The Game Ch. 03byGale82©
The Game – The Second Half
It was weird and I couldn't understand it. In fact, it was absolutely impossible – but the condom just would not come off.
I'd already tried rolling it upwards, but it simply refused to budge. And then, when I grasped the empty teat on the end of it and tried to pull it, the pain that ran down the length of my penis and into my groin was almost unbearable.
This is not supposed to happen, I told myself as I curled my fingers around it, clenched my fist, and tried to jerk it upwards – producing the most severe pain so far! It felt as if my entire groin was burning.
"Come on; Love... what's keeping you?" I heard Jeanie say in her most sensuous and seductive voice, and I turned to look through the opened bathroom door. She was lying, stark naked, on our bed and, no matter how much I'd always adored her, she seemed even more provocative and beguiling than I'd ever seen before. Even as I watched, she turned her head towards me and, with a captivating smile, said;
"Don't be too long, Mark... I'm waiting for you...." And I saw her hand slide slowly downwards, brushing lightly against her small, firm breast before continuing towards the delightful tangle of her blonde pubic hair.
"Jeanie," I whined, "the condom's stuck... it won't come off!"
"Oh, dear!" she answered.
"And I can't get out of the bathroom until I get it off me!" I practically wailed.
"Oh... my poor Love," she soothed, her fingers now sliding back and forth between her legs, "and I really need you... I really do."
Once again I heaved at the latex sheath, inhaling the smell of it that was covering my hands, but there was only more pain and no movement. I wondered if I ought to wash the lubricant from my hands and possibly get a firmer grip.
"Jeanie... I'm just...." I started to say, but she broke in with...
"It's alright, Mark... no need to worry. Greg's here! He'll take care of me."
I whirled around to face the door again and saw that Jeanie was now lying flat on her back with her knees drawn up a little way and her legs wide apart. I couldn't see much of the lower part of her body – just enough to make out that there was someone else there – and I could hear the crude lapping sounds almost drowned beneath her steadily increasing groans of pleasure. I heard her whisper something that sounded like: 'Jeez! You're good at that, Greg! You're really good at that!'
I wanted to scream at her to stop, but my throat was almost completely constricted by pain as I tried to wrench the condom from me. I strained at it with all my strength but all it achieved was to make me fall to my knees on the cold hard floortiles of the bathroom, with tears of pain running freely down my face. I hardly dared to look into the bedroom but, when I finally had no choice but to do so, I could see that Jeanie was on her hands and knees. Once again, it was only the top half of her body that I could see, but there was no doubt, from her movements that someone was behind her - and deep inside her – pounding away with vigorous and unmistakable movements.
I heard her gasps and groans; heard her urging her lover to 'Fuck me!' and to 'cum in me!' and to fill me!' And then it was just the word 'Yes!' being yelled over and over again and I was trying to scream, desperately trying until, at long last, I heard my own voice give out with a howl of "No-ooo!"
It took so much effort that I found myself shaking....
No... I wasn't shaking. I was being shaken.
And when I forced my eyes open I realised that Jeanie was leaning over me, in our bed and saying; "Wake up, Love! You're having a dream... a bad dream. Wake up."
As my eyes opened, reluctantly, I could see the look of obvious concern on her face and, once again, I heard her voice;
"Are you alright, Love?" she said and, instead of accepting it in the intended spirit, I just growled a reply of:
"I'm fine... go back to sleep."
And then I lay very still and kept my breathing at as even a rate as I could for what seemed like ages, until I was reasonably certain that she was sleeping soundly. It was 5:15 when I sneaked out of bed and went off to make my first coffee of the day – it was going to be another long one.
The same dream, with variations, had haunted my sleep for the best part of three months and the stress from loss of sleep was definitely beginning to take its toll on me.
After that fateful weekend, Jeanie left the house early and returned shortly afterwards with a Levonelle morning after pack. Without being aggressive about it, she persuaded me to examine it and to watch as she took it – just so that I could be certain that she had no intention of being pregnant from her one-night stand with Greg. Whether any of that made a real difference is open to question; she'd already told me that her period was due and, the following day, it arrived.
