An Innocent Question Ch. 03

All of a sudden I felt cold, and a little angry. "Is this a separation, Ellen? Is that what you're telling me?" My voice came out harder than I'd meant it, and I could see her eyes widen in surprise.

"No, Dan." She reached across the table and gently took my hand. "Nothing like that. I'm in this with you for the long haul—until the day you throw my cheating ass out of your life." She managed a kind of sad half-smile.

"I just thought that a break of a few days might do both of us some good, clear the air a bit. And I haven't seen Diane in so long, or had a chance to spoil her kids."

I relaxed. I could see what Ellen was saying. "All right, sweetie. When are you going to go? I'll get a couple of hours off so I can drive you to the airport."

My week without Ellen was quiet, contemplative. I missed her, and found that I was speaking to her all the time inside my head. Somehow in her absence I could appreciate more fully all the good things in our relationship, and be tormented less by our sexual impasse. I found I was storing up odd, random questions to ask her when she got back—the kind we were used to trying out on one another.

After several days Ellen called and confirmed her return flight was on Thursday afternoon, getting in around 3pm. I had a meeting I couldn't get out of, so she'd take a cab home.

But when I turned into the driveway that night around 5:30, I didn't see any lights on inside the house. What I saw instead was Ellen, lying at the foot of the front steps in her heavy coat, her suitcases a few feet away.

I ran to her. She was unconscious, and her skin was cold and clammy. I hastily unlocked the door, then ran back and picked her up gently in my arms. She moaned a little, and started to come around as I carried her inside and straight into our bedroom. Wasting no time, I propped her up against some pillows and swaddled her tightly in several blankets. Then I ran downstairs and put on the kettle.

In another few minutes I had her suitcases inside and I was sitting by her side with two cups of tea. Ellen was awake now, trying to smile at me, but she was shivering violently. "Dan, I . . . I think I must have fallen, I . . . don't really remember."

"Shh," I said, lying down and taking her tightly in my arms. I held her and hummed quietly into her hair, keeping her calm as she gradually warmed up. When the shivering slowed down I sat up and gave her the tea, making sure she drank it a little at a time. There was a tiny trickle of blood on the right side of her forehead; and when I probed very gently I found a big tender lump on the side of her head.

While Ellen drank the tea I got her a small ice bag, then took her back in my arms, holding the bag very gently against her lump. By now she was back to herself a bit more, and I started to relax somewhat. I realized that my heart had been pounding with tension for the last hour or so.

"Thank you, Dan. The tea and the blankets are just right. I still can't completely remember—but I must have slipped on the steps and hit my head. God knows how long I was out there. The cab dropped me off just before 5—what time did you get home?"

I realized she'd probably been lying out there a half-hour, in January in Columbus, Ohio! Thank God I hadn't come home late from work!

"Baby, how about if I run you a hot bath? You're not shivering so much any more, but I'm sure you're still chilled."

She nodded, smiling and saying, "thank you for being so sweet, Dan. I really missed you, you know! I had a wonderful visit with Diane and her family, but I wanted to be back here with you."

When I had the bath ready I got Ellen out of the blankets, then carefully undressed her. I had her down to her underwear, and was frankly enjoying the view—then I took off her socks. To my horror her right ankle was purple and hugely swollen. It had to be badly sprained, unless it was actually broken. Not wanting to let Ellen put weight on it, I carried her straight to the tub and gently lowered her into the water, making sure she used her good leg to guide herself. I kept her right leg propped on the side of the tub, out of the water.

She sighed happily as she settled into the tub. "God, that feels good, Dan! Thank you."

"How bad does the ankle hurt? Can you move your foot at all?"

She rotated it slowly, grimacing. "It hurts a lot, but it's not broken. Everything seems to work, and I can still move my toes."

I went for another ice pack. When I returned I strapped it to her ankle with an Ace bandage, then got the smaller ice pack for her head. "There you are—any other broken or bruised spots for me to put ice on?"

She laughed and said, "no, that's all of them, I think! Except that my ego is a bit bruised. I'm not such an old woman that I can't walk up my own front steps!"

