The First Ninety Days Ch. 11

And it was everything she could ask for from sex too. She never felt controlled here; actually, that wasn't true—she did, a little bit; and that was part of the thrill. She felt owned this way; she felt possessed this way. She was a woman, serving her husband's pleasure, being taken by him as only a husband could; she was his solace and his joy. It was who she was meant to be. It was what she was meant to be. If she must be reduced to a set of animal or evolutionary influences (as Jon believed, in his peculiarly post-religious way, was an appropriate mindset), then let her be this: the woman supporting her man, her hips tilted up to receive him, her arms binding her to him, her whole body pressing up to him as he grunted and pushed and flexed over her, drawing himself slowly in and out of her as she threw her head back in glory. This was where she belonged. This was where she was meant to be. Her entire life had called her to be here, to this place, to this point, under this man. Here she was made. Here she felt dominated. Here she felt whole.

She drew her legs up, drew them even further, linking them across the small of his back; suddenly she felt him deeper inside her, and gasped with the pleasure of this new intrusion. She was so glad the condoms were over; she could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it slid in and out of her. His muscles were hard against her chest, his breath hard against her neck; she ran her fingers through his hair, across his shoulders and back. She was arching up to meet his every thrust, pressing her clit against him so that they gasped together at every thrust; she could smell the tang of her own fluids, of his sweat and hers.

"Baby..." he whispered. It was a throaty word, tinged with lust; the sound of it set her tingling. "Baby... I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna—"

"Come inside me," she breathed. "Make me your woman. Show me." She let her legs fall, tightened her arms around him so that his head was beside hers, folded into the cushion of her hair, his body flexing against hers. She grasped his buttocks with her hands, urging him on. "Oh, Jon, come inside me, make me—"

He thrust one more time and gave a great gasp and a throttled moan, and she felt the muscles in his ass flexing; and then she wrapped her arms around him as she felt the push, the burst, the flood, the great white splash of his cum deep inside her, hotness coating her inner walls, splashing up against the underside of her womb. She kissed his ear and ran her nails over his back as he twitched a few more times, his body expelling its last reserves; and then it was over.

She had not come. She didn't care. To her, serving his pleasure was so much better.It's the fundamental difference between us. Jon tries—and oftentimes he even succeeds—but he's a taker, and I'm a giver. Sometimes it causes us problems; but in bed, it makes everything perfect. Because when we're in bed, I don't want to be anything but the woman who gives him his pleasure; I don't want to be anything but the body that makes him come inside her. ...It's almost embarrassing, how much I want his cum. But it works. And he loves it too.

She was startled to feel tears in her eyes; startled at how happy she was.How lucky I am. That I found this man, this wonderful perfect man... The one who turns me into... Well, not a slut, I think. I have a few layers of dignity between myself and that. But someone who loves sex. And it's okay for that to be, even though it's dirty, because he makes the dirtiness good. Together, here—him inside me, my body cradling his—we're perfect.

"Jon?" she whispered.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, baby. I love you too."

It was difficult to get herself to move, especially with Jon lying full-out on top of her; maybe another woman would have found him heavy, but to her he was just right. But with a little bit of cajoling she got him on his feet before she went to take a shower and coax as much of his cum out of her as she could. She hated to; if she could, she'd leave his spend inside her for as long as possible; but by now she had personal experience with the fact that he would leak out of her before too long, and she had classes today. The last thing she needed was for some passing scoundrel to catch the scent of semen—it was very distinctive; you could not mistake it for anything else, once you knew what it was—and make some joke about it. Panties would soak it up, but they could not fight gravity.

When she emerged, she found Jon waiting for her. He was dressed nicely, in the same business-casuals he had worn to Polkiss-Leyton, and there was a quizzical look on his face. "First thing I do once I get in is thank Dr. Chandakar," he said.

"Oh?" said Caitlyn.

"Yes." He drew her to him. "Now I get to wake up like thatevery day."

She laughed. "Thank him for me too. I think we'd better not do it quite as... Vigorously...Every morning, but it was definitely a great way to start the week."

"You didn't come, did you?"

