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Adulterer by Vickie Tern The going-away party was like all the others, except at the end. This time it was Gail, my administrative secretary for four years, leaving to get married. The whole office assembled before quitting time to see her off and wish her the best of everything and luck and the other things people think brides need wished on them. She'd worked for me exclusively for the past few years so I was the obvious one to pay for the punch and the cold cuts, make the speech, and present her with the farewell gift in the name of everyone who had contributed to it, "The Compleat Book of Soups" and a silver tureen. Her husband, I said, had a lot of good cookin' to look forward to. My wife Emily had been shopping in the vicinity and dropped by as the staff was leaving, hoping for a lift home. She nodded to people she knew and then hung about waiting for me to finish chatting with the last of the office crowd. So she saw how Gail give me a farewell peck on the cheek, palm touching my other cheek affectionately, and she heard Gail thank me for the good times. That may have seemed a little out of place to her, but ambiguous, so I figured she'd let it pass. Then when the room was about deserted, Emily was the only one who saw Gail's fiance Mike put his face up close to mine and say in a rasping voice no one could mistake as friendly that my days of enjoying Gail's good cookin' were over, I'd fucked her for the last time, that if he ever saw me or even heard my name in connection with her he'd track me down and rip my balls off and stuff them down my throat. "Don't think I won't!" he said, still glaring. Then he smiled ingratiatingly, in case anyone else was watching. By then Emily was the only one left to see me stiffen under the ferocity of his threat, then incline my head to show that I understood him and had nothing to reply. Had she heard? She was quiet for the first half of our ride home. I asked what she'd bought today. She didn't answer. That was what I'd feared, and I waited for the worst. It came. "James," she said, staring straight ahead. "I want straight answers. Any evasions, any hesitation, even the slightest hint that you are not speaking the most direct truth there is in you, and you will stop the car and I will call a cab and that will be the last you will ever see of me. Our lawyers will deal with whatever's left of the two of us." 'The two of us' was six years of marriage and companionability, the life we'd built together and hoped to carry on into old age along with the year before then when I'd adored and wooed and won her. Won her love, and won all her heart. Her whole heart at first, though as happens with marriages, the passion had moderated. We'd started taking each other for granted maybe. But now, could it survive at all? She took her cell phone out of her purse, held it in her hand, and waited for me to nod that I understood. I glanced at her trigger finger poised over a taxi speed dial number and nodded my agreement. My stomach was leaden. I waited. "So when did you two begin?" An innocent 'Begin what?' came to mind mindlessly, but fortunately I didn't say it or everything would have ended right then. Direct she wanted, direct she'd get. "A couple years after she was assigned to me. Maybe two years ago." I mournfully watched a young mother push a baby carriage across an intersection near some stores. That will never be Emily now, I was thinking, not with my baby. Maybe. Probably. That was sad. I loved babies. It was closer to four years that I'd been boinking Gail, almost from the beginning, but I thought -- I hoped, I suppose -- that if I shaved the extent of my guilt Emily might shave the penalty. Maybe even allow our marriage a future. Not that two years made that much difference -- if Emily'd been the one who was unfaithful, I'd think even one year way too many times. Even one time would seem way too many. I was desperate though, and every unconfessed year supposedly spent not fucking Gail seemed an argument for clemency. From her first day on the job it had amused Gail to come to the office wearing tight, elastic sweaters and skirts, ready to stretch out her lithe body and wrap it around someone. Quite a few of the men she worked with tried and failed, but when I became her boss and the nearest man at hand it got easy and effortless for both of us. Advantageous for her, too -- her efficiency reports and salary improved as her skill at bringing me off rose from 'exceptional' to 'extraordinary.' If people in the office knew about us, no one ever raised an eyebrow. I suspect she took care of men who might talk in her own way, and the women who were her friends took care of women who weren't, one way or another. Not until that moment, driving home, did the enormity of what I'd done began to sink in. I'd breached Emily's trust. I'd violated my own wedding vows. Though there may be something perilous in all of us that seeks an occasional day away from a marriage, there's also something in us that demands monogamy and feels deeply violated if we ever we breach it. I'd violated that something in Emily. "Maybe two years ago?" she asked, lifting the cell phone, hardly looking at me even sideways, but looking at me sideways nevertheless. "Maybe? All right, two years. I appreciate your candor. Have there been others? Other women?" I took a big chance. There was that blonde sales rep in Kansas City who'd come into the hotel bar the first evening and seen my name tag and asked me if I'd want to buy what she was selling. I was. Then there was Eve, the incredibly wicked Human Resources V.P. at our firm, with her long dark hair and face all shadows and angles and stunning tailored suits and no panties ever. She'd never bothered to take anything off -- she'd just hike up her skirt for a quickie whenever I came to consult her, mount me, then lower it again still perfectly pressed. The same whenever she came to consult with me. But no one knew about my times with them -- the blonde sales rep had moved on, and part of the fun for Eve had been that her utterly faithful husband was utterly unaware that she wasn't. Now Eve was long gone too, no doubt working her way through the west coast office personnel where she'd resettled . Of course there was Theresa. O yeah, that one I'd better confess, because the whole office had been amused by Theresa -- someone might tell Emily and then I'd be toast. Or maybe someone already had told her? "I got a blow job once from a mail room assistant," I said earnestly and humbly. "She came on to me and was on me before I knew what was happening." I didn't know if that exonerated me or not. In high school and college a BJ didn't hardly even qualify as sex -- it was affection expressed by the blower to a lucky blowee, an "I'd like to see you again some time." A favor. Maybe a promissory note. We called it a three bagger back in the days when fucking was a home-run and sucking a tit was second base and you tried at least to get to first base with any girl, that is, to a kiss that was reciprocated and a willingness to date you again. Outside of Washington, D.C. everyone knew that Bill Clinton got a raw deal with Monica Lewinsky. I mean, even in baseball terms he didn't really score. Politicians all have receptionists and interns of their own, and they all do what they do, but they all have wives too, so they'd never dare declare that the Lewinsky scandal was overblown. So to speak. "Oh yes, L'Affaire Theresa. Well, all right, I got a phone call about that a few days later -- how you looked cross eyed the rest of the afternoon, and how Theresa was going around telling everyone that she'd sucked on noodles that were longer and less limp. Well, I don't have to believe all the office gossip I hear, though that did make it sound credible. And you were being