While Ellen relaxed in the tub I called our doctor and described both of Ellen's injuries. After getting my assurances that she was awake and completely lucid, he said that it was unlikely she had a concussion. He agreed that the ankle sounded like nothing more than a sprain, and that I could bring her in the next morning. He reminded me of what I already knew: ice, elevation, and ibuprofen.

I put together a salad with some cut-up chicken, made some soup, and brought the food up to our bedroom. By then Ellen was ready to get out of the bathtub—her chill was long gone. I made her sit on the toilet seat while I dried her feet and legs, and then she stood on her good leg, her arm on my shoulder, while I dried the rest of her.

"You're getting my attention with all that nice rubbing, Dan," she said with a grin. I smiled back and continued with my pleasant task. Somehow taking care of her this way, knowing that she needed me, reawakened some of my desire for her. This was the longest I'd seen her naked in months, since before she had sex with Chris. And her body was absolutely beautiful, rounded and voluptuous. She sighed as I dried her breasts, and I had to restrain myself from dropping the towel and just fondling them.

I carried Ellen back to bed, helped her into a nightgown, propped her up against some pillows, then replaced her two ice-packs and put a tray of food in front of her. As we sat and ate together she told me about Diane and her husband, and what their kids were up to. I filled her in on the latest minor disasters at work, and we talked about the new Chair of the Economics Department, who thank heavens seemed to understand that my budget requests were for needed technology, not for me to redecorate my office with.

When we'd finished eating Ellen looked a bit sleepy, so I cleared the dishes and turned out the lights. "I'm sorry, baby," she said. "I want to stay up and be with you, but I'm just fading out!"

"That's all right, honey—you've had a nasty fall, you were outside for a while, and I'm sure your body needs the rest. I'll see you in the morning," I said as I headed for the door.

"Dan?" she called after me, sounding anxious. "You're not going to sleep somewhere else tonight, are you?"

Actually I had planned to sleep in the guest room, so I wouldn't roll over onto her bad ankle by mistake. But I could hear the concern in her voice, and I said, "no, honey, I'll come back in after a while, and I'll be here all night." I went back and gave her a gentle kiss, then tucked the covers around her and left the room.

As I cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher, I wondered what was happening to me. At first of course I'd been very worried about Ellen. But once I was confident that she was OK, with nothing worse than a sprained ankle, I found taking care of her quite erotic.

Not just seeing her nude, and drying her after the bath—there was something else, something that must have had to do with her vulnerability. I knew that she needed me; and caring for her felt not only nice, but sexy. When I climbed into bed that night I had to restrain myself from reaching for her.

Dr. Westcott gave Ellen a thorough examination the next morning, after which he told us she had not only a sprained ankle but a mild concussion. "Lots of bed rest, ice and elevate the ankle, ibuprofen every 5-6 hours, no driving, no weight on the foot for at least three days, no alcohol," he said briskly. "And call me if there are any problems. OK?"

He lent us a pair of crutches, which I stowed in the car, but I carried Ellen from the office to the car and then from the car back into our bed. Our two hours out of the house had exhausted her and she slept virtually the rest of the day, waking up only for some spaghetti at dinnertime.

For the rest of the weekend I was a male nurse, or at least a home-health aide. I made all of Ellen's meals, helped her to the bathroom or into the shower, and kept the ice-packs and ibuprofen coming. Mostly, I liked it. I liked being useful and taking care of her, and I enjoyed our time together. As her concussion faded and she was more herself, we had hours together to talk and laugh, as we had done for so many years.

There was only one part I didn't like. I was touching Ellen a lot, and also seeing her naked a lot, and it was making me very aroused. This was new—I hadn't had much sexual desire since I first heard about Ellen and Chris. I hadn't even been masturbating—I just didn't have sexual feelings. But now they were back with a vengeance, and for some reason this made me angry.

By Monday Ellen was well enough to go back to work, though I had to drive her each way and help her in and out of the car. With the crutches, though, she could get around pretty well.

At my Tuesday session with Arthur I told him about her accident, and about my caring for her all weekend. Then I spoke about how aroused I was feeling, and how angry that made me. When I glanced at him he had a half-smile on his face, which for Arthur is like a belly-laugh from anyone else.

"What?" I asked, a little peeved. "Is it so risible that seeing my wife naked, and holding her in my arms, turned me on?"

