The Unhappy Wife

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It’s hot, and Daniel Carter stands in the shade of the patio at the rear of his home, a can of beer in one hand, and watches the tops of oleander bushes sway in the wind.  Gusts of heated desert air licked over his naked flesh like a grass fire, drying the sweat from the matted blond hair of his chest and lower belly.  ‘The temperature in suburban El Cajon must be ten degrees higher than in downtown San Diego,’ he thought.  The wheezing old air conditioner in his office window had groaned to a halt at nine-thirty with a dry choking rattle.

No repairmen were available.  By noon Daniel had fled the heat for a beer and a sandwich in Rusti’s bar and then driven home to relax in the darkened rooms of the house as cool as the waters of a mountain pool.  Sarah is a guest at a luncheon and winter fashion show in Mission Valley, and he had the premises to himself.  Setting the empty beer can down, he steps into the searing sunshine and moves slowly across the lawn to the concrete apron of the pool.  From the backyard of the corner house to his left comes the loud splash of an inexpert diver doing a bellyflop into a pool.

Neither Sarah nor he had called on the young Jenkins couple who had moved in last week.  Daniel hurries the tall redwood fence and pries free the large knot.  ‘Perhaps this young couple are nudists, too,’ he wonders.  Daniel put an eye to the knothole and clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a shout of delight.  A naked young woman floats on her back in the middle of the pool, her large breasts bobbing, and her lengthy, black hair strung out behind her like a patch of seaweed.  He goes back toward the house to get his binoculars and camera.

When Daniel returns with his camera and binoculars, he sees the young brunette mounting the ladder at the end of the pool, her back and buttocks glistening in the bright sunlight.  She turns to scan the length of fencing that binds the property on three sides, then saunters over to a lounge directly in front of Daniel.  Sunlight filters through the leaves of an olive tree to dapple her pale white body as she stands for a moment facing him, her eyes closed, and head tilted up.  Adjusting the telephoto lens, the man clicks the shutter release.  He glances quickly through the knothole.

She lies on the lounge.  Daniel gazes at the digital picture he took on the camera’s screen and finds he captured an excellent close-up of her full figure.  The lounge on which she lies has an upward slope at its head, bathed in a patch of clear sunlight.  The foot of it is parallel to the length of the pool.  So, Daniel has a view from the top of her head and the mounds of firm breasts.  Below the stretch of pale, naked flesh, drops of water gleamed like crystal in the thick patch of her dark pubic hair.  The man’s hand moves to touch his hardened cock.

On a glass-topped, wrought-iron table to her right lies a large bowl of fruit.  Beside it is a small book in a white jacket.  Daniel focuses on it with the binoculars but cannot make out the title.  Reaching out, the woman fingers over the oranges and apples, then traces the outline of one of the bananas like a shoplifter touching tempting merchandise.  She takes a pair of glasses from the bowl, puts them on, and picks up the book.  It falls open, and she begins to read.

Her left hand feathers her breasts and nipples and across her belly.  It’s as if she’s directing her hand’s progress following printed instructions.  Daniel’s cock throbs in his hand as he watches her fingers spread the hair at the top of her slit.  Lying the open book on her breasts, she draws her feet up, plants the soles close to her buttocks, and then parts her raised knees.  The fingers of her hands forage in her pussy while her hips rotate slowly.

“Damn you,” Daniel mutters.  “Turn around.”

He snaps several more pictures, keeping an eye on her all the time.  Again, her right-hand goes to the basket of fruit.  Fingers closed around an orange and brought it to her nose.  His nostrils twitch with the imagined scent of citrus fruit combined with the smell of fresh pussy.  Replacing the orange, her fingers touch one of the apples, fondling its polished surface for a moment, then hesitantly glides over the bunch of bananas.  She raises the book and scans the page as if searching for specific directions, then closes it and tosses it on the table.

