As I sip my Bamaslammer intent on amnesia, Patty prances into the room in bare feet. She slides seductively into Steve’s lap, thus rescuing me from further humiliation. Because I know the shock registered on my face when he’d blurbed that he hadn’t seen Simmons at the club. I’d like to think I covered it up fairly fast, but I’m not that good at covering my emotions. Even with the truce I’ve reached in my mind, I’m not going to deny the fact that the thought of another woman touching my husband repels me. So as I watch the sensual show Terry and Kelly are displaying on the opposite sofa, my mind drifts to the men of my training. The men who’ve brought my body back to life.
The absurdity of my thoughts doesn’t pass me by. I have to force my mind to think of the men instead of the pain in my heart. A few of them have made quite an impression on me: The man on top of me when I was blindfolded, for instance. He’d taken me to heights I didn’t know existed. So much so that I desperately wanted him again, maybe without the blindfold next time? The men in the bathroom at Jonathon’s bar… oh they’d been precious! But all these men have wives… these wives.
Bonnie strolls into the room and plops down on the armrest next to me. We’re all fascinated with Terry’s lips trailing down Kelly’s stomach and barely notice her joining us. But I do notice her and look up, “Can I ask you something?”
Her hand goes to my shoulder, “What’s on your mind?”
I warm at her touch; it’s friendly and lets me know she supports me. “I was just wondering who your husband is?”
She laughs, “Hey ya’ll, Tara has her mind set on figuring out who the men are in training!”
Even Kelly and Terry chuckle, though Kelly’s shorts are halfway down her thighs now. “What’s so funny?” I ask, annoyed that Bonnie announced it to everyone.
She one arm hugs me, and Patty’s toes wriggle across the couch and tickle my calf. “Honey, we’ve all been there. There was a day when I was absolutely sure that Steve here was my mystery lover! Give it up; you’ll make yourself crazy trying to figure it out. But that’s not really what this is about now is it?”
I shake my head, because although the men have been wonderful to me, what I really need to know is how they justify their husband’s fucking another woman, particularly me.
Still cuddled in Steve’s arms, Patty smiles at me, “What you want to know is how I feel about Steve touching another woman, isn’t it?”
Again I nod, too embarrassed to say the words. You’d think by now, and while watching two women make love across from me on the sofa, that shyness would be all but a memory. I’m here to tell you, it never goes away.
She laughs a little, “Okay Goody, before you have another breakdown, this is where we are in our relationship. Everyone has something sexual that turns them on; things that may be construed by others as odd. Some of us like to share our husbands. It turns us on. But with you it may be something totally different and you aren’t interested in sharing. That’s fine, you won’t be asked to share. Who knows, we can always hope you’ll try it at some point, but we’d never pressure you.”
And Bonnie chirps in from over my shoulder, “No we wouldn’t. And if and when I find a new husband, I probably won’t share for a while myself.”
“Poor fucker will be too worn out to do anyone but you,” Steve laughs and Patty licks his lips as he speaks. Honestly get a room. Yeah, and that does mean I’m jealous of them pecking and pawing at one another like newlyweds. Any minute now they’re going to drop their drawers and get on with it, and that’s really going to piss me off. Maybe the shock of hearing that my husband isn’t where he’s said he was for the past year hadn’t passed over me as much as I’d thought. What if he’s panting and pawing over some woman right now, just like they are? My blood begins to boil at the thought.
“And some people get off on being watched!” Terry fusses from the other sofa, sticking out her bottom lip as she looks up from Kelly’s fur.
Steve laughs and dumps Patty onto the couch as he stands. I watch in awe as he walks around the coffee table and perches on the edge of the sofa next to Kelly’s naked body. Vagina and Clitoris are both startled from their dreams as Steve’s fingers slide inside Kelly’s body just beneath Terry’s tongue. Steam fills my veins and I stand up awkwardly, “I’ve got to go!” I whisper and run for the safety of my minivan.