"No, Dan, it's not," he replied calmly. "It's actually great news. But I can't help being a little amused that your response to those feelings is anger rather than pleasure."

I thought about it for a minute, and then I had to laugh myself. "I guess I see what you mean."

He asked me why I thought that I felt anger, and it stumped me a little.

"I guess it makes me feel vulnerable. Until now I haven't had any desire to make love to Ellen, and that made me feel in control. As though it were important to be able to resist her; as though wanting sex meant I was giving in somehow."

He nodded. "Giving in to what, do you think?"

"I guess, letting go of my hurt pride. Every day I don't have sex with Ellen, it's like I'm saying to her, 'See how hurt I still am? See what you've done to me?'

"Now that I put it that way, it actually seems pretty dumb. Cutting off my nose to spite my face."

He just sat, letting me think some more.

"And the other thing," I finally went on, "is that I still don't trust anything she might do sexually. I'm afraid she'll fake it—she'll act excited and eager with me, just out of a desire to make me feel better and stroke my ego. And the thought of her doing that just infuriates me! It makes me want to become a monk, and never touch her again."

After a long minute, Arthur said, "well, there are many possible reasons to have sex, Dan. It's OK to have sex simply for your own pleasure, to satisfy your own desires—as long as you don't force Ellen to do something she doesn't want to do. There's no reason you have to see love-making as a test, where you get a grade from Ellen as to how much she desires you or how much you please her."

We talked about it some more, and I found Arthur's words staying with me as I left his office and drove to pick Ellen up at work. She could see right away that I was a little pre-occupied, and we didn't talk much on the drive home.

When I carried her into the house she probably expected we'd head to the kitchen and start dinner. Instead I went straight to the bedroom, where I stood her up gently next to the bed, took her in my arms, and kissed her deeply. It was the longest kiss we'd had in more than three months.

"Ellen, I want to make love right now. OK?"

She smiled broadly. "Oh, sweetie, I . . ."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "I don't want to talk, I just want to do it. I won't hurt you or anything, but this is for me. All right?"

Her smile faded to an uncertain look, but she nodded. I quickly turned up the heat in the bedroom to a cozy 78º, threw off my clothes, then undressed Ellen. I touched and stroked her as I took off each item, and she stood passively, letting me enjoy the feel of her.

By the time she was naked and I'd laid her on the bed I was very aroused. I was angry, too—still resenting my desire for her—but I decided I needed to ignore it. I pulled her tightly to me and kissed her deeply, sending my tongue into her mouth. She responded to me and we lay pressed together, my hands sliding all over her.

I couldn't get enough of her body—it was like I'd never seen her or touched her before. I touched her arms and shoulders, her sides, the cheeks of her ass, then I gently pushed her down on her back and devoted myself to her breasts. I stroked and caressed them, ran my palms across her nipples over and over, then took them in my mouth one at a time and sucked on them.

Ellen lay back quietly, understanding that I wanted her to be passive, but her breathing told me that she was getting aroused too. As I focused on her breasts with my lips and tongue I sent one hand sliding down into her pubic hair, and stroked all around her mound and the tops of her thighs. She was already moist, and she got wetter as I gently caressed her lips.

In a few minutes I had two fingers inside her and my thumb caressing her clitoris, and she was rolling her hips in response to my caresses. My mouth returned to hers for another deep kiss, and then back to her breasts again. I had her thigh between mine, and was pressing my hard cock against her. We were both moaning a little bit.

I could tell that she was near an orgasm, but I suddenly didn't care to wait. I rolled on top of her and she instantly pulled her knees wide to welcome me. She reached for my cock but I used my own hand to guide the tip into her wet pussy. As soon as I was aimed right, I smoothly but forcefully slid all the way inside her, bottoming out with enormous pleasure.

My cock was as hard as I could ever remember, and I reveled in the heat of her around me. I lay still for a minute, clutching her tight in my arms, kissing and nibbling at her neck. Ellen was still being passive, taking the lead from me, but her arms slid up and down my back caressingly.

My mind was torn between excitement and anger. It was full of thoughts of Chris Doebe—how he'd been on this bed, inside of Ellen just like this, a couple of months before. But that didn't make me lose my erection—sort of the opposite: it made me angry and more determined to take my own pleasure: something like "fuck you, Chris, and fuck you Ellen—now it's MY turn!"

