Enchanted Again

by Nancy Madore

“What do you mean by ‘these little habits’?”

  “Well, if you’ll recall, you were always telling me to burn everything, even if it wasn’t important. I just got into the habit of it. And although I don’t regularly get to all the clothes that are piling up in the hamper—it’s true—I will often put that day’s clothes in the washer immediately after taking them off just because I got in the habit of it before.” She knew he could not for a certainty deny any of this, even if he still had doubts.

  Peter was silent and thoughtful. Now that his anger had emerged it wanted to take hold, but his desire had not quite been extinguished and his body was inclined to side with that latter emotion, giving it strength. Joyce continued to run her hands up along his arms as she watched him in the mirror. She allowed her body to fall back and lean against his. She moved her hips seductively up against him.

  Peter struggled for a moment, uncertain. The pain, should he face it now, would be piercing and debilitating, while the pleasure, he knew, would be even more intense with the pain lingering so closely behind it. The pain could be pushed aside for a later time, if in fact it was merited at all. It was hard to believe the pain when her body seemed to tremble with desire for him, and her eyes burned with emotion that could not be pretended. He began to yearn for her.

  Peter knew that he was losing control.

  Aroused and angry and confused, he could no longer resist the hazy glow of desire in Joyce’s eyes, or her parted and willing lips. He pushed the anger into a back corner of his mind where it mingled unhappily with his doubts. He succumbed to the only certainty he could extract from the ambiguous connection he shared with his wife; that her lips would soothe and her body temporarily alleviate the doubt and anger that regularly antagonized him. He gave himself over to his desire completely, and his simmering anger only increased the passion and intensity of his actions. Thinking only of tasting her lips, he pulled her to him, unaware that he had yanked her head around by the fistfuls of hair he still held in his hands. Joyce gasped as he ravaged her lips. He jerked her head back even farther to give himself better access to her lips and face and neck as he spread hot kisses all over her. Joyce delighted in his brusque handling of her, finding any discomfort brought on by his overzealous passion preferable to indifference. She did not think she could bear Peter’s indifference. So she endured his violent attentions and actually enjoyed the discomfort they brought with them. His breath was hot and moist, and the sharp shadow of that day’s whiskers grazed her skin as he moved his lips over her with both hands still buried deep within her scalp, holding her head firmly in place.

  Joyce didn’t struggle against Peter, or move at all in fact. She simply drank in his attentions as well as she was able, nearly drowning in the rush of sensations that were assaulting her as violently as he was doing. She shuddered helplessly as his strong hands finally released her hair and moved down along her jaw and lower, tentatively circling her neck. The sensation of his fingers curling around her neck left her feeling curiously safe and content. She arched her head back even farther and closed her eyes, giving herself over more fully to his caresses. Her mouth was open to his prying tongue, and the intense passion of the moment actually caused tears to flood her eyes. She waited eagerly for the pleasure to come. And all the while Peter could not help but wonder, Was this how she responded with Bob when she returned home from an afternoon in my bed?

  This thought came to his mind just as his hands had moved down toward the straps of Joyce’s nightgown, and without really intending to, he tore the gown in his effort to remove it. But the sound of the tearing cloth only emboldened him, and he yanked it away from her body with renewed vigor, leaving it in shreds on the floor. Joyce shuddered again.

  Peter immediately reached for her breasts, and he clutched one in each hand, tenderly cupping and fondling them, as if weighing them. His attentions caused them to tighten and swell, making them seem heavier and fuller. While he held them, he moved nearer and gazed at them attentively, almost as if he was examining them. She wondered. But in due course he turned his attention to her nipples, which jutted out to him teasingly, and he began to play with them, first pressing them firmly between his fingers and then sliding them lightly across the palm of his hand. Finally he bent his head and seized the tip of one breast carefully between his teeth, circling his tongue all around it and then drawing it into his mouth and sucking vigorously. The intense pulling of his jaws on her nipple caused a surge of tingling pleasure to ripple through her. She moaned with abandon, throwing her head back and leaning against the counter of the bathroom sink behind her. The strong flood of arousal left her feeling light-headed.

  Peter continued to kiss and suck her breasts leisurely, each in its turn; with pleasure, yet not without also a sentiment of competitiveness to surpass in performance any other man who might have been there before him. While his lips and tongue were thus engaged, he let his hands roam over Joyce’s stomach and hips, delighting in her soft roundness. She trembled with joy at his touch. How she loved it when his attentions stretched beyond his own needs, when he was striving after something other than mere sexual gratification. It was far more intimate and momentous for her when he touched her as he did now, with his hands gliding over her skin, down along the curve of her back and cupping her buttocks with reverence. She wished it would never end, but knew that it would, and far too soon to satisfy her ravenous soul. Already his fingers were running along the cleft in her bottom, dipping between her legs greedily, delving into her with a fierce determination. She moaned with pleasure over the contact, even as she lamented the loss of his earlier caresses.

  Upon discovering her wetness as it poured over his fingers, Peter’s attention was redirected. He gazed down at her in awe, fairly gawking. He picked her up suddenly and set her carefully on top of the bathroom counter, spreading her legs wide apart as he nestled himself in between them with his knees on the floor.