As my van races for home, tears stream down my face until the entire neckline of my shirt is damp. I can’t let this defeat me, I can’t let her win! I chant to myself as I drive through the winding country roads. The bottom line is that I want what Patty and Steve have, and by damn it if they can restore that mess of a marriage they had, then so can I. It’s time to flex my muscles and start making my marriage work instead of whining about it all the time. I switch my train of thought towards hope and change. If I have a prayer of turning this around I’d better get started. I can steal him back from this mystery woman and I know it! I need to think… plan.
And the next morning I am up early to get started. After verifying that he’s still snoring in his recliner, I slip down into the garage with a bottle of my perfume in hand. The ‘door open’ sound emanates as soon as I open his car door, but I spray five good shots of perfume into the interior before shutting the door and stopping the noise. I don’t want to get caught, just adding a few subtle reminders of ‘Goody Two Shoes’ wife… I snicker with a sinister tone as I head back inside.
After fixing a pot of coffee I go back to my bedroom and put my latest toy store purchase square in the middle of the bed. It’s the most powerful thing they’d had other than a Sybian, and if I’d spent fifteen hundred dollars on a Sybian, my secrets would be divulged on the credit card bill. Nevertheless, my new gadget is so powerful that mere batteries can’t support it. No, this baby needs to be plugged in. Power tools, Clitoris giggles. She’s no longer deaf and mute by the way; some mystery man in Jonathon’s upstairs bedroom had roused her from her neglected soul and she’s quickly rivaling her sister for attention.
I also decide to throw my clean freak talents out the window, well okay, maybe not the majority of them, but I leave my scanty new red panties on the floor in the middle of the bathroom. On second thought, I push them towards the wall, you know, so they don’t look staged. Just a few subtle reminders to dear old Simmons that his wife is still alive and kicking. The perfume in his car is to remind his girlfriend of the same.
That’s right; I’m a woman on a mission! The rest of the week is spent acquiring a new wardrobe and lingerie. I took Patty with me on the lingerie excursion to ensure I didn’t come home with flannel. Actually she’d insisted on coming with me. To her credit, she didn’t ask about my behavior at her house on Saturday. That’s the beauty of a best friend; you never have to explain. But after careful consideration, I’ve decided not to criticize myself anymore. All I’m doing is beating myself up. It’s a better plan to try to change my situation rather than let it absorb me. It’s sink or swim time, and this bitch is paddling!
Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.
-Saint Francis of Assisi
The Tramp Stamp Club
By Quinn Carmichael
Remodeling
Writing for Ellen Devereux hasn’t been a picnic. Not that she’s difficult to work with; she’s not. Most writers aren’t. They already know what they want you to find out and are eager to get you to their revelation. But that’s not my issue, I’m used that. It’s the diversity of her household that’s a bit much for me. And it’s caused me to spend hours in retrospection. So much so in fact that I made a list of pros and con’s for joining the Club. Jonathon has made a few comments that seem ridiculous to me, yet no matter how hard I’ve pressed him, he won’t release his source(s). I just don’t see how he can assure me with confidence that if I drag my wife down here to meet them that I’m not headed for divorce court. He knows something, and I’m damned and determined to find out what it is.
What
they’ve offered me is a solution to my stalemate of a marriage. And what I know, from nearly fifty years of life, is that when life gives you lemons, you fucking add vodka and move on. Change what you have into something else. Television is loaded with reality shows that do just that. It’s a popular plan. Last week I saw some dudes from Ireland turn a Yugo into five thousand dollar car. Come on, they didn’t cost that much when they were new. Nevertheless, HGTV wouldn’t be in business if it didn’t excite people to make something out of nothing. And that’s what the Tramp Stamp Club and the Sand Dunes Club are offering. They take a boring, do-nothing, life, and turn it into something magical. ‘Fucking magic!’ as Jonathon put it so well.