Once I started moving inside her I didn't want to stop. I tried to keep my thrusts long and smooth, but before long I was speeding up, pounding into her forcefully, lost in the pleasure of her hot sheath around my cock. I knew she was moving with me, humping her hips up at me, but I didn't pay much attention. I pistoned in and out, faster and faster, feeling my climax racing towards me. As it arrived I grabbed her hips and plunged into her hard several times, grinding myself against her tightly as the pleasure poured over me, crying out, hearing Ellen's moans distantly in my ears.

All the energy and tension drained out of me. I didn't want to crush Ellen, so I held her tight and rolled us over on our sides. I kept her head pressed against my shoulder, and felt her warm body all along mine, and listened to our breathing as it gradually slowed.

I still didn't want her to speak, but after a few minutes she lifted her head and smiled at me, her eyes shining. "Baby, that was so . . ." she began.

"No!" I cried, suddenly angry. "I don't care how it was for you! This wasn't about you, it was about me! You're my wife and I get to fuck you! I know I can't do to you what Chris did, and I don't care---I'm the one you married and I'm the only one you get to fuck!"

I started to pull away from her and get off the bed but she held me tightly. Then suddenly I was sobbing, holding her, my head on her shoulder, crying like an infant. And Ellen just held me, saying "shh," and "it's okay, baby", quietly, waiting for me to calm down.

Finally my tears stopped, and I lay back on the bed, exhausted. I felt too embarrassed to look at Ellen, but she just lay on her side, pressed against me, her head on my chest. After a long time I sat up and looked at her. To my surprise her face was stained with her tears.

"Sorry," I said. "I don't know what . . ."

"Shh," she interrupted me, putting her fingers to my lips. "You don't have to say anything else. You're right: I'm your wife and only you get to fuck me." She smiled. "There's nothing else to say."

Half an hour later, we were down in the kitchen in our bathrobes, making dinner together. We didn't speak much, but I noticed that both of us were smiling, and we kept giving one another little touches as we passed by each other—a pat on the cheek, or sliding a hand along an arm.

We had soup and roast-beef sandwiches, and Ellen held my hand almost the whole time we were eating. We made some tea and had a piece of cake, talking idly about work and the kids. When we were finished Ellen took my hand and looked at me seriously, but with a smile, and pulled me towards the stairs. "Please?" she said.

It lasted longer this time, and it was even better than before dinner. Ellen knew that I didn't want us to talk, but we both caressed and pleasured one other. I pulled her into one of my favorite positions, on her hands and knees over me while I lay on my back, my head beneath her beautiful dangling breasts. I kissed and sucked one while caressing the other with my hands, switching back and forth. All this time she was gently stroking my cock, sliding her hands down between my thighs and stroking my balls, then coming back to my cock. I felt enormous and hard as a rock.

Then she pulled her breasts away from my lips and slid down further to take me in her mouth. I lay back and let her work on me. Because we'd had sex earlier I could revel in the pleasure without worrying about coming too soon, and she teased and excited me for a long time, using her hands as well as her mouth.

When I realized I wanted to come in her pussy, not her mouth, I pulled away. She looked up at me, excitement obvious in her face, and I grabbed her and kissed her deeply, pushing my tongue in her mouth, pulling her mound against my erection.

Then I turned her away from me, on her side, and got in position behind her. I love rear-entry, feeling the way her muscles clutch at me from that position. I lifted her leg and she took my cock and guided it into her. My dick felt like a steel pipe, and I flexed it a couple of times inside her.

Without thrusting at all, just staying plugged tightly inside Ellen, I reached around and began to caress her. My left hand glided back and forth across her nipples, while I used my right to stroke her clit and her pussy lips as they stretched around my cock. I wanted to make her come while I was buried inside her. I worked on her steadily, enjoying her faster breathing and her quiet moans.

Soon her body began to tremble, and then her hips started jerking back and forth as she got closer and closer. Without changing the speed of my caresses I made my touch lighter and more delicate, and her groaning "ohh"s got more intense. I kept it steady, loving the feel of her body moving against me, and then she cried out and jerked violently back and forth. I didn't let up, just kept stroking, and her orgasm seemed to go on and on, for almost a minute.