Taking the bunch of bananas, she tears off the largest one and places it between her breasts.  The brunette presses her arms to her sides, enfolding the long yellow fruit in a tunnel of white flesh.  Daniel clutches the shaft of his cock, imagining the feel of her warm, soft breasts around it.  Then he catches a snapshot of this before she trails the tip of it lightly over her breasts and belly and to her pubic mound.  The man curses softly, predicting her following action.  ‘Why doesn’t she turn around so I can get a close-up of her pussy during this fruity masturbation,’ he wonders?  Daniel restrains the urge to jump the fence and offers his throbbing cock as a substitute.  ‘There’ll be time enough for that later,’ he thought.

In response to his telepathic plea, the woman turns, so her legs lie on the upward slope of the lounge.  Scooting up further, so her buttocks rest at the top, she raises and spreads her legs.  Spotlighted by the brilliant sun, her pussy slit yawns open, revealing her moist pink slash between gleaming black hair.  The ring of her anus resembles the tightly puckered lips of an elf.  Daniel catches many pictures of this tastiest of all sweetmeats.  He has captured not only the luscious genital area, but her breasts and face framed between her thighs.

The woman had inserted the end of the fruit when he peers again, moving it into her vagina gingerly.  Waiting until she’s pushed it well up, he takes more photos.  Her hips rotate now while her hand strokes in slow coital rhythm.  Caught up in the fever of this animal lusting, Daniel’s hand grasps the stiff shaft of his throbbing cock to synchronize his strokes with the tempo of hers.  ‘What’s wrong with this girl,’ he wonders?  ‘She could be no more than twenty, married less than a year.  Is her husband impotent?  Is he Gay?  Or is she a nympho?

To hell with further speculation.  This is a rare experience.  Although the throbbing crown of his cock is some thirty feet from her swollen vulva, he can almost feel the banana plunging into her warm, moist depths.  Their mutual pace quickens as they build to an explosive climax.  He moans softly as they both stiffen into immobility for an instant.  Her hips buck wildly while Daniel’s thrust forward, and their hands beat surges of savage joy in genital tissues joined only in a fantasied union.

The voyeur watches until she’s risen, slipped on a robe, and gone back into the house.  Replacing the knot, he gathers up the camera and binoculars and takes them into the den.  Before putting them in a locked drawer of the desk, he studies the photos again, grinning happily.  After the last neighbor erected the fence two years ago, Sarah and Daniel made no attempt to be neighborly.

With these photos in his hand, he resolved to set up as close a relationship as possible with this young and intriguing new neighbor.  According to gossip gleaned by Sarah, young Mark Jenkins and his wife brought the house.  Mark is completing his thesis for a doctorate in business at the local university, having taken his master’s degree from a small college in Iowa.

After a cooling dip in the pool, Daniel lies on a lounge shielded from the sun by the leafy branches of a tall tree.  He naps for an hour in the dry heat and the stillness, watching through half-lidded eyes the kitchen door open onto the patio.  Sarah finally appears in the doorway.

“Daniel,” she calls, stepping out on the patio.

He doesn’t answer.  Sarah raises her hand to shade her eyes.

“Daniel.  What you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” the blond-haired man said.

She props her right elbow in the palm of her left hand, runs her index finger across her brows, and then down the ridge of her nose.  He can visualize the lids narrow over her green eyes and the lips of her petite mouth open in a pout.  He grins and waits for her opening line of oblique acceptance.

“So, I have to start dinner then?”

“I’ll take you out to dinner.”

After a brief pause, she said, “I’m hot, hon.”

“So am I.  Look.  The thermometer’s up, see?” he said, indicating his semi-erect cock.

She reaches over her shoulder with her right hand, bending forward slightly.  “It’s cool in the house, hon.” He’s silent.  With her left hand, she tugs the zipper down her back.  “And you’ll take me out to dinner after?”

He watches her step out of her dress, sheds her bra, and strips off her pantyhose.  As Sara moves toward him with flowing grace, sunlight cast a golden sheen on her short red hair.  Her freckled face and dimpled chin give her an elfin charm.  Her small, firm breasts, slender waist, and narrow hips make her, for him, the most provocative woman he’s ever met despite ten years of marriage.  She glides to stand beside the lounge.