"No."

He frowned. "Caitlyn, you gotta tell me these things. I know that, sometimes, in the moment, I get... Preoccupied with my own pleasure, but, you stop me if that happens, hon. Hold me back and say, 'Wait for me, Jon,' and I'll make sure you—"

"Shh." She put a finger across his lips. "Stop, you silly man. I love it when you come inside of me. I love feeling it happen, I love watching your face, I love knowing that I did it, that I can pleasure you so well... If I were cumming too, I wouldn't get to do any of that. So I'm fine the way it is."

"But..." His face was wrinkled in confusion. "You didn't come."

She smiled.And yet another example of that fundamental difference. Does he understand? Does he even realize? "Baby, when you make me come, how do you feel? Happy? Proud of yourself? Pleased that I'm experiencing such pleasure?"

He smiled. "That's it, more or less."

"Well... Imagine feeling that, but knowing you had done it with your body. With the part of you that wasmeant to do that to me. Not your hand or your mouth, which is good too, but... You know.The organ. Your penis."

He considered.

"Wouldn't it be that, and then some?"

"You know, come to think of it... I don't think I've ever managed to make you come during actual penetration. ...Or, if I have, I was coming too and, as you correctly identified, was kind of distraced at the time." His eyebrows quirked. "I'll have to work on that next time." He smiled down at her. "But, baby, it's okay for you to enjoy yourself too. You don't always have to be the giver. You can take pleasure too."

She beamed, and leaned up to kiss him.Just when I think he's run out of ways to surprise me...

9:35 was her composition seminar, and in spite of its upper-division nature there were a number of underclassmen in it, in addition to the age-scattered clutch of graduate students. The professor, Dr. Kleimann, was new to her but seemed competent enough, and had authored several compositions which the orchestra had played; the students, as she'd mentioned to Jon, were more of a mixed bag.

Barely had she gotten settled in her seat when one of those kids came in. His name was Wesley Bannen and he seemed to have a high opinion of his attractiveness to women. To be sure, he was extremely handsome, with bronzed skin, perfectly-coifed golden hair and a boyish charm that reminded her of Max Lapinski; he was shorter than Jon but more muscular, and wore both his height and breadth well. Today he had dressed in a polo shirt (in January!) and clean slacks; she wasn't sure if he dressed up for school, or just as a matter of habit, because the fact of the matter was that his clothes, too, made him look good. In short, he was an impressive package. But he seemed to expect that this would win the hearts of any woman he laid his eyes on; evidently, the standard procedure was for him to sit next to the girl, give her his good looks, flash her a winning smile, and then move on to the humping-like-bunnies part of the program. Certainly he'd seemed surprised when the first three steps didn't work on her.

To be fair, he was certainly a fine specimen of manhood; had there not been a husband in her life, she would've been flattered, maybe even flustered. But ever since that fateful day when she'd played at the Chamberses' wedding, there were two categories of men in the world: Jon, and Everyone Else. And, no matter how shiny their smile or how luminant their skin or how charming their cologne, Everyone Else seemed to fall dreadfully short in comparison.

"Hey there, Caitlyn; how was your weekend?" said Wes. He slung his bookbag and then his person into a desk with a careless ease that made her jealous.

"It was pretty good," she said, smiling. It really was flattering to have him posture like that; she had enough confidence in her position now that she could enjoy his charm without falling for it.Just another example of how Jon has been good for me. "I had dinner with my family on Friday, and then with my husband's family on Saturday."

He knew, of course; she had mentioned it last Wednesday, during the first meeting of the class. "Husband? Sweetie-pie, you'refar too young to be saddled down like that. Ditch that old oaf!, have some fun!, sow your wild oats!"

"With you?" she said, amused.

"Well, sure, if you wanted," he said with another dose of that easy charm. He made the whole thing look so effortless. "I'm sure I could show you something new." Such a change from the shy, almost inaudible words she'd first shared with Jon, there under her parents' noses as Brandon and Meredith's wedding. And yet the difference was important. From Jon, she knew, the words had come from the heart. Wes could lie to the devil and look good doing it.