I read a test study the other day, and low and behold men aren’t quite as perverted as formerly imagined. Men recorded between 1 and 388 daily thoughts about sex, while women think about sex between 1 and 140 times per day. You may think that just verifies the point that men are horny bastards, but I’m reassured that women think about sex this much. It’s enlightening. The matter remains that I want the wife who thinks about it 140 times a day, not the wife who thinks about it once. And I’d like to be the man who thinks about sex 388 times a day. That’s a sexual thought every 3.7 seconds in case you don’t want to do the math. Of course I’m a pervert for even wanting such a thing right? Okay, maybe I’ll settle for something around half of that. But right now I’m a one thought a day guy, so something’s got to give here. I’m going to ask Ellen for advice today.
Hawthorne calls not twenty minutes before I leave the house. “Ellen wants you to meet her at O’Malley’s Bar downtown. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah. Any reason for the venue change?” I’m curious as to what’s going on at their house. Something they don’t want me seeing?
“No, she’s just trying to cram eighteen errands into one trip. Same time. She’ll meet you out front.”
When I arrive Ellen is indeed standing out front. She’s perched against the knee high brick wall in front of the Irish Pub smoking a cigarette with the bartendress. They’re chatting like best friends and I see Ellen laugh. I love to see that woman laugh. It cheers my soul.
As I walk towards her she yells out, “Just leave all that stuff in the car, we aren’t working today.” Then what are we doing? I turn around and open the car and drop my briefcase onto the back seat. When I near them again, the bartendress stomps out her cigarette and enters the front door of the bar.
“Well good afternoon, Quinn!” Ellen cheers and I notice she’s wearing tight blue jeans and a white top that clings to her skin and drops low on her breasts. One of her customary heels is solidly on the ground but the other is pressed against the brick wall. She has a ‘bad girl’ look that riles my groin.
“Good afternoon, Ellen,” and I peck her on the cheek.
“Here, I’ve recorded today’s writing,” She hands me a tiny memory stick.
“That’s handy,” I slip it into my pants pocket. “So then what are we doing today?”
“Well I’m going in to suck some cock. I just wanted to give you that…” She points to my pants and I’m not sure if she’s pointing at my hard on or my pocket. “But you’re welcome to join our little afternoon party if you like?”
Hmmm? Get my cock sucked? “Sure I’ll come in.”
My wife will tell you that I’m going straight to hell. Maybe so, but if I’m going I might as well give them a damn good reason for sending me there. I watch her stomp her cigarette out on the ground and walk inside. But I stare at the cigarette butt and smell the remaining smoke in the air. It’s ridiculous, but I always wanted to smoke. I like the way it smells, it reminds me of the ‘cool’ kids.
She’s holding the door open for me. The heavy carved door seems unusually large against her petite form. I reach over her head and hold the door for her to enter. She pulls me to the bar and orders two bourbons. “It wasn’t difficult to convince you to join us today, Quinn? What’s up with that?”
“I ugh…” I stutter because I’m unable to pull my eyes away from her hefty cleavage.
She laughs, “Tell you what Quinn, I’ve found that sometimes it’s just easier to have an intelligent conversation with a man after he’s come. We’re doing Glory Holes today. Do you know what that is?”
I nod because I’m speechless.
And she laughs again at my stunned expression. “All you do is go into the bathroom, into the open stall, stick your cock through the hole in the wall. Go do that then we’ll talk about the book.”
Her hand pushes the center of my back down the dark hallway to the Men’s bathroom door. “Go on!”
I shouldn’t be doing this. Rationally I know that, but am I going in? Oh I’m going in, you can bet on that. I only pause a moment at the door to think of my wife and wish she was here with me. Another man exits the bathroom and I stand aside while he brushes by. Ellen is staring up at me like an imp, “Are you going in or not?”
“Should I Ellen?”
“You have no idea who this woman is. She has no idea who you are. So this is only about release. Go ahead Quinn, you need to clear those cobwebs out your head before you write my book!”