“Well?” Her eyes glittered with excitement.  “You’re a moron, Daniel, wanting sex out in the open like this.”

He reaches a hand around her slender hips and pulls her mat of fuzzy reddish hair to his face.  “Mmmmm, this smells good.”

Her hands lock behind his head.  “This is awful, just awful.  Daniel, suppose someone sees us…  Sees you kissing my…  My…”

“Yeah,” he mutters, sliding his tongue around in the hood of her clitoris.

Her hands pressure against the back of his head, forcing his face closer to her belly.

“Is what you want, hon?  Do you want people to see you kissing my…my…my pussy?  Oh.  Daniel.  Lover, eat it, kiss it…  I hope someone is looking.  Look.  Everybody.”

Daniel has never told her his secret.  Every time he’s seen sex through the knothole, he’s insisted on sex with Sarah out in the open on the same day.  Somehow the wild and passionate urge drives the man to peaks of frenzy on those days seemed not personally, solely his, but the libido of every man welling up in him.  Daniel has a strange feeling of excitement.  He feels a sense of universal sharing as if he were sucking, fucking, and satisfying every woman in the world at once.

*****

They’re seated at a table for two next to the window in a restaurant in La Mesa.  Usually, Sarah’s fascinated by the swans, ducks, and other wildfowl swimming in the tree-shaded pond.  Still, tonight she continues to glance about the dining room, studying other couples.  None of the men appear as handsome and as virile as Daniel, her husband.  None of the women, she’s sure, have ever known the thrill of a husband greeting them with a hard-on lying nude on a lounge in the backyard in the middle of the afternoon.

“Sarah, ready to go?” Daniel asks.

“I thought you wanted another drink.”

His short blond hair and full mustache give him the appearance of a young undergraduate instead of an advertising executive of thirty-five.

“No more to drink,” he said.  His blue eyes light with merriment.  “You can’t prime this pump with booze—not tonight, hon.”

“Let’s hope not.  I’m ready.”  Sarah waits until he pulls out of the parking lot and then leans over close to him.  “You’re something else, honey, you know that?”

She drops my hand on his thigh.

“He’s sleeping,” Daniel said, turning his head to grin at his wife.  “He might even be dead.”

“He died happily.  What got him so excited today, honey?”

He shrugs.  Sarah lays her head on his shoulder.

“Whatever it was, I hope it happens again soon,” she said.  As they turn, she comments the lights in the living room of the Jenkins home are on.  “I wonder what kind of people they are.  Daniel, don’t you think we should…”

“Sure.  Why not?” He drives the car into the garage and presses the door-closing switch.  “Call ‘em up, Sarah, and ask if they can drop over this evening.  After all, they didn’t build fucking stupid fence.”

Daniel is out in the kitchen finishing a can of beer when she comes out of the den.  In reply to the question expressed by his raises brows, Sarah said, “They’ll be glad to see us now.  Better be on your best behavior.”

“Come on, honey,” he said, putting his arm about her waist.  “Let’s see if her merchandise compares with yours.”

Mrs. Jenkins opened the door.  “Come in, please.  I’m Nicole Jenkins.  Mark will be with us shortly.”

“Hello,” Sarah said, extending her hand.  “I’m Sarah Wilkens.  This is my husband, Daniel.  We waited a few days to introduce ourselves.”

Daniel shakes her hand, smiling warmly.  “We thought we’d give you folks a chance to get settled in.  Believe me, we’re delighted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said, blushing slightly.  “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Nicole motions them into the living room.  Her voice is husky and provocative, in strange contrast to the formality of her words and manner.  Sarah’s unable to suppress a grin.  Whatever hopes Daniel might have had as to her female merchandise must have died at his first sight of her.  Nicole wears an ill-fitting dress with a hemline below the knees and a high-necked blouse designed to conceal the size and shape of her breasts.