especially sweet to me that month I remember, so I let it pass. But this Gail? Your supposedly sacred secretary? How could you!" How could I? How could I not! Gail was never a problem to fuck. Rather, it was hard for me to get past her desk without sinking myself into her along the way. It was like paying a toll on the turnpike. "Emily," I turned to her. She was still looking straight ahead. "I am genuinely, sincerely, truly sorry. How can I make it up to you?" "You're sorry you've been caught, that's all," she replied. I knew that wasn't true. There was a catch in her throat as she said it, and that tore my heart out. She was suffering this very moment and I was the last person on earth fit to offer consolation. Yet I wanted to. Desperately. Emily is thin and small, except for the perfect curves formed by her wide hips and her generous breasts, and the delectable globes of her butt. The first emotion I'd felt for her was protectiveness -- when I'd first seen her I'd wanted to shelter her in the crook of my arm, and during our first date at the movies I did just that and it felt marvelous. For the first time I'd felt complete, whole, fully myself. I knew then that this was the one. For all the separate adventures of my schlong since then, my heart had been hers from that moment and it still was. "No," I said, and I knew I didn't have to fake the earnestness. "I feel for you. I'm ... I know how you feel. I love you. I do love you, Emily." That affected her. She paused. Then she said, "Suppose I were to tell you I've been wrapping my legs around every man in my office. Would it ease you to know that no matter who's been in and out of me today, or how many this past week, or who two years ago, that I'm sorry for your pain now that you've found out, and I do feel for you and love you?" I had to keep going. At least we were talking. "Maybe it would ease me, a little, because at least we'd be still talking, still sharing our intimate feelings with each other. Probably it would make things worse, because then I'd feel your hurt, your sorrow that now I knew and was suffering. Add that to the remorse I feel right now and it all would be really terrible. Probably unbearable." Suddenly I got frightened! It was unbearable! Was she confessing something? "But that's suppositional, you haven't been unfaithful to me with the men in your office, have you?" The idea was so alarming I'd lost the point she was making. "Have you?" She glanced at me briefly, intently. "You don't know, do you?" Know what? my brain was shrieking. But I stayed very still. "No, I haven't," she said finally. Then she glanced again. "Yet." That word stabbed me like a knife, but she began to sound as if her mind were already somewhere else. "Do you think I'd do that?" she added. "Risk my marriage the way you risked yours?" Then as if already a little bored by the topic, "We'll discuss this more when I'm ready to discuss it." She sighed and put her cell phone back in her purse. Thank God! I hadn't told her the whole truth, only a large piece of it, and she'd believed that was all! Though that was bad enough. I wasn't fool enough to think she'd forgiven me. I knew there'd be a retribution in some form. All through that weekend I tried to be solicitous, tending to her least whim, trying to make myself serviceable and indispensable. So she'd at least know that life with me was better than life without me. Saturday and Sunday I made her an orange juice, toast, marmalade, and cappucino breakfast and brought it to her in bed when I heard her stirring. I straightened the house and fixed dinner both nights. I brought her the novel I knew she was reading when I heard her favorite Saturday evening TV comedy end. I showed her I cared. I tried to kiss her once but she turned her face away. I thought it a triumph when, passing behind her, I managed to kiss the top of her head. That soft, perfumed hair. How could I have put at risk the passion with which I wanted to bury myself in it? Gail was a dish, but essentially a warm, slippery, wet crotch ready to slide up and down any man's cock for its own pleasure. Emily on the other hand was what my whole body and being yearned for -- all the grace and elegance and kindness and beauty and softness I'd ever wanted to possess as my own. Sometimes cool, sometimes distant, even arrogant, but even so, just a glimpse of her thin, upturned nose, or her long, slender fingers reaching delicately for a cocktail glass or for my penis, and I was transported into adoration. Every time. How could I have put all that at risk? Maybe blown it? God, I hoped I hadn't blown it! All through the next week I continued to do everything I could think of for her -- even managed to neaten things up in the house before leaving for work and then get home a little earlier to plan and cook dinner. She accepted all these gestures as her due and said nothing. In fact, she maintained her silence all through the following weekend too. And the week after that. I was now her housekeeper, but I didn't mind. She said nothing, but as the days went by she began answering my questions with monosyllables and her face gradually relaxed, so I hoped it would be only a matter of time before we resumed our companionable marriage. Then one Monday two weeks later, unannounced, she rose from the dinner table and unexpectedly left the house, taking her purse with her. Then returned two hours later. When we went to bed together later that evening, jealous and fearful, without seeming to I checked out her body for signs of some sort of sexual activity. What could be there, love bites? Semen trickling down a leg? Matted pussy hair? There was nothing. Tuesday she came home an hour or so late from the office, but her hair was orderly and her make-up was still in place. She'd stopped for a drink after work? With the girls? With a man? Wednesday we spent together in the living room watching television, silent as usual but at least together. Thursday evening I found her slouched back on our living room couch, reading, when I came in from clearing away in the kitchen. "I have an announcement to make," she said, lying there and inspecting me casually. "You'd better sit down and listen." I did. She straightened herself, sat erect, and looked squarely at me. "James, I've made a date for tomorrow. With Steve Friel, one of our sales representatives. I'll expect to have drinks and dinner with him when the office closes and then since we'll already be downtown, maybe we'll see a show, maybe go dancing, it'll depend on what's on his mind and how I feel. Are you with me so far?" I knew she didn't mean "with me" literally. I nodded, silent, staring at her wide-eyed. Here it was, and a pang of threatened loss spread through me and was paralyzing my vitals. Emily out with another man and in a mood to seek revenge for the injury I'd done her! I couldn't move. "No, I won't actually fuck him, if that's what you're thinking, and of course you are. Not just yet. I could, you know, he's single and he likes me and appreciates me, and I wouldn't have to give it a second thought as far as our marriage is concerned, not given the example of marital fidelity you've set. But I care about that kind of intimacy. And I have my self-respect to maintain. You remember maybe that I never did it with anyone on a first date, no matter how attractive he seemed. How I think first dates should be for two people to feel each other out, so they can really get close if they do decide finally to get ... close on their next date. You seemed to think that was a reasonable attitude, back then anyhow. You waited till our second date to make your moves, and I didn't give way till later still as I remember. Because I wanted to keep your interest. There's that rule they quote in show business, 'Always leave 'em wanting more'? By then I wanted you. And you certainly