  He took his time, examining her thoroughly, opening her labia wide and scrutinizing every inch of her. She had the sense that he was once again looking for evidence of another man. Nevertheless, his prying fingers and intense inspection was having a wonderful effect on her. She watched, rapt, as his eyes and hands thoroughly dissected her. Slowly his face inched closer, and his fingers opened her up even wider as he approached. He pressed his face right up into the cleft of her, inhaling deeply as he did so. She gasped. Peter turned his face ever so slowly to the right and then the left, unconsciously scraping her inner tissue with the day’s growth on his cheeks. His prickly whiskers sent sharp stinging thrills of sensation rippling through her tender flesh. All the while, he continued to inhale her scent, burying his nose deep into her softness and breathing in long and hard as he held her squirming body firmly in his hands. She was certain now that he was looking for signs of another man but she no longer cared. The invasion into her secret self was far too exquisite to be insulting.

  Seemingly satisfied with his findings, Peter began to dip his tongue into her, tentatively tasting her at first, but apparently finding it to his liking, he suddenly set out to devour her. He clung to Joyce’s hips almost violently, with his powerful fingers pressed into her supple, white flesh so firmly that she could not move in any direction. She struggled against him all the same, moving reflexively in opposition to the force of his advances. Her struggles were barely noticed by him, but he did unconsciously slow his actions and become more deliberate, moving his tongue leisurely up along the center of her parted labia and at the top circling around to her clitoris and firmly pressing down over the peak of the little swollen flesh, making her jump. Then he descended back downward along her wet and gaping slit again until he reached her bottom. There he paused to tickle that nether opening with the tip of his tongue, causing her to jump yet again. Over and over again his tongue burrowed its way up and around and back again, lingering especially over the top of her clitoris to press and prod and provoke her with pleasure. He continued to work her over with his tongue in this w
ay tirelessly, ever attentive to the pleasure she received and mindful not to allow her to climax. Joyce did not fret over this; on the contrary, she thrived on his careful attentions and simply allowed her pleasure to build. She clung to the sides of the counter with both hands and gave herself over to Peter’s ministrations. All her concerns of the day were lost in the whirling sensations that came over her with the movement of Peter’s tongue. She opened her legs wider for him and even raised her feet so they rested on his shoulders.

  Eventually Peter’s need, which was quickly becoming uncomfortable, overruled his wish to prolong Joyce’s pleasure. He took one of her ankles in each of his hands and pulled her legs outward as he raised himself up in between. Then he rested her feet back on his shoulders, this time with him standing, as he worked quickly to remove his pants. He stared down at the spectacle of Joyce’s body spread wide open to him and his eyes glazed over with desire. When his pants were removed he wiped his face with the back of one hand.

  Peter approached her with relish, running his hands along the insides of her legs and then placing them beneath her lower thighs, just above her knees, to hold them steady. As he entered her, he bent her legs a little more and guided them down from his shoulders so they rested one in each hand. He spread them even wider apart as he pushed himself into her slick opening. Joyce cried out loudly as he moved slowly in and out of her. He held her legs in his hands, high up and apart as he kept slowly driving in and out of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She could still taste her body on his lips when he kissed her.

  Peter increased the speed of his thrusts as his excitement increased, and he jutted his hips forward and up with each thrust, stabbing her savagely while forcing her legs up even higher with his hands. Joyce clung tightly to his neck, crying out with equal measures of pleasure and discomfort.

  “God, you feel so good,” Peter murmured. His anger was almost forgotten as he became more and more immersed in her softness. All he could believe for the moment was the pleasure she brought him. He was struggling to maintain control and forced himself to slow his pace to painstakingly protracted and unhurried strokes. She was clinging to him with her face buried in the warmth of his chest. Very carefully he let her legs fall, and she slipped them around his hips and locked her ankles together at the base of his back. He lifted her face tenderly in his hands and looked down into her eyes. He continued to slide his lower body into hers with long, even strides as they silently stared at each other. In the depths of his expression, lingering behind his desire, Joyce thought she glimpsed sorrow. Her heart stopped for an instant, and she was torn between her own fears and resentments and her love for Peter. How could she bear to hurt him?

  But it was only fleeting, and in the next instant she even wondered if she had imagined it. Peter suddenly picked her up off the bathroom counter and, holding her with one hand on each buttock while her legs still clung to him, he carried her, still fully joined to him, into their bedroom. She wrapped herself around him like a vine and luxuriated in the way it felt to simply have him inside her. These short moments of shared intimacy in between the intense passion that brought them together were her favorite moments with Peter. It was what she lived for, from one sexual encounter to the next. If she had been a prostitute, this would have been the price she would have demanded for her body. But it was impossible to say what these moments were made up of or how they could be brought about. She only recognized them once they came to be, when the intensely soothing blanket of contentedness washed over her, leaving her feeling satiated and slightly stunned.

