squeezed me harder and I felt her taut body strain-ing against me as she held onto my shoulder with herfree hand. We were both rocking with her effort. I wasboth aroused to the point of fever, and deeply humili-ated.
I came hard. When she felt the first spurt, sheloosened her grip, but continued to stroke me evenfaster.
What I would have wanted, I couldn’t ask for. I wouldhave wanted her to stop stroking altogether and justhold onto the base of my cock, pulling back as hard aspossible, so hard that the skin sheath would distortthe shape of my cockhead, and hold me like that, verystill. I had done it many times, aroused myself nearlyto orgasm, then just pulled back on my cock and heldstill to wait for the explosion.
But this, although physically not what I’d have re-quested had I been less uptight, was in all other waysan extraordinary sexual experience.
Several heavy spurts soaked the sheets on my side ofthe bed as my wife’s hand flew over my cock. I thoughtI heard her chuckle to herself against my back as Icame … and whisper something.
Not sure, I whispered hoarsely “what…?” but she neveranswered. I tried one more time to turn to her, but shesilently resisted. Wouldn’t have it.
A while later, I felt her climb out of bed. Lookingback, I think she probably went somewhere in the houseto satisfy herself. Also looking back, I suppose shewas thinking of “him” the whole time.
Another time, as she came to bed after a night of her“volunteer work,” she turned off the nightlight in thehall that we usually kept on for our daughter. Shequietly closed our bedroom door, as I continued tofeign sleep. I heard her tiptoe to the windows andcarefully, almost silently, pull the shades andcurtains shut. She paused by the dresser to turn thealarm clock to the wall, the final source of light inthe room. Total darkness.
She found her way over to my side of the bed and kneltdown. I felt her hand go up under the covers, anddirectly to the waist of my pajamas. Faintly, I couldsmell beer and cigarette smoke … she’d gone out fora beer with the other volunteers, as she often did.But had she been smoking? Totally out of character.
Her hand found me and I pretended to be coming out ofsleep as she began to fondle me, her fingers cool anddry. I reached down to touch her in the dark, but herfree hand found mine and she pushed me away silently.
Before I was completely hard, she pulled down thesheets and fished my cock out through the fly of mypajamas. I inhaled deeply – smell of her perfume,mixed with the smell of whatever pub she’d gone toactually excited me, and by the time she got me freed,I was hard.
Then, to my complete surprise, I felt her lips andtongue on the head of my cock, at first tentative, butalmost immediately her tongue began to swirl over myflesh and her full lips opened to take me in.
She had occasionally teased my cock with a kiss or alick when we were dating, but had never actually takenme into her mouth. I’d subtly hinted that I would likemore, but nothing doing.
But now, my wife was kneeling by our bed in the dark-ness tonguing me with real urgency and, from the soundof her breathing and her occasional, involuntarysounds, she was hungry for me.
When I reached down with both hands to touch her hair,she batted me away again, but continued to suck,actually moving her head over me as she took more ofmy length into her mouth.
Never, never, ever had she done this, or anything evenclose. Each time she plunged downward to take in moreof me, she moaned deeply – was it effort, or satis-faction?
Inevitably, I began to moan. Usually, I wasn’t at allverbal in bed, but THIS – well, I began to babble Isuppose.
“Oh, Pammy, yesssss … oh, god … please, yes … oh,god, Pammy…”
Almost roughly, her hand flew to my mouth and coveredit! I was reduced to stifled moans as her hand left myface.
Soon after, and just as I began to feel my orgasmapproaching, she pulled away from my cock and therewas a pause of what felt like forever, but was probablyabout thirty seconds, before I heard her make a soundI’d never heard. It was somewhere between a moan and asqueal and her breathing was ragged and loud as shekeened from her spot on the floor by our bed.
“Are you alright? Honey? Sweetie…”
As I began to fumble for the bedside light switch, Iheard her softly leave the room and close the doorbehind her.
My cock hard and my balls aching, I fantasized goingafter her, demanding – well – demanding SOMETHING! Anexplanation? An orgasm? What? I briefly fantasized justgoing after her and raping her, but I put the thoughtout of my mind. Surely she must know what she was doingto me … surely she knew how unfair this was, and howstrange it all was too.
Hindsight can be comforting or sickening. As I lookback on those days, it is indeed a comfort to be ableto make sense of what was going on. At the time, I wasmostly just confused and angry.
Pamela was struggling with something, though – some-thing she couldn’t possibly have explained to me,because she didn’t even come close to understanding itherself. Looking back, I now know that she was astormented in some ways as I was – at least at first.
Pamela continued for some months to be completely un-predictable. Distant, quiet, and unaffectionate fordays at a time, then all of a sudden, she’d do some-thing so sexually exciting that I couldn’t believe itwas the same woman.
One night when I came home from a poker game, I foundmy wife in our bed, lying on her tummy, with severalquite new copies of a popular sex magazine on thepillow beside her. Only her reading lamp was on, andthe soft, long curves of her slender body was the verypicture of feminine beauty. She had only her pantieson, and she had one hand under her body, obviously hardat work in her panties.
In her free hand, she held one of the pocket-sizedmagazines, with one finger apparently holding herplace. 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 maga-zine, and pulled her hand free of her panties. Shekept her face turned away, gripping a pillow in onehand and reaching back to pull the crotch of herpanties aside with the other. There was a light sheenof sweat on her skin, and she seemed to glow in therelatively 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 feelingmellow from a few beers – for a brief moment I feltvaguely ill, then sort of dizzy.