Naturally, I was relieved, and it eased the pressure off me for a little while; but then the realisation that she wanted me to give her the baby she craved began to eat away at me. It wasn't that Jeanie was putting any pressure on me – far from it. In fact, she tried to persuade me to forget all about such things for a few months and just concentrate on getting our relationship sorted out. She was, in fact, just about as loving and as considerate as any wife could be, even though the verbal barbs that I frequently threw at her were unnecessary, unkind and unjustified.
The nightmares began after a couple of weeks or so. They were always about the same thing – about me being unable to fulfil her need for a baby and Greg being ready and waiting in the wings to take over. I began to dread going to sleep at night; never knowing when the fearful dreams would invade my rest. I managed to convince myself – without any real evidence to support it – that a few drinks before bedtime would help to stave them off. Gradually, it began to exact a toll on me.
Although my job was just about as secure as it possibly could be, the fact that I was turning up for work every morning as if I was hungover (which I often was), almost incapable of doing anything useful for the first hour or two, and starting to wind down wearily nearly two hours before going home, was clearly having an impact on those I worked with.
Nor did it help that Mrs Watson, my efficient and conscientious personal assistant, had decided to take early retirement. In her place, I'd been landed with a complete 'bimbo' whose large tits had obviously been the deciding factor in her promotion because, to be honest, she had nothing else going for her. Oh, I'd better qualify that; she did have an encyclopaedic knowledge of soap operas and 'reality' TV programmes!
I was able to cope at work because I was in a position where I could delegate – I'd accumulated an excellent team around me, I knew their strengths and weaknesses – and all but a very small number of tasks could be passed on. Unfortunately, the downside was that I had too much time on my hands for thinking about non-work related matters. I mean, I knew exactly where Jeanie would be at almost any given moment of the day: moving the local museum and reference library to brand new and purpose-built premises was an enormous task. For Jeanie, in particular, it was exhausting because everything had to be examined and re-catalogued with a new computer programme; a programme which, as she often complained, had been selected by people who knew nothing about either computers or the reference library.
Occasionally, on a sunny day, I'd suggest meeting up in the park outside the new building for a sandwich and a coffee and, being Jeanie, she never refused. Even if I said that I was already there, she'd only say, 'give me five minutes' and, sure enough, she'd be there. Was I testing her? Well, I suppose I was in a way – but I never doubted that she'd be there. That wasn't a matter of real concern. What really bothered me, I guess, was the thought that she might still be keeping in touch with Greg.
It isn't that I believed she was but, knowing that she had his number, how could I possibly be sure that she wasn't phoning or texting him?
Ridiculous? Of course it was. There was not the slightest reason to believe that Jeanie had ever been anything other than completely truthful – but facts have never been an adequate antidote for suspicions; which is why I checked through her texts and calls whenever I was able to get hold of her mobile phone without her knowing. And when there was nothing to be found there, did that help me? No... because I couldn't be sure that she hadn't deleted anything she wouldn't want me to see.
I knew I was being paranoid. I knew that I was being a complete dickhead. I just didn't seem to be able to help myself. And in the meantime, my wiseass comments weren't exactly helping things along. I lost count of the number of times I saw her beautiful face change from its natural mischievousness to barely-concealed pain. I knew that she was doing everything within her power to bring us back together – which was what I most wanted – so why the Hell was I apparently doing everything possible to drive a wedge between us?
If you're sitting on top of a powder keg and you can't resist playing with matches... well, you should have a pretty good idea of what's likely to happen.
It was a Friday evening, and quite a special one for Jeanie.
The new reference library had been officially opened by some local dignitary that afternoon and she'd been able to demonstrate how easy the new system was to use. The local newspaper had sent a photographer (who'd actually taken far more pics of Jeanie than he could have possibly used!); the girl reporter (who seemed to think she was a cross between Lois Lane and Nancy Drew) managed to ask a lot of carefully-prepared questions, to which Jeanie provided equally well-prepared answers.