  With the same measured carefulness that Peter employed to carry Joyce with him into the bedroom he brought them both, still joined together, onto the bed. Once settled there, he immediately resumed his long, easy strokes in and out of her. Joyce moved her hands over his shoulders and chest, admiring the feel and appearance of him. In the next instant a switch seemed to flip inside her and she felt an enormous upsurge of all encompassing passion rise up within her and rush toward her center with a warm flood of pleasure. She stared blankly up at Peter as it seemed to explode inside her, releasing the pressure in a balmy gush that dispersed into titillating little waves of contentment all throughout her. She lay motionless, trying to keep the feeling with her, but it was very quickly passing.

  Yet, Peter was still inside her, strong and hard and hungry, and her climax seemed to ignite an explosive fire within him. Suddenly he gave himself over to all the yearning that had been building up throughout the night, along with everything else he had been feeling, including his frustration and fear. Joyce was soft and pliant beneath him, still wallowing in her earlier pleasure, and he plundered her softness with a passion-driven brutality. Joyce reveled in his loss of control, spurring him on even more with all the little touches and sounds she knew he liked best. She watched him, too, mesmerized by his strength and beauty as he struggled over her. She felt strangely detached now, making the rest of the act seem more intimate somehow, as if she was observing something very private that she had no right to see. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him, and so she gently clung and encouraged and stroked him to satisfaction while she trespassed into his most vulnerable moment in an effort to see inside. Peter stiffened all of a sudden and threw himself into her with a loud yell. Watching the intense pleasure cross over his features gave Joyce an overwhelming sense of power. She was delighted to have pleased him so. She realized he probably felt the same. This realization brought sadness with it.

  Joyce rested sedately in Peter’s arms. Normally he would be sleeping by now, but tonight she knew he was lying fully awake, wondering.

  Her mind wandered back to the first time they were intimate together. She was still married to Bob, and he, too, had a wife at home. She had asked him afterward, perhaps unfairly, “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t know,” he had replied. “I guess I’m not happy.”

  “You don’t know if you’re happy or not?”

  “I don’t think about it much,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

  She had thought about his words many times since then. She could not accept the idea of such an incredible breach being made out of simple boredom. She herself had been excruciatingly unhappy in her marriage with Bob. Resentment and frustration had built up over the years to the point where she little cared anymore whether she hurt him or not. His lethargic attitude regarding her and their marriage had created an antipathy in her that grew and grew until it bordered on violence. She wanted to hurt him in fact. That was why she began the affair with Peter, really. And throughout their affair, Peter had admonished her to take more precautions so that Bob would not find out, but the truth was that she could not wait for Bob to find out. Her cautionary measures were all especially designed so that when Bob did finally find out, he would have many memories to recall with horror and dread, adding insult to injury once the cat was out of the proverbial bag.

  Unlike the overwhelming majority of unfaithful husbands—for Joyce had researched the subject at length—Peter did leave his wife. Perhaps it was because Joyce was married, too, that it occurred to him to do so. Peter did not like having to share her with another man. It was decided that they had both made a terrible mistake with their first marriages, but that now that they’d found the “right” person for them, they could rectify the problem at once. And it was like a dream come true. Joyce had genuinely fallen in love with Peter, and she could not believe that something so wonderful could come out of her hatred for Bob.

  But all too soon after she married Peter, it became apparent that he, too, could be terribly lethargic in matters of the relationship; and this is when Joyce began to call back to her mind his earlier statement that he was “bored.” Only now she was the object of his apathy. She had fought the urge to give up and wallow in resentment, as she had with Bob. Yet in spite of her best intentions to make the best of it, she felt herself teetering back on the edge of hostility, and it simmered around and within her like a
slow burn. It appeared to her that this was simply the way it was for men, that upon conquering an object of their desire, their interest in it would automatically be depleted.

  Things progressed along these lines in the relationship between Peter and Joyce until one day Joyce happened upon, quite accidentally, a solution to the problem.

  It came to her while they were out Christmas shopping together. Joyce was agitated and anxious, having won the war in getting Peter to go shopping with her, but having lost the battle—and all pleasure in being with him—for being obliged to fight for the opportunity. Just like the princess who was expected to spin gold from straw, Joyce floundered with the task of trying to make their outing cheerful and fun while being painfully aware that he had practically been forced to join her. She silently seethed at the injustice of it. She had focused all her attentions on Peter’s gift-giving list, and now wondered how she could get him enthused about hers. He had thus far been sullen and distant. She was standing with him while he finished eating a fresh-baked pretzel at the food court contemplating this when a handsome, slightly younger man approached her.

  “Hey…Joyce is it?” the man asked. She looked at him in surprise. She only vaguely remembered his face, but could not immediately recall where she knew him from. He laughed at her confusion. “It’s Brian. I met you over at the perfume counter a few weeks ago. Remember?” He acknowledged Peter’s presence while she was trying to remember the incident, explaining, “I think I frightened her a little. I was quite taken by her scent.”

  Joyce remembered the man when he said this. He had approached her slowly, grasping her arm suddenly and bringing it to his nose in a disconcertingly intimate gesture. She had been offended until he spoke to her, when she realized immediately from his explanation and his demeanor that he was quite harmlessly looking for a perfume for another woman. She had provided the necessary information and he had purchased the perfume and that had been the end of it. Until now.