“It didn’t take us any time to settle down.  The movers did nearly everything for us,” Nicole said.

Daniel settles into a comfortable leather lounge chair.  “Yes, I see.”

“Where are you folks from, Nicole?” Sarah asks, sitting in a recliner chair with a seat so deep she cannot reach the floor with the tips of her toes.

“Des Moines, Iowa.” A shy smile lights her full, round face and crinkles the skin at the corners of her wide-spread brown eyes.  “I guess there are no natives in California.”

“Iowa’s loss is our gain, Nicole,” Daniel said.  “We’re delighted you’re here.”

Sarah watches her eyes widen with puzzlement as she stares at her husband momentarily then quickly glances away.  His enthusiastic comment sounds more than a bit thick to her as well.

A tall, slender man in his mid-twenties enters the room.  “Good evening,” he said with a smile.

“These are the Jenkins’s from next door, dear,” Nicole said warmly.

“Hi,” Daniel said, rising and advancing several steps.  “I’m Daniel Carter.  This is my wife, Sarah.”

“Glad to meet you both.” He nods to Sarah, then shakes hands with Daniel.  “My name is Mark.  Would you folks like a drink?”

“A beer would suit me fine,” Daniel said.

The Jenkins’s exchanged quick glances.  “Oh, I’m sorry.” His narrow swarthy face becomes taut, and his black, bushy brows lower.  “We don’t drink.  Neither Nicole nor I were raised…”

“We don’t object to anyone else drinking alcohol,” Nicole cuts over her husband.  “It’s just we don’t keep any in the house.  Would you care for a soda?  Tea or coffee?”

“No, really.  Daniel and I had dinner only a half-hour ago,” Sarah said lightly.

“It was certainly nice of you to come over.”

Mark sits on the sofa directly opposite Sarah.  There’s something so familiar about his black, curly hair, his large flaring ears, and his delicate fingers, she pays little attention to what he’s saying.  Sarah’s sure she’s met him somewhere, or else someone so much like him.

“Nicole is the daughter of a minister…”  Marks said, his dark eyes flick across Sarah’s knees with a regularity she can time to a three-quarter beat.  “…and I preached myself back there…”

Sarah waits until his eyes start to move again toward her, then she spreads her knees and leans back.  She hears the slight quaver in his deep voice and knows he’s caught a revealing glimpse of her crotch covered only by a narrow band of her panties.

“So, you’re an ordained minister?” Daniel asks in the sudden quiet.

“Not exactly,” Nicole said.  “In my father’s church, laymen who are fully qualified by education and an exemplary life are asked to preach.”

“How about women?” Daniel asked.  “Are they also…”

“Yes, indeed,” Mark said, his dark eyes lifting from Sarah’s spread thighs to fasten in a fixed stare on her face.  “Nicole also preached several times when her father was ill.”

“That’s sort of keeping it in the family,” Sarah said, chuckling with amusement.  She runs the tip of her tongue over her lips.  “You remind me so much of a man I once knew.  I couldn’t place him until now.  His name was Paul.  He said his parents named him after a biblical character.  A prophet…”

Mark’s face brightened.  “So was I.”

“I’d like to hear you preach one day.  All about living on honey and stuff.”

His gaze drops and centers on the bull’s-eye between her thighs.  “I’d like that, Sarah.”

“Who’s the man you’re talking about, hon?” Daniel asks.  “Do I know him?”

“Gosh, no.  This was way before your time.  I was barely eighteen years old, a freshman in college.  He was a nice man—a genuinely nice man.  He taught there.  He was a leader of a Boy Scout troop.  We’d better go, Daniel.  I’m a bit tired.”

They all rise.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Nicole asks.  “I mean the way someone makes an impression on you when you’re young.  And you never forget him.”

“Yes, it is odd.” Sarah never will forget Paul Holmes.  How can she?  He taught the joys of literature in the classroom and the ecstatic delights of cunnilingus performed by a master in the back seat of a car.