Her daring rose and she gave him a wicked grin: "What, like a tiny penis?"

To his credit, he didn't even flinch. "So what if it is? As the whore said to the bashful sailor, 'It ain't how much you got, son, it's all in how you use it.'" There was laughter from few classmates who had straggled in and were trying (without success) to look like they weren't listening. "And baby, believe me: Iknow how to use what I got."

Again, it was the comparison that did it. In Wes' mouth, 'baby' was a throwaway term, just another pronoun to be switched out interchangeably. (She wondered how many he had.) From Jon it took on a whole new dimension: layers of tenderness and intimacy and the deep knowledge of their long association. It was an encapsulation of his love for her. He would never just throw it away.

"Wes," she said, smiling. "You're cute, and you're a lot of fun. But I'm afraid I'm just a one-man kind of girl." She showed him her claddagh ring; though he had not proposed to her with it, she wore it on her left hand now, with the heart facing towards her, as befitted a married woman. "Last April I lost a ring that looked just like this: a claddagh ring, but with the band in a Celtic-knot design. I had bought it when I was eleven, and I'm glad I did because I've never seen this particular design for sale anywhere else. And then... I lost it. And I feltterrible."

"Then... Where'd that come from?" Wes said.

"Well," said Caitlyn. "A certain boyfriend of mine asked me for the details, and then went out on the Internet to find something similar. He said it took him about an hour of various searches and sorting through the results. And then he had to drive north for an hour just to pick it up. So he did all that, and then, one night, when we were out to dinner... Well, he came through for me."

"Wow," said Wes, seemingly impressed. "That's pretty cool."

"And he said one thing which I always keep in mind," she said. She indicated the heart on the claddagh ring. Above it was the crown for loyalty, and the hands for friendship; but this heart meant more than just love. "He said, 'Be careful with that heart. It's mine.' "

The classmates, who were definitely listening now, gave a chorus of appreciative "Awww"s.

"So, I'm sorry, Wes," she said, "but I'm taken. I'm a happily-married woman. And if it makes you feel better, it's not you; it's that there isn'tanyone who could take me away from him."

"Well, that's too bad," said Wes. "A girl with class—I like that. But my loss is your husband's gain. Is it okay if I still sit next to you?"

She returned his grin. "Only if you promise to tone down the extravagant flirting."

During the fifteen-minute passing period between this class and her next (Music Research, a class concerned solely with the writing of scholarly papers and the official formatting of said publications), she called her husband; unsurprisingly, she got his voicemail. He was probably busy, it being his first day on the job and all, and she hoped she hadn't disturbed anything by calling him. He didn't call back until 12:35, which told her he had remembered her schedule: she was walking back to their apartment, having just got out of the class.

"Hey!"

"Hi, baby. How's school?"

"Oh, you know. The same."

"Any hot boys trying to lure you away from me?"

She laughed. "Actually, just one. I got him shut down in a hurry."

"Too skeevy for you?"

"Actually, no, he was kinda cute."

"...Oh..."

His hesitation was almost palpable, but she let her smile carry through the phone and said, "But what doyou feel when you see a nice-looking lady walk by?"

"Umm... Well, I'd tell you, but I don't think I'm supposed to admit to mywife that I notice other women."

She laughed. "Jon, I know you're only human. Of course you notice. But...?"

"But... Well... I mean, you know. They are attractive, right? And I look at them and think, 'Well, gosh, if I weren't spoken for, I might want to look into that. But I am, and happy to be, so...'"

"And now you know why I don't feel uncomfortable about telling you there's a cute guy in my class. Because I too am spoken for, and happily so. As I told him."

There was a short silence, and then Jon's voice, quieter. "Caitlyn?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too, baby. How's the new job going?"

"Oh, well... It's... Well, it's pretty busy. I'm on lunch break right now, but I've been shadowing this guy, Roberto? Basically, I just follow him around and watch what he does, and get to try it out every now and then. They tell me there's supposed to be a class—we're actually supposed to be, you know, sitting around and taking notes—but they're shorthanded today so all us trainees just got thrown into the practical training instead. It's been interesting."