wanted more! So I did get you." She suddenly frowned, perhaps reminded of the 'more' I'd taken with Gail, and what she'd 'gotten' when she got me. We were silent for a moment. My mind played tricks with her statement that a first date is for a couple to 'feel each other out.' I imagined this Steve Friel's hands stroking my wife's body everywhere, feeling it out and then settling two fingers inside her moist ... while her small, fluttery hands moved toward and grasped his ... grasped his ... thing. The hollowness in the pit of my stomach grew larger. She saw what was passing through my mind and smiled almost gleefully. "I'm going to like re-entering the dating scene, I think, because I'm going to insist that you sit here at home the whole time like a good, dutiful spouse, maybe doing the laundry and planning the weekend's meals the way I did the years you and Gail were getting it on. Sit here hoping that the man I'm with hasn't gotten me so excited I can't stop doing whatever I'm doing with him. Will you do that?" She was never that domestic. We mostly ate out or ate take-in. And whoever got up first laid out breakfast for both, but the other fixed his own. Or her own. She did do the laundry, but I carried it up and sorted it. "Honey, I .... Yes. Yes, I'll do that." "Good. You just passed your first test. It's going to happen, honey, so get used to it. Maybe take up knitting. Do you still remember how to jerk off? Well, while I'm out and you're here, think about me dancing with another man, rubbing myself against him, and jerk yourself off! That'd give me something fun to think about while I do whatever I do with him! My James with his own cock in his hand while I have some other man's in mine." I had nothing to say. I just looked at her mournfully. "I've been talking to my friends about what to do with you. Sally and Portia both think I should simply leave you and divorce you and strip you down to the clothes on your back. It'd be easy, legally, no problem. Meredith's idea is to condemn you to chastity for life, to lock up your cock with a device called a CB-3000 or something and throw away the key. 'Let him live on his memories, like my husband before I left him for Donna," is what she told me. She still doesn't know if he ever did manage to cut his way out of the thing without cutting his own thing off. Marta said we should just cut off your penis, period, and she volunteered to do it herself any day she's scheduled to do surgery. She says she's probably removed moles bigger than your penis." I tried not to cover my crotch protectively. Emily noticed and seemed satisfied. "Meg came up with the answer I'm going with right now. She suggested I even the score the way she would if Kevin ever cheated on her. That I get my own satisfaction with some other guys while you're sitting at home being faithful to me. 'That'd test his sincerity, if he says he wants to stay with you no matter what!' she said. 'So test his sincerity! Give him what he gave you!' So that's what I'm doing. Evening the score, no matter what." It was clear that her mind was made up. "For how long?" I asked. She eyed me. "I don't know. Maybe the same amount of time I trusted you and didn't know I was being screwed every time you screwed Gail. I'll have to decide. Two years?" I hunched over. I'd never felt so low. Yet who else could I blame? She seemed to see my expression, and took pity. "Steve's going on a sales trip Saturday, so there'll be no follow up date for a week or so anyhow," she said consolingly. "Maybe none at all, we'll see. So I won't be fucking him right away. That's why I agreed to a night out with him when he asked me, no ultimate decisions required right away, so my virtue is safe. But when the word gets out that I'm now available, other men will certainly be asking me out. And I'll be thinking about accepting some of those invitations, and inevitably accepting some a second time, then a third, eventually going away for a whole weekend with some guy if everything about him feels right. I'll be trying on different men for size. Maybe even going steady with just one after a while! All the while still married to you and insisting on your strict fidelity. I've got a lot of catching up to do." "Emily, I ...." I was about to launch into an impassioned plea not to do this thing. I wanted to repeat to her that I desperately wanted to make it up to her for this ... lapse, this breach, this...monstrous betrayal I'd committed. I wanted to beg her not to do what I'd done. Because two wrongs don't make a right, and it wouldn't be just revenge on me, it would be an injury to our future relationship! And so on. I'd prepared the speech all week. I began. "Emily, I know that I haven't ...." She interrupted me. "You claim you know how I felt when I learned about you and your secretary, and you've asked me how you can make it up. Well, now you're beginning to know how I really felt, and how I want you to make it up, and you'll soon know more. But I've had yet another idea too. I want to give you special opportunities to make it up to me. Two years of betrayal is a lot." "I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you," I told her with sincere, heartfelt devotion in my voice. "For as long as we both shall live." I hoped the reminder that we're still married, after all, might not go amiss. She'd was right, I didn't really feel remorse that I'd dipped into that honeypot of Gail's. That had been all pure pleasure. I was sorry that Emily knew about it and felt bad, because that made me feel guilty, responsible for her unhappiness, for causing her such misery, because I cared for her. That was what I regretted. But there was no way to make up for it, to undo that kind of damage. You can't unfuck anyone. "Do you mean make it up to me for the rest of your whole life? Or just the rest of our married lives, if we stay married? Those are two different things, James. Either one could be a very long time! Don't make any promises you can't keep. Not any more." Her voice was cold, but it quavered -- I'd really hurt her. Even so my heart lifted at those words. 'The rest of our married lives' a long time? Our marriage might survive this after all? She wasn't planning to leave me? "You aren't planning to leave me?" I asked. I sounded plaintive. "If I divorced you, would you stay with me for the rest of your life as my cook and house maid anyhow, just like now, still trying to make it up to me? You just said so. Even after I remarried? And if you and I were to remain married, what if we both lived to be a hundred? I can't ask you to keep making it up to me indefinitely, to the end of our days. For two years certainly, that long anyhow!" She paused and seemed to agree with herself. "Yes, two years! Then we'll see!" She tossed her head proudly upward, triumphantly, and seemed almost to gloat. Then seemed to think better of it. She looked at me briefly, with a faint smirk. "Yes, that would work," she said to herself. "We'll see soon enough." And then her eyes went back down to the book she'd been reading. She'd decided something. I'd find out what in due course. I stood up. and was about to leave the room when she transfixed me again and said in a voice as deadly earnest, as serious as I have ever heard it, "Due warning, James. There will be a cost. Nothing I haven't already paid, but whatever I decide, it won't be easy for you and I don't want it to be easy! Again, I won't ask anything of you I wouldn't do, or haven't endured already because of you. I just haven't made up my mind yet, and I won't until I try out this date with Steve and see what I see. But understand this. You will pay a price! Remaining with me will not be easy! Fair warning!" So that was it. For maybe two years she would exact some sort of retribution from me. I thanked the fates I hadn't confessed to four years of