*****

The next day is another blistering day.  Although it’s not yet eight-thirty, the heat rises in sickening waves from the sidewalk.  Daniel leaves his car at a filling station two blocks from home and has trudges back, hoping neither his wife nor neighbors will see him.  Daniel turns the corner onto his street and hurries up to the front porch.  Nicole answers the door on his second ring.  Daniel pushes past her into the hallway.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Nicole, but I lost my credit card somewhere.  I had an idea it fell out of my pocket when I sat in your lounge chair last night.  Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” Nicole’s face relaxed, and her brown eyes lighted behind thick-lensed glasses.  “You startled me.  Help yourself.”

Daniel passes in front of her, withdrawing his credit card from his side pocket as he reaches the lounge chair.  He runs his hand around the edges of the loose cushion before holding it aloft.

“I knew it.  It’s here.”

Nicole draws the neck of her robe closed.  “Oh, that’s good.”

“I hope I don’t disturb you, Nicole.”

“No.  I was just having a cup of coffee.”

Daniel sniffs.  “Smells delicious.  Reminds me I had only one cup this morning.”

Indecision clouds her eyes for an instant.  “If you’d like…”

“I’d love it,” Daniel said.  “Lead the way.”

Daniel follows her out to the kitchen and sits by the bench of the breakfast nook.

“I’d better warm this pot some.”

He glances about the room, his gaze returning to the breakfast nook.  On the windowsill is a large basket of fruit, and beside it is a book lying open.  Daniel rises to check the title: ‘A Woman’s Guide to Pleasure.’

“Milk?  Sugar?” she asks as she set a cup of coffee before him.

“No, thanks.  Black for me.”

“I’ll have another cup with you,” Nicole said sweetly.

She lifts her cup and saucer and rinses them in the sink.

“What do you do all day, Nicole, while Mark’s at university until five or six?”

“I read, clean the house, watch some TV, browse the internet, do a little shopping.” She sits opposite him and removes her glasses.  “How’s the coffee?”

“Good.  Fine.  What do you read?  What kind of stuff, I mean?”

“Oh…”

Her eyes roll from side to side as if in search of something.  Reaching into her side pocket, she takes out her glasses and puts them on.  Red color flames Nicole’s pale face as she takes the book from the windowsill and sets it on the bench beside her.

“What’s that?” Daniel asks, pointing to the seat.  “A new love story.”

“Yes, something women like to read,” Nicole said.

“Damn.  It was hot yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I’ve been hotter in Iowa when…” she begins.

“Hotter than you were yesterday?”

She appears a little queasy.  “I’ve never been as hot as I was yesterday afternoon.”

The woman tries to speak, but no words will come.  Apprehension is evident in the twist of her lips and the nervous twitch of her eyelids.

“What lovely fruit,” Daniel said, lifting the basket from the sill and setting it in the middle of the table.  “Would you like me to peel you an orange?”

Nicole put a hand to the edge of the basket.

“I don’t think so, Nicole.” Daniel picks up the bunch of bananas.  “Sometimes, this is my favorite fruit.  You’re very fond of bananas, aren’t you, Nicole?”

Daniel flicks his finger at the stub of one.

She rises slowly, pressing both palms against the tabletop.  “I’m sorry.  You must go.  I have things to do.”  Nicole stands at the end of the table, gripping the back with both hands.  Her face red, and the carotid artery pulsates noticeably.  “Please go, please.”

“I want to help, Nicole.  Look…”

Daniel reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out some of the photos he took yesterday.  She stares down at them for a long moment, then closes her eyes and crumples.  Daniel catches her in his right arm, moves out from the bench, and stands.  Nicole’s fainted and is out cold.  Daniel carries her into the front bedroom and lays her on the king-sized bed.  He’s astonished to see two of the four walls lined with mirrors.

Above the bed, the ceiling has a mirror equally as large.  Daniel brings a washcloth soaked in cold water from the bathroom and lies it across Nicole’s forehead.  He sits on the edge of the bed and wiping her face with the cloth when she opens her eyes.

*****

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