“Pam, I’m sorry, I just…”
“Don’t talk! Please, Danny … please just do it. Doit Now! Don’t talk.”
By this time, I had already realized that nearly everytime she presented one of these “episodes”, she askedme to be silent. And I had begun to understand why: myvoice would spoil whatever fantasy she was having.Again she said it, still in the harsh, urgent whisperI’d come to associate with these encounters:
“Now. Do it now or go away.”
I dropped my jacket, kicked off my shoes and undid myslacks as I approached the bed. I got on my knees be-tween her thighs and began to caress her ass … god,that ass. Still makes my heart beat faster just think-ing about it, and it’s been years!
I slid my hands up her thighs to the firm, smooth fruitof her ass and began to massage her, but she reachedback – still without looking back, her face turnedaway 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 handsshook and my heart pounded. I looked down and saw hersex open and wet from what she had been doing when Icame in… and then I just plunged my fingers into her,two or three of them, screwing them into her as Ipressed down on the small of her back.
She made a deep, raspy noise as she pressed a pillowto her face and I felt her pussy gripping my fingers.I roughly withdrew them, and her ass rose as if tosnatch them back.
My cock was in position already, and when her ass rose,I pushed into her. She pressed both hands against themattress as if to do a push-up, and her upper bodybegan to rise. I astonished myself by roughly pushingher back down with the flat of my hand between hershoulder blades.
She gave a little yelp of surprise, and when I tookher small hips in my hands and yanked her up to me,she seemed to briefly struggle before beginning towrithe against me.
I pressed into her as deep as I could and when I wasall the way in, her hands came up and back, and shecrossed her wrists over the small of her back.
It seems silly, I suppose, but when she did that, Iimmediately began to come. One of her hands whippedaround to her clit and in a matter of seconds, hermuscles were gripping me again in what I now know washer orgasm.
She fell forward and began to sob. So did I – releasingonly a small bit of the tension and confusion of thosemonths. She didn’t say a word as we drifted off tosleep.
When I awoke a little while later, with my trousersstill around my knees, she wasn’t in the bed. As usual,she’d gone off somewhere else in the house. I went backto sleep.
I believe it was about a week after that night that shecame into the library where I was going over the mailand asked softly if we could talk. She dimmed thelights, asking me to sit in my “favorite” chair, aleather wingback. She stood behind me.
“Danny, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. I’vebeen a terrible wife to you lately and you deservesome kind of explanation…”
I got up to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it wasalright, but she turned away.
“Danny, I can’t do this if you’re looking at me – Ijust can’t. Please. Sit down. Let me do this my way.”
Suddenly I knew what I was about to hear. She was goingto leave me. I felt like the whole room was coming downon me. God, I loved her so! This beautiful, warm, sweetperson that I had married – who had chosen me over somany 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 myhands, staring down at the carpet as the lump in mythroat spread and numbed my body. Anger and griefwashed over me and mixed somewhere in my stomach …but I kept control.
“I’ve been changing. You know I have. I … we … it’snot us. I mean, it isn’t you. It’s me. It’s not some-thing I can really …” she slammed the back of mychair with her small fist. “Damn! This is so stupid …Now do I …”
She must have heard my heavy breathing … or maybe Iwas crying. I really don’t know. I was still sittingthere with my head down and she came around the chairand stood in front of me and took my head in her hands,pressing my face to her tummy. My arms went around herand held her tight around her hips and again we cried.I still hadn’t seen her face since she came into theroom. 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 somethinghappening that I can’t explain – something inside ofme. Please give me time, Danny. Please…”
Her hands held my head to her tightly, her fingers inmy hair and on my neck, my ears. Perversely, I suppose,I became aroused. I began to press my face down intothe front of her dress, into her mons. She held my headthere for a moment, and then pressed forward as Ipressed my face to her.
Now, in all our married life, oral sex had beenentirely out of the question. I’ve already describedher minimal oral flirtations before we were married.But cunnilingus was particularly taboo.
And I must admit that it was as much my problem ashers. The thought of going down on a woman seemedsomehow less than masculine to me – sort of demeaning.And actually, I felt the same about her going down onme.
I mean, I wanted it, but it seemed wrong to me. Andthe one time I had playfully moved to kiss her “downthere” during our first year of marriage, she wasgenuinely shocked, crying out my name, and pushing meaway. It was, as I recall, the abrupt end of what hadbeen a rather promising foreplay session.
But just then, in the half dark of the study, my facehot with tears, I wanted to bury my face – my *self*– in her sex. I breathed in sharply, and imagined Icould smell her through the material of her pantiesand skirt.
With my hands on her ass, I pressed harder against her,and I felt her press back, a small circular motion ofher hips that ground her mons against my nose.
“No … no…” she whispered, and I recognized that itwas *that* whisper – the strange, troubled, urgentwhisper I had lately come to associate with the strangeintense sex she’d been initiating.
“No … please…” she kept whispering as she pulledher pelvis back and pushed me away, her small hands onmy shoulders.
Again, I briefly imagined forcing myself on her, makingher 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 evenlegally *possible* for a man to rape his own wife. ButI let her push me back, at least partly because – getthis – I wanted to see her face, I wanted to kiss hersoftly and make her smile as I had done so often overthe years, and hold her and tell her everything wouldbe ok. For a moment I imagined that would happen.
But she kept her face down and as I lay back in mychair, she knelt down, her loose hair hiding her face.Her hands slid over my thighs as she settled downbetween my spread knees, and although it had neverhappened before, I knew what would happen next.