fucking Gail and now and then Eve too. And the others. A two year sentence was hard time, but I knew I deserved that much anyhow. So I was getting off lightly. I simply nodded. Then said devoutly, "I'll pay the price, Emily. Anything! I'll do it!" "Is that a promise? A solemn promise? You'll do anything I ask you for the next two years? Endure any hardship I impose on you? Or else leave me? You'll be the one who calls for the taxi and the lawyers, not me?" Her beautiful dark eyes glowed up at me. Was there affection in them this time? I couldn't tell. Certainly there was admiration! I really seemed to be to her the man she'd fallen in love with, after all? "Yes! A solemn promise!" Drive it home! I meant it, too! Did I? How could I not promise? I mean, here she was committing to me for maybe two more years of marriage, when I'd been fearful that she'd be up and gone from me forever on no notice, with a single touch of her finger on a speed dial key. My relief was obvious. I practically sagged, and tears came into my eyes. She looked me over in my misery and an unmistakable sympathetic smile lit up her face. "Why, sweetheart, I do believe you do mean it this time. I confess I'm divided. Partly I don't ever want to see again, you've betrayed me over and over. But part of you is still the sweet person I married. I've been thinking about it, about whatever in the world I can do with you if I do decide to stay with you? How can I possibly ever trust you again? Well, some ways have occurred to me. We can do some things to assure that the next two years at least will be nothing like the last two. Will you agree to them? Sight unseen, in advance?" A reprieve! Light at the end of the tunnel! "Yes! Oh, yes! Yes, Emily, yes!" I didn't care! I didn't want my marriage to her to end! She stood and came over to me and stood directly in front of me, though as short as ever obviously feeling all-powerful. I looked down at her, puzzled but grateful. I'd just agreed to 'things' that would assure us two more years together. Nothing new, it seemed to me, I'd already promised to do whatever she asked of me, but now she seemed to think it was something more extreme than that. No matter, she was giving me a second chance. I hadn't blown it. I didn't dare say anything else. She was in charge. "Bend over," she said. I did, and when my face came in range of her mouth she kissed me softly. On my mouth! She felt affectionate! "Honey, wipe those tears away. I'll be right back. Don't go away now. Wait, bend over and grasp that chair! That's it. Now stay just the way you are and don't move!" She flicked her eyes over me as I bent into an obsequious position. Her mouth widened wryly -- maybe she thought it was funny. Then she vanished upstairs. I stood there bent over and congratulating myself -- she'd definitely committed herself to me for the next two years! She'd called me 'sweetheart' and 'honey'! I remained exactly as I was where I was, and waited. "Well, here we are," came a playful-sounding voice behind me. "Still bowed down? Penitent but pure of heart and seeking redemption?" "No, honey," I said. I dared to call her that for the first time in over a week. "Bowed down by the hope that you'll kiss me again. Holding myself convenient to your purposes." "So you are," Emily replied. "My next request may surprise you, but it's part of the 'anything' you've already promised me, so whatever you think I intend, don't give it another thought, just do it. Drop your pants, please." I was astonished! What could she have in mind? Shove something into my exposed ...? But I didn't hesitate. Belt loosened, hook released, button unbuttoned, and there I was, still bent over, my pants down around my ankles, my jockey shorts exposed. She'd seen me that way often enough before, but this time it was somewhat embarrassing. Would her next order be "Drop your shorts!" and the next one after that "Pull your ass cheeks apart!" so she could ream my ass? Was that merely a figure of speech, a way to talk about punishing someone, 'I'll ream your ass!' said as a threat? Would she actually do that to me? I'd done Gail up the ass more than a few times, and she'd loved it because she could then shove the dildo from her desk drawer up into her vagina at the same time, and I could meanwhile also diddle her clit. She'd be getting 'loving' -- that's what she called it -- in two places at once. We kept a towel in her desk to help stifle her elated cries. And then to blot up our juices. God, when Gail was hot she'd flow like a fountain! I realized I'd better stifle all such memories from now on. But the next order never came. She patted and stroked my thighs high up on the insides, and then said, "There! Now we'll see! Pull up your pants again now, Jamie baby. All through!" "All through with what?" I asked her as I pulled them up and belted them again, then turned and straightened myself. Though I was a full head or so taller, she seemed to tower over me now as she looked me full in the face and straight in the eye, with a twinkle in her own eyes. She's really triumphed over me in some way, I was thinking. And she loves it! "All through registering my insurance policies. Just in case. You now have a contraceptive patch on the inside of each thigh, each one assuring us both that you'll never get pregnant, because each has started enough estrogen and progestin flowing into your body subdermally to trick it into believing you're a hot babe who's already pregnant. "'Ortho Evra' is the brand name if you want to look up what will be controlling your body chemistry for the next two years. That's how they work. With one patch no woman can conceive. With two, you certainly won't." "What do you mean, Emily?" I asked in as friendly a tone as I could muster. "I can't possibly conceive anyhow." "Oh yes you can. You can certainly conceive babies in other women's wombs, and you've demonstrated an inclination to try. So this is my insurance. In a few weeks, and then for the next two years at least, these patches will see to it that your penis loses all interest in vaginas and wombs. No more erections. It'll become the limp noodle Theresa called it." She wanted to make me impotent? This was ... terrible! Wasn't that as bad as cutting it off? Had I heard her right? I reached down and felt though my pants leg. Sure enough, on my thighs on either side of my balls there were now adhesive bandages like a kind of Band Aid. "Marta ended up recommending this. Indirectly. I told her that apart from my husband, I had this friend with a husband just like you, a tom cat who can't stay away from pussy. What could my friend do short of surgery? She told me that one of these contraceptive patches would slow any man way down, and two will turn him into a pussy himself. 'Not that it'll give him a pussy,' she said. 