Ah I see now. She’s afraid I won’t be able to pull this off, the book I mean. For a second I thought she was talking about my cock, and I assure you that I’ve learned to pull it off on a regular basis. It’d be nice to have a human touch though. I lean down and peck her on the cheek and walk into the bathroom.
The first stall door is closed so I step into the second one and unzip my pants. I stare at the hole in the wall and I can see a small speck of skin through it; she’s waiting for me. My cock throbs and bounces wildly with eagerness as I push it through the wall.
Suddenly lips surround me; a thousand sensations overwhelm me. This woman is a cock hungry slut! I lean forward against the wall as she pulls on me like a starving animal. I groan at the instant pressure of her velvet mouth, but she’s going too fast! “Slow down woman!” I growl.
And she pulls free of me. Oh shit did I hurt her feelings? Did I fuck this up? It wouldn’t surprise anyone if I did.
But the lips that press against me aren’t on her face. Fuck! She’s fucking me! Alarm spreads through me, I wasn’t told there’d be fucking. Now this is cheating. No fucking way around it. I can’t concentrate on my thoughts long enough to feel guilt, I push through the wall wanting to reach deep inside her. And she’s doing all the work, pushing against me like an athlete on the last day of the Olympics. My cock swells and my entire body reels with the pleasure her softness and eagerness. I can’t hold on. It’s been too long. I want to last for her, last until I hear her groan with orgasm all over me, but she feels so damned good that it’s all I can do to press against this wall.
I want to pull away, rush into the next stall and fuck her against the wall. Bend her over the toilet and fuck her from behind like the little slut she is. She wants it; she wants cock so bad that she’s pounding against the thin wall between us. When she stills, I take over and thrust into her with a year full of need. But it’s her excitement and adoration of my manhood that sends me into the throws of orgasm. I can’t stop it, the heat flows through me and my head falls backwards until I’m staring at the ceiling. A loud groan escapes me but it sounds foreign. As the last of my seed spills, I’m suddenly drawn back to reality. Amazing how that works, a minute ago the only thing I could think of was her warm pussy. Now all I can think about is getting the hell out of this room.
“Feel better now?” Ellen is standing at the bar.
I nod because I’m speechless.
“Come on out back with me,” I need another cigarette.
I follow her further down the dark hallway and the sunlight burns my dimmed corneas as we step outside. “Mind if I have one?” I ask as she lights up. I lean against the wall like one of the ‘cool’ guys and choke for the next fifteen minutes.
“So what do you think, Quinn?”
“I think I went in there for a blow job and got f
ucked. I kind of feel taken advantage of, to be honest.”
After staring at me blankly for several minutes she bends over in hysterical laughter.
“Awe, does someone need a hug?” she manages through her laughter.
I’m honestly not sure what she thinks is so fucking funny. I just cheated on my wife. That’s not fucking funny. “It’s not funny Ellen. What am I supposed to do about my wife now?”
“Maybe you should fuck her?”
I roll my eyes, “Yeah right.”
“Alright, alright, why don’t you join the Club? Let’s see if we can turn you into the man she wants to fuck?”
It isn’t as if I haven’t been seriously considering their offer, because I haven’t thought about much else lately. I’m a broken down, sexless writer, much like a battered Yugo. I need a remodel. “When do we start?”
“Friday at 4:15 P.M. Be there or be square!” She tilts her head and I bend down and peck her pretty pink lips lightly. “Just use the recording for today’s meeting, I’ve got to run. See you on Friday Quinn!” And she flits back inside the bar leaving me leaning up against the brick wall.
When all else fails, use what you have to make something better right? Isn’t that what life is all about? Remodeling ourselves?
Ellen and Elise-Life is better through chemical.
It was Saturday afternoon and Ellen sat on the front porch with her sister and a few bottles of merlot. Some were full, most empty. The children were down on the beach in front of them gathering shells and building sandcastles with Alan as their guardian. It was almost a picturesque moment if you indulge.
“They remind me of us, out there playing with absolute freedom, no worries, and no fears.”
Goody Two Shoes Page 19