I'd taken the afternoon off work to be with her for the ceremony, and I think she was grateful for my presence. Certainly, when one of the town councillors leaned in towards her to ask a really dumb question about the system – and managed to let his hand slip down from the small of her back to her ass while she was answering – it was a lot of fun to watch the way she casually straightened up, stepped back a fraction, and placed the very narrow heel of her shoe firmly on the man's toes. It was a long time since I'd watched her deal with unwanted attentions and, I have to admit, she was still pretty damned good at it! Even the apology for her clumsiness was really close to convincing.
Once the press disappeared, of course, the dignitaries soon followed. Most of them were content at having had a glass (or two) of cheap white wine and a sandwich, along with the opportunity to be seen in the pages of the local paper – if the photographer had taken any other pictures than the ones of my Jeanie, that is!
We were standing together as they all finally left – desperately trying to keep our faces straight as the gallant councillor hobbled down the steps of the new building and almost stumbled into the small fountain.
"Phew! Thank God that's over!" Jeanie sighed. "Months of work... by the whole department... and what do we get? We get a mayor who can't pronounce the name of the building properly, an ugly councillor who tries to grab a feel of my ass and a photographer who asks if I'd be interested in earning extra cash for some 'artistic' poses!"
"Mark! Do not even think of going there!" she growled and then, seeing the grin on my face, muttered "You bastard! By the way... did you get any of the sandwiches or...?"
"You must be kidding!" I replied with feeling, "What? Get anywhere near to an open buffet when our town councillors are out in force?"
""That's what I thought!" she said, "That's why there's a tray of them hidden on the top shelf of the Medieval History section. The staff are just getting into them now if you're interested?"
I couldn't help laughing. Without even looking I was certain that the very best of the buffet would be on that tray. "No... I don't think so," I said, "I was thinking more of heading for a movie and a meal somewhere if you fancy it?"
"That sounds good!" she almost purred, "As long I don't have to go home and change...?"
"Perfect! Look... I can't leave early. We've got to tidy everything up and leave the place ready to open properly on Monday. I mean, you can hang around and wait if you like...."
"No... I'd only get in everyone's way," I answered, "I've got a couple of things to do... I'll meet you here in... what... about an hour?"
"Make it an hour and a half," she smiled and then, "Mark? Thanks for being here today. I really do appreciate it, Love."
So I wandered off, wondering how I was going to spend the next 90 minutes (I really didn't have anything to do!) and congratulating myself on having managed to behave myself so surprisingly well!
Many of the shops were closing down for the day as I wandered around the narrow streets near the centre of the town, while those that catered for the evening trade were just opening up. Freed from the boring, repetitive grind of their jobs, young office workers were invading the bars and planning the revels to come over the following two days and nights. Overheard snatches of conversation made it sound as if Clark Kent's transformation to Superman was as nothing compared to the instant conversion of weekday worriers into weekend warriors! There was a sense of optimistic freedom that was invigorating and I realised that, twenty years earlier, I was probably planning and hoping for exactly the same kind of excesses that many of these youngsters were now.
It made me smile, and I wanted to share the mood with Jeanie – but then it occurred to me that she was really part of this young generation; that she had sacrificed this kind of freedom; this fun and the sheer hedonism of youth, in order to spend her life with me. It was her choice, I knew that – but it still gave me a twinge of guilt and my mood had become a good deal more sombre when I returned to meet her at the library.
The movie we chose was (allegedly!) a comedy. It was one of those that are filled with contrived situations, poor dialogue, extraordinary facial expressions, and a lot of special effects. It passed the time.
I think we were both glad when it was over, to be honest – although Jeanie did laugh a few times at things I just didn't get. It was dark by the time we came out and there was a very cool breeze that made both of us regret not having brought coats with us. I drove us, however, to a small Chinese restaurant that we'd been to a couple of times before, although not for quite some time.
Remember what I said about a powder keg? Well, we'd finally reached it – and I was the one with the matches. I was still feeling uncomfortable about my 'guilt-trip' over Jeanie's youth (no matter how ridiculous that may have been), I was disappointed with the movie (as well as concerned about jokes that only one of us 'got' – a generational thing, perhaps?) and then we had to wait the best part of half an hour for a table. But the really big mistake came, quite innocently, with what we ordered.