'Our meds aren't that good. That comes extra.'" "Emily," I started to say, trying not to sound as if I were pleading. But 'what can I say?' was what I was thinking. I couldn't say anything. Emily was ready before I did find something to say, and broke in. "You said you'd do anything to make it up to me, what you did. Remember? Were you sincere? Well, what I want you to do right now is nothing at all of what you did too much of for two years in the wrong places. And I want to know positively that you aren't doing it. And the way I'll know is, you can't. That no matter who you're with, or how much tempted, you simply can't get it up. You're impotent. This is how." "Yes. I see," There was nothing more to say. "Good. You'll change your hormone patches once a week -- I'll provide you with a few boxes of them and I don't want to have to remind you or even think about it ever again. They're what you wear at all times for the next two years, even in the shower. If one should come off you'll replace it immediately with whatever the color code for that week, so I'll always know at a glance that they're still paired and still maintaining your virtue. That they're still standing guard over your penis and testicles and our marriage. They'll be my emissaries. If one is ever missing I will call for that taxi and you'll leave and I'll never speak to you again. Now, is this acceptable to you? If not, you can call for that taxi right now!" "What happens to my balls?" She remained silent. "My testicles?" "I didn't ask," she replied. "This is strictly to keep your penis feeling humble. Answer my question. Yes or no?" "Yes." She waited. "It's acceptable to me." Her manner immediately changed! "Oh, honey, you sound so mournful! You say 'Yes' as if you'd just been condemned to death. Well cheer up, it's really a new life. A different life, that's all. I'm giving us a second chance." "Yes," I said, trying to sound reconciled to having no erections for the foreseeable. "But ... but how can we ever make love if I .. if I can't get erections." "Oh pooh!" she said, trying to reassure me that I'd asked something trivial. "There are ways. I'm sure we can find ways to show each other how we feel. To pleasure each other." A lascivious expression crossed her face. "You'll think of something, or I will." She thought a moment longer. "Girls have sex all the time without ever having erections. With each other, anyhow." She thought a moment longer still, then seemed to brighten up. She'd decided something. "It can be fun, trying different things. Can't it?" "Yes," I said. Whatever she meant, what else could I say? "Besides, remember, tomorrow I'm going on my very first date with another man, my first since we were married. So I won't feel deprived anyhow. It'll be all the more exciting for me to find I can still raise erections in other men. Though at this stage it's all very exploratory. I intend to go slow until I've recovered all my old ways -- you remember how flirtatious I could be once?" I cringed. I did. "How I could just walk into a room and every man sitting there would stand up and greet me without once leaving his chair. If this works out, I won't be the one deprived, only you. But it'll only be for two years, the same time you were giving Gail what was rightfully and exclusively mine. I'm sure you can tough it out!" And she actually kissed me. Affectionately. As if I were a dear friend. "You dear thing," she said. "I know about you men. So possessive about your women. So insecure about your ability to attract and satisfy them. So if another man attracts yours and satisfies her more, you feel you're the loser, the lesser man, humiliated, useless and worthless." She kissed me again. "That's how I want you to feel as a man. Over and over, until you've quit and turned belly up. Then we'll see." ii. The next morning was Friday, the Friday of her date night. I brought her breakfast in bed as usual. She seemed unusually lively. She asked me if I'd had mine, and since I already had, she asked me to sit on the edge of the bed and just chat a little with her while she ate. Her mood was remarkably aimiable. "I'm feeling so cheerful, anticipating this night out with Steve!" she confessed. "It's as if I'd never been married at all! As if you were my room mate and not my husband! Maybe that's how I should be thinking about you. How we should be thinking about each other. As room mates? OK?" What could I say? I nodded. I wasn't so sure I liked the mood she was in, and the reason for it, but I could accept it. I had to. It certainly seemed friendly, and it did circumvent the injury I'd done her as her husband. So all right, I'd be her room mate. She asked me for the first time about other girls I'd dated before I met her. How I'd asked them out, whether I'd made them feel more casual or more special than they were, what I'd expected to see when I called for them and what I expected of them during the date, and again when I returned them home. What we did during our dates. Whether sex of some sort always arose as an issue, or only sometimes, and if so how. "For instance?" she asked repeatedly whenever I mentioned that some dates would say or do things that were unexpected or risque. I'd provide her with an instance, and she began advising me how the date probably felt. She was using my dates' experiences as a warmup for her own. At one formal fraternity dance, for example, a girl had asked me early on whether I'd already rented a hotel room for later. I told her no, that hadn't occurred to me, and she got insulted. So the next time I asked a girl to a similar dance, I mentioned that I'd arranged for a hotel room for later. She got insulted too. "You silly! The first girl thought you didn't care enough about her to want to take her to bed. The second one thought you didn't care about her at all, that getting her into bed was the only reason you were taking her to the dance. Damned either way? Of course! You should have teased both of them, kept them uncertain whether or not you'd end up in bed with them, right up until the moment they found themselves in a hotel room stark naked." Was that how she was imagining herself? Not tonight, but soon? She began telling me about a boy she'd known who was only interested in her body. She knew that and she'd usually refused boys like that whenever they asked her out. But a girlfriend had suggested that boys who are only interested in a girl's body probably know a lot about how to make that body feel marvelous, because then that body would want to make their body feel marvelous too. So Emily decided to try him out, and accepted a date with him, and sure enough! "Once he pushed his thing into me, you'll never guess in a million years where he managed to put two of his fingers at the same time, and how they felt! Oooh, I still remember how strange I felt at first, and then how marvelous it was as he stroked himself in and out of me, and stroked his fingers too! Heaven on earth! Oh, God, Jamie, I couldn't stop squirming. So of course the whole time he was in paradise too!" She writhed, remembering. I squirmed from embarrassment, watching her relive that double invasion of her body. I sat there on the edge of our bed hiding an incredible erection I did not welcome at that moment. When she paused I allowed as how she was right, I could never guess, not in a million years, couldn't even try to guess where those fingers had gone, where he'd managed to put them that felt so good. And when she finished speaking, I had to say something, so I said, "Good for both of you!" with forced enthusiasm. But Emily didn't pause to savor her triumph over me, she was so wound up in her story. "You know?" she giggled as she concluded her unsettling tale, "I found I could be interested in a boy for only his body too, if he had the right kind of body. And I could put my fingers into him the same way too. Some boys get spooked, but some get even more enthusiastic. Nothing wrong with that! Haven't you ever felt that way?" "About a girl, you mean? With a girl?" Emily knew we'd neither of us ever put our fingers into each other's anuses. "No, I mean when a boy's asked you out and then later you're lying close together making out, he pushes his fingers ...." She then stopped and put her fingertips to her mouth and said, "Oh, dear, Jamie, I guess the way we're talking made me forget you aren't really my girlfriend, you're something else. But this has been so nice. Thank you, sweetheart. You're a doll!" She kissed me. Tenderly, on the lips. My penis was already rock hard. It lurched, and I was about to creep under the covers with her and hug her and enter her and maybe end all this nonsense when she patted me quickly on the shoulder and jumped up and said, "Oh there's no time for that, Jamie. Good heavens, look at that clock! Today I need to dress office to evening, for dancing too maybe. I meet Steve directly