"Any cute girls there?" She wanted to picture the situation as best she could.

"Well... There's one. Her name's June. But... She's not really my type."

"Oh?"

"She's not you."

She felt a wash of love and affection. "I love you too, Jon."

"Look, Caitlyn, I... I'm sorry I was so distant last week."

"Were you?" she said in genuine consternation. "Honestly, we were so busy that I didn't even notice."

"Well, that was... Part of the distance. It's just... Caitlyn, I've always known that one day it might come down to a time where your parents stand in front of you and demand you abandon me for them. And, it's... God. I mean, you've chosen me. You've chosen me again and again. There's no reason for me to be nervous about what you want orwho you want. But, I... Especially now that they're back. I just keep thinking..."

"It's okay," she said. "Jon, it's okay. I'm not perfect either. I have insecurities too. And that's why I told you, and that's why Ishow you with my heart and soul and body and voice and everything, that I love you, and that I would never...Never... Choose them over you." She was glad she had gotten back to the apartment; she had no interest in letting people see her choke up over a phone call. "I want them to be a part of my life, I want them to meet their grandchildren whenever we have them, and be able to show them my room at home that I decorated and... I want them to be in my life—butonly if they're willing to accept thatyou are a part of it too, and that they can't change that."

"You've said that before," he said.

Even if he hadn't meant it as a criticism, she took it as one. "I know." She sighed and leaned back against the closed front door. "I haven't always been... The most supportive of your presence in my life. But, Jonathan... I'm still here." She held her breath. There was nothing else she could say, no other truth she could offer.

She heard him sigh. "You are. And, you know... I think I don't give you nearly enough credit for that."

There was a short silence.

"So, this cute guy of yours... Did he notice what we were up to this morning?"

"Umm... How would he have noticed that?"

"Well... He might've smelled it."

"Jon, I washed off in the shower this morning. I'm not going let that smell linger when I'm going toschool."

"I know, I was just teasing."

"No matter how much I'dlike to."

"Wunhh??"

"Jon, don't act so surprised. I don't mind..." What was the right way to put this? "...being marked by you. I don't mind the world knowing that we're married, that you have primacy over me. Why do you think I wear your wedding ring?" Or the engagement ring with its fantastically-colored diamond, or the claddagh ring he had bought her to replace the old one. "It's okay with me if people know I belong to you. Ilike people knowing it. It's just that... people knowing it throughthat particular way... might not be... Politic."

"Hmm. ...You know, I didn't realize you had that kind of... I dunno, that kind of submissive streak in you."

"A what??"

"A... Well, I mean, you're your own woman; you're very dedicated and determined. But... You kind of like the idea of, I dunno... Being marked, as you said. Of being... What, of being mastered."

Come to think of it... "You know, I think you have a point."

She heard his smile. "Might be something to look into."

She made herself a sandwich lunch while contemplating the list of homework assignments already handed to her and the constant demand of her instrument lessons, not to mention the general housekeeping chores that seemed to be in perpetual bloom. Groceries were taken care of, as Jon had promised to get them on his way home and he almost never forgot his assignments, but there would be laundry soon (if there wasn't enough already), and the dishes would pile up the way they always did. She had never been both a full-time student and a full-time housewife before (if you could call it that, since they lived in an apartment and didn't have kids; if you could call it that, since political correctness decreed the use of unwieldy and highly-oversyllabic terms like "domestic administrator"). She could already see that some duties would have to be reapportioned. She knew Jon wouldn't mind; but she also knew that his standards of cleanliness and timeliness were simply not the same as a woman's. She wondered how far the household would deteriorate.

While she was eating, the phone rang again. Expecting something last-minute from Jon, she was surprised to hear Christa Crane's voice on the other end. "Hey, Caitlyn! I realize it's last-minute and kind of unorthodox, but Zach and I realized that we hadn't seen you since your birthday, and we thought, 'Oh no,that can't be allowed to last!' So, we were wondering if you guys were free tonight. We figure, it's a Monday and there's probably nothing going on..."