Until the first course arrived our conversation had been okay, if not exactly sparkling but, as it was a chilly night, we'd both decided to begin with the cream of tomato soup.
As ever, it arrived with a thick swirl of fresh, white cream across the surface and, without even pausing to engage my brain to any degree whatsoever, I stared at it, looked at Jeanie, then looked down at the bowl again, and said:
"Oh... that reminds me. Heard anything from Greg lately?"
There was a silence. It was almost as if the silence permeated the entire restaurant, even though that wasn't possible. I realised what I'd said and wished that I'd been able to keep my big, stupid mouth shut – but I hadn't! I didn't even have the courage to look up at Jeanie. I wanted to tell her that it was a stupid, cheap shot – that it was pathetic, it was cowardly, it was totally unnecessary and it was very cold and wet...? Errm... no! Actually, it was me who was extremely cold and wet and it took me a moment or two to realise that it was because Jeanie had risen to her feet, lifted the jug of iced water and poured it all over me!
By the time I regained my wits and realised what was happening (everyone in the restaurant was, of course, silently staring at me!), Jeanie was already half way out the door!
I chucked a fifty on the table as I gave the most profuse, yet vague, apologies imaginable. And then I squelched across the carpet – with heaven only knows how many people watching me - in pursuit of my wife.
I couldn't see her when I first stepped out into the carpark but, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realised that she was leaning – arms folded aggressively – against the passenger door of my car.
"For God's sake... open it!" she said as I approached, "its bloody freezing!"
I pressed the remote locking device, barely registering the fact that she was complaining about being cold when I was the one who'd just had iced water thrown over me!
"Jeanie... I was...."
"Just take us home, Mark," she said wearily as she slumped into the car, "just take us home."
It was one of those times when I wished I'd taken up the option of leather for the car's interior because, as soon as I got behind the wheel, I could feel the water trickling down from every direction towards the place where I sat. As soon as I started the engine I had to switch on the air-con because the windows started to mist up right away – and I couldn't tell whether Jeanie was suppressing a sneeze or a giggle. And then, when I pulled into our driveway some twenty minutes later, she was out of the car and unlocking the front door almost before I'd turned the engine off. I heard doors slam and saw lights go on and off and, in all honesty, I thought I was in for a very unpleasant evening.
If you're sitting on top of a powder keg and you can't resist playing with matches, I thought... well, you should keep an eye out for anyone with jugs of water! I was shivering when I went into the hallway and Jeanie was waiting for me. Without a word, she handed me a large, warm towel then turned and headed for the living room. Almost as an afterthought, she called out, "You need a shower. There's a clean pair of pyjamas on the radiator in the bathroom."
A little while later, feeling both contrite and stupid, I returned to the living room, fully expecting to receive both barrels of a fierce rebuke. But Jeanie just looked at me – rather pityingly, to be honest – and said; "Well... how do you feel now?"
"Hungry," I replied, without even thinking, and I saw the twitch of her lips that showed she was trying not to smile at the entirely truthful response.
She gave a deep sigh of resignation and told me: "Okay... we can probably cobble together a salad from what we've got in the fridge. But I'm telling you, Mark... after that, we've got to have a serious talk; a real one... no holding back... okay?"
"Errm... yeah, I guess so," I replied with such an obvious lack of enthusiasm that she could tell I was likely to push the more important things to one side if I got the chance.
"I mean it, Love!" she said fiercely, "I can't go on like this... we can't! I don't even know how you feel about me any more... I don't know if you want me with you or...."
"Of course I do!" I almost shouted and then, when my raised voice caused her silence, added; "Except...."
"Except?" she echoed, and I swear that her face visibly paled, "Except?" she repeated.
"Except when you've got a jug of fucking cold water in your hands!" I told her.
There was a long silence while I waited to see whether or not I'd completely misjudged the moment - after all, my stupid mouth had already caused enough trouble for one night – but I saw the slow smile begin to spread across her face and knew it would be alright. This time. For the moment.