at five and we take it from there. Will you be a real pet and help me select the right dress for tonight, honey? Go to the closet and start taking down my better dresses, would you? That's it!" I started lifting up the clothing hanging there. "Oh yes, the paisley two-piece, what do you think? Or that black, with a cropped jacket for during the day and then all by itself afterward maybe, my arms bare? The neckline's a little too low maybe? Well if so, so much the better, I don't want to discourage him, OK, I'll go with the black -- the hemline's flirty whenever I move, I bet it drives him crazy. Now, my red silk scarf with it or the yellow chiffon? Which do you think is prettier?" I had to choose one, so I did. What could I say? I couldn't stop her. My only alternative was to call that taxi and walk out of the house, but even that wouldn't stop her. "Honey, be careful," I told her as I carefully took down and handed her the black dress with the low, low neckline -- it would reveal a deep cleft between her breasts that never failed to turn me on. "Do you know this guy well?" By the time she finished sending me on other trivial errands, to her closet, to her bureau, for shoes, for earrings, and so forth, she was sitting at her vanity nearly naked, wearing her sexiest black lace panties and a low-cut black lace bra, and her face was beautifully made up. God, dressed like that she'd seduce anything that moves, I knew it! I bent over her to kiss the top of her head again, and she saw me in her mirror. Her well-groomed eyebrows went high. She put her lovely soft hand against my cheek. "Awww, you do care," she said softly. "Yes, Steve's a lamb, a doll face, a lot like you, no threat at all. Too bad in a way -- a dangerous man can be so much more exciting. But I understand you're concerned, Jamie, so I promise you I'll be careful. I tell you what, tomorrow morning when you bring me my breakfast I'll tell you all about it, everything we did and how I felt about every little bit -- I just love little chats like this. I've missed them. Do you mind that you're my room mate now instead of my husband?" Is that what I am now? I asked myself. Yes, I do mind, this is nice but I want to go back to how we were, I told myself. "Your room mate?" I asked her as if I hadn't understood. Her voice modulated and became just a bit less playful, so I'd know she was speaking seriously. "Yes, that's as close as I can allow you for now, Jamie. Not James my husband but Jamie my room mate, that's what you are. We need to completely rebuild our relationship and that's the most desirable way to begin. It could be worse, as you know. We still share a bed, after all, even though we each sleep on different sides of it. So there may come certain times -- I hope so -- when we can feel a kind of mutual attraction. That does happen. It did happen to me a few times with my room mates in college. I prefer men but I'm not repelled by women." She patted my cheek. "Oh, so mournful! I think it'll happen! Just not on nights when I've got a date and want to dream about the man beforehand, and maybe especially afterward." She patted my cheek again. "Though maybe even then, honey, we'll see." As she left for the day and the evening she added, "You've been wonderful this morning, Jamie. Gossiping with you about dating and boys and how to deal with them is so much fun! It really put me in the mood! If this is a new you, I want to see much more of you." Then she added going out the door, "Oh, yes, some time today stop off at Marta's. She wants to take a benchmark sample of your blood before you begin to feel the full effects of those patches." "I thought you were telling her about a friend's husband, not about me!" I called out to her. "I was!" she called back to me as she stood beside her car in the driveway. "But she understands. When I first asked her what to do about you, you know what she said? Even before she suggested a penectomy? 'Call in this Gail's fiance to perform that one-handed orchiectomy and trachial block he promised. Make James a eunuch and then choke him with his own balls! That'll quiet him down! You can't say he doesn't deserve it!' Well, I thought I could say it, so I did say it, and that was when we began talking about other ways to calm down men with peckers that don't know their proper places. Other ways to neutralize men without necessarily neutering them." Two neighbor women, Ms. Sloane from across the street and a Ms. McGeever from next door on the right, I'd seen them both but never met, came by walking their dogs and chatting. When they heard that last statement, called out as Emily opened her car door and got in, they paused. Their dogs began circling the sidewalk for a place to pee and they just stood there listening. Talk about teaching peckers their proper places hadn't lost appeal for them. "Marta finally allowed as how the method I'm using on you will do what I want it to do. It'll produce the same effect, and it has other advantages too, She didn't advise it though. 'It'll teach him to respect women,' that's what she said. 'Because it'll make him more like a woman, unable to penetrate anyone. But he doesn't deserve to be like a woman!' So I persuaded her to prescribe the hormone treatment for a friend's husband who did deserve it, someone who can be an excellent house mate and companion, formerly named James like mine but now Jamie. You'll go take his blood test, Jamie." Emily started the engine, her explanation satisfactorily explained, and backed out and drove off to work. And after work, to her dinner date with another man. And then to what? It was unlikely she'd let him screw her this time, but there were a million other intimacies I didn't want to think about. I looked over at the Sloane and the McGeever women, who were now standing quite still, holding their dogs' leashes and staring directly at me, their faces impassive. I smiled a greeting at each of them and closed the door. I'd like to believe I closed it in their faces, but I'm afraid it was in my own face. I phoned this doctor friend of Emily's, Marta, and then stopped by on my way to work. "Ah yes, Emily's friend James," her nurse said. "Or is it Jamie? Roll up your sleeve please." She pushed a needle into a vein in the crook of my arm and took several samples of blood. "Subdermal hormonal absorption rates are more level than with pills or shots," she said. "Though some women do experience clots or spotting. We want to be sure you're not one of those." She smiled brightly at me. "I wouldn't expect spotting will be a problem in your case. Are your periods regular?" I just stared at her. She stared back just as steadily. "For the record," she said. And she then just sat there, her pencil poised, her eyes never wavering. "I've never had a period pay me a surprise visit," I finally replied, breaking off eye contact and looking away. It was as if I'd been defeated in a duel. "Good!" She made a notation. "Now just one more thing," she said. She handed me a paper cup. "We need a sample to keep frozen in case your wife decides some time in the future that she wants to carry your baby and not another man's. Just use the Ladies' Rest Room down the corridor. I'm sorry we have no girly magazines to help, but this is a gynecology practice after all. There are copies of "Vogue" in the rack outside the door." I stared at the cup, puzzled. It looked rather small. "Urine?" I asked. "Sperm," she replied. "I hear you don't lack for it." She sounded a little judgmental. "Just bring me back the cup and then wait in the outer room, if you please. The doctor will see you shortly, and then you can go." Who knew that my extramarital activities would come to this? Medical testing as if I'd contracted a venereal disease, or become pregnant. I went into the Rest Room and opened a copy of Vogue and stared at what seemed to be a photograph of a woman having an orgasm, the shampoo bottle she'd used to bring herself off still clutched in her hand. Her face was ecstatic in close-up, her breasts not quite visible but her eyes were half-closed as they gazed into mine, her head passionately thrown back. Water and suds poured from her long dark hair and her smooth shoulders. "I've been waiting for something like this!" she breathed at me. "I love it when I can run my hands over anything that feels this full, this thick!" I started jerking off. "And yet so manageable!" she said. "I sometimes want to do this over and over! So sensuous!" I imagined I was the hair she was twisting around her little finger as her pussy throbbed out of control, and immediately I squirted into the little cup, being careful not to spill. Now I'd sinned against Emily yet again, in my heart, anyway, though by her own pre-arrangement. I handed the cup to the nurse, who carried it carefully somewhere else, then waited. "You can go in now," she said after a few more minutes. "They're viable," Marta informed me. She was an unsmiling middle-aged woman accustomed to giving orders and directions. "Your sperm. We'll keep the sample and freeze it in case this goes so far that your testicles atrophy from disuse, yet Emily's still with you and wants your baby instead of some better man's. I've advised her she'd do far better to have someone else's child and just have you raise it. That way every time you change a diaper or take it to a soccer game or a dance lesson she'll feel a special satisfaction that you're servicing what was once her pleasure with some other man. So every time you kiss it, you're kissing what was once his sperm in her pussy, and with your own mouth, too. So you'll always be cleaning up his mess." I said nothing. Emily had also given this woman the impression that she intended to stay with me, that it was up to me to prove worthy. That was good news. She got down to business. "Your blood tests at the moment register more normal for a female than a male. Good. We'll want improve that balance and turn off certain resistant or immune reactions in order to reduce possible complications. The nurse mentioned clotting to you as one of them. You're on extremely high doses of female hormones and they're accumulating in your system. We want to give them every chance to do their work unimpeded, which is -- as I understand it -- to make you impotent." This sounded severe. "For the two years I owe her," I said. "No more than that." "Oh, I think you owe her more than that. But that's between you two. This process requires much less time. A few weeks give or take and your penis will be useless. There'll be other effects on your body, but that'll be the most notable." "But eventually I can resume normal sexual activity?" I wanted confirmation that when my two year sentence expired, my pecker would rise again. "Normal sexual activity? Oh, that'll happen long before the two years are up," she said with a private smile. "A girl's puberty can be very brief. Some sexual activities can be engaged any time. Some things will be different -- what people think is 'normal' varies -- but again, that's for you and Emily to decide. Here, this shot will further speed things, protect you against clotting and so forth, and then we'll send you on your way. Emily will decide when I next see you." She seemed especially gleeful as she emptied a large syringe into my butt. "There, this would jump-start a horse," she said. "Expect to feel a little dazed. It's normal. Imagine what your wife's doing with her friend. That's normal too." I then went to work, but I couldn't concentrate. At five, I kept telling myself, my wife will be meeting socially with a man I don't know, and then the two of them will 'feel each other out,' get to know each other as best they can in the shortest possible time, each of them hoping that the relationship will lead to sexual intimacy. Through drinks and dinner and who knows what else. That was the problem. I didn't know. I sat up that evening unable to concentrate even on television. At last, just before midnight, I heard Emily's car in the driveway. She came in and slowly closed the front door, apparently tired. From what? She looked at me. "Have a nice time?" I asked her. She continued to look at me, evaluating something. I took note that her hair and clothing were more or less orderly, but she seemed to have something on her mind. "Of course, James," she said. "But I'm not speaking to you. Did you ever tell me anything about your ... relationships?" She paused. "So ...did you see Marta on your way to work?" "Yes. She took some samples, blood and so forth, and she gave me a shot of something." "'And so forth' you say," she ruminated. "Keeping all my options open, I suppose. So if I want a baby it can be yours if I want it to be yours." She paused thoughtfully and added, her mind somewhere else, "That's nice, she's a real friend." She then returned to the moment. "Yes, I had a nice time, Steve is a fine man, rather large, bigger than you are, but a superb dancer, as light on his feet as I am, His huge body felt so reassuring, pressed against mine. And that's all you need to know, and now I'm exhausted and going to bed. Good night!" And she was gone. I waited a decent interval and then followed. She was already asleep. In the gloom I checked the laundry hamper in the bathroom. Sure enough, there were those sexy black lace panties. The cotton lining in their crotch was only faintly damp, about the way her crotch would have been. Was this what I'd be doing for the next two years, sneaking around to see if my wife had had sex with someone? What if I found panties soaked with sticky stuff? What would I do then? Nothing. There was nothing I could do. I went to bed and fell asleep alongside her. During the night I found myself a little restless, and in the morning when I awoke there was a sick, nauseous heaving in my stomach. Something I'd eaten? No, I hadn't been hungry last night, only a cheese sandwich. I went to the bathroom and heaved once into the toilet, just once, a little clear fluid, and then felt better. Then went directly down to fix breakfast for both of us, and carried it up to where I heard Emily stirring. She seemed another woman as I came in bearing a tray. "Jamie!" she cried out delighted as I set it down on her lap. "You sweetheart! And this time you brought something for you too! Oh, scrumptious! Sit right here beside me and let me tell you everything!" I suddenly realized what was she was doing. She resented her husband James and was unwilling to share anything with him. Especially about other men. Some women might want to twist the knife into the vitals of any man who would betray them, describe every detail of their liaisons with other men, but not Emily. Emily was eager to tell her room mate Jamie all about her dates in order to reprocess them in her own mind in the telling. To relive the experiences and share her pleasure with a friend. Maybe meanwhile also tell me much more than I really wanted to hear. I sat down on the bed and tried to look as sprightly and eager as she did. "But first, I heard you in the bathroom. Are you OK now?" "Yes, I'm fine. It came over me suddenly, something I ate maybe. I yawped and that was that, no problem. Nothing came up. Thanks for asking." "Yes, Marta told me that was a likely reaction. It happens whenever there's a massive suffusion of female hormones in your system, in men when they're treated for prostate cancer, in women when they're first pregnant. It's a morning sickness until our bodies adjust. Your body thinks it's pregnant, that's all." She smiled broadly, expecting me to share the joke. "Seriously, honey, maybe you'd see for yourself if you bought one of those early pregnancy test strips from a drug store. You'll feel a little urpy each morning for a week or so, maybe a little more. But then it'll stop and from then on it's all rosy glow. Just about when you stop getting erections and we settle in for the long haul." By 'long haul' she seemed to mean my upcoming two years with no sex. "I'm still getting hard though," I reminded her hopefully. I knew it. I'd awakened with my usual morning stiffie. "That's nice. Not for long. Though I've been thinking about the uses of your cock while it still works, don't think I haven't. I'll let you know what I've decided. Oh, Jamie, I had such a good time! He's really so very sweet, so cute looking, and he has a wry sense of humor, and he's very, very considerate. I don't know why some woman hasn't snapped him up years ago. We went to Armando's for drinks. I'm so out of it I'd never had a Cosmopolitan before, and I'd never even heard of a Long Island Iced Tea. Did you know that they're both pretty potent, practically pure liquor even though they look utterly harmless? "Yes, I know that." He'd gotten her soused on two tumblers of cocktails right at the outset? "I got so tiddly, o my! By dinner time he had to help me to my feet and to the car, and I had to hold on to him with both arms. He's strong, Jamie! I could only just walk to our table at the restaurant, thank goodness, and while we were eating I sobered up a little more. But not so much that I didn't have a wonderful time afterward. We danced and danced, and during the slow dances I was feeling so mellow and wicked I rubbed my belly on his ... well, it's big like him, and you know how a man gets so hot and bothered he can't even talk? So hard he has to walk bent way over? He wanted to take me back to his place when it got toward eleven, and oh what that might have been like, but I told him no, we didn't know each other well enough, and anyhow I was still getting over my marriage. I told him maybe next time, almost certainly next time, he's so very sweet. And that really brightened him up! So we just went driving. We parked by that overlook on Beacon Hill. You know it?" "Yes," I said. "I've been there." 'With you when we were dating,' I wanted to add. But I didn't, because that might have broken her trance and then I'd never find out what they did once they parked. As she talked she'd cast me as her girlfriend Jamie again. As I'd hoped, I realized. I didn't want to know any of this but I had to know all of it. "And then we smooched like teenagers and I let him feel me up. Everywhere. His hands are so gentle, Jamie!" She lost herself in reminiscence. "I got so wet." she added. "His fingers on my bare nipples were magic." "I guess," I said for lack of anything else to say. I sat silent. But she was waiting for me to ask her for more details. "And then did you ...?" I finally asked, trying to sound delighted and awed both. "Of course we did, silly," she replied. "And he did too. We did each other's! His tongue on my clit? Liquid joy! I haven't had such long, hard orgasms in years! One after another! I loved it! I could scarcely keep his prick in my mouth, he had me wriggling so wildly. He's lucky his thing has such a huge head, so once I got it past my lips there was no way it would slide out again. God, even after I pumped him with my hand and he came and came and my mouth got all slick and I swallowed down all his squirts, every one of them, even then I had to pop it out of my mouth like a cork. Talk about aching jaw muscles?" I was silenced. Awed, and a little saddened. Emily had given me head only once -- she'd said she didn't like the idea much. But this guy right off? "Do you want to know what he tasted like?" she asked me suddenly? Could I say 'No'? I wanted to. "What?" I replied as listlessly as I could, wondering how she'd describe it. Gail blew me in passing several times a week, as if it were a stray notion that had just occurred to her. But she'd never bothered to comment on how I tasted. "Close your eyes for a moment." I did. "Now lean forward. I want to give you a big kiss." I did. "Mmmmmm!" she said. Both of her arms circled my neck and pulled me toward her, and her mouth pressed tight against mine, then opened. My mouth opened with it, and her tongue came in and tangled with mine, along with a salty sweet secretion that was not her saliva but thicker and slicker. "Mmmmmmm!" she said again, rubbing what I realized were semen-coated lips over mine and then pushing another gobbet of it into my mouth, this one almost as thick as phlegm. She disengaged. "That's all I have now, so swallow it down!" she commanded in a hoarse whisper. I was so surprised and overwhelmed that I did. "Thatta girl!" she said triumphantly. "That's my sweetheart! That's what he tasted like!" She now sounded gleeful. Had I been tricked? "Where did that come from?" I asked, trying to suppress my anger and loathing both. "Was that really ...?" I was afraid to speak for fear of spreading the goop around that now coated my mouth. I wanted to go rinse it out, but her arms held me tight where I was! "Lick it, James! Swallow it!" So I'd been tricked deliberately. She watched me intently. I worked saliva around in my mouth and licked my lips and swallowed. Breathing through my nose, I sensed a faint sea smell. A chlorine smell too? I worked up more saliva and swallowed again. "I told him I just had to share his semen with you. With my unfaithful husband, so he'll know his wife thinks about him all the time, even when she's giving another man the kind of blow job she's never given him. Especially then. So afterward he'll believe I really do everything I'll be telling him I do. So he won't want to listen as James. So he'll prefer to be Jamie and just enjoy it all with me." She was enjoying this moment enormously, the fruits of her vengeful date. She continued to watch me closely as she concluded. "I asked him to roll on a condom, and then gave him the most luxurious hand job I could, and then when he came I tied a knot in the condom and popped it into my purse so I could share it with you, my hubby!" She looked pensive. "Or maybe with Jamie. Jamie appreciates cock sucking and semen and all, I'm sure, even if James doesn't. Jamie may well decide to take up a woman's kind of sex life when she finds that otherwise she'll have sex life at all." She was taunting me! I was now furious, but I knew that the least show of it would end our marriage. Which might be a desirable thing after all, I thought for the first time! Even though it had all been my fault, from my popping Gail to deciding to bring Emily breakfast as if I were 'Jamie,' all the way to my last disbelieving, dumb question about the origin of the semen she'd just tricked me into swallowing. "That man managed to come yet a third time too, baby. And I swallowed it all. Can you imagine? I can't wait for him to start fucking me! Have you noticed, his semen is unlike anyone else's I've ever tasted. It's even sort of addicting! He'll be gone on his trip for another week or two, but when he gets back I'll be sure to bring you more of it -- meanwhile we'll both have to be patient. I know how I intend to keep it warm and fresh for you next time I bring it home! Can you imagine? Three times in under an hour he ejaculated! He claims it's the way I look at him that excites him that way. If that's true, then what he'll be like when we actually do get wrapped in each other's arms I can't begin to imagine!" "He didn't fuck you?" I asked bitterly, trying to hide it. She might just as well have fucked him. This was worse. "Why no, Jamie, you know, never on a first date! I don't want anyone to think I'm a slut. That I'm as easy to screw as my slut husband is. Did I tell you, last week I called Gail to wish her well and ask her if my James had been hard to seduce? You know what she told me? 'James was as hard to seduce as my dildo.'" I had been, I knew it. This was not the r