The Irrelevant Woman

Just watching them was a treat. She couldn't believe Jimmy. Not even nineteen and already he knew more about pleasing a woman than Hobart ever would.

Annabelle had gotten hold of herself a bit, and gave her lover a smile as wicked as Mary had ever seen. Jimmy's answering grin was just as saucy.

She knelt on the scraggly grass in front of him and began undoing his pants. Mary gasped in shock - she couldn't possibly plan to...

But she did. She pulled the pants and briefs down and unhesitatingly took his length into her mouth. And 'length' was the right term - he had Hobart beat there, too.

Annabelle must have done this before. Several times. She seemed to have a pretty good idea how to please a man. Her tongue stayed active, and Mary just couldn't imagine where it all went when the girl took his entire... thing into her mouth. Did they really mean 'deep throat' literally?

"Oh, fuck yeah..." Jimmy said, low and intense, as Annabelle pulled her face back slightly. Her lips were pursed around just the last inch or two of him; her jaw worked, just slightly, her tongue clearly moving in there, all over his tip.

"Fuck! Fuck! Here it comes!" Jimmy exclaimed. He put one hand out to grab a strut. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath.

"Uh, uh, uh!" he groaned, and his hips pushed forward a little. Annabelle moaned around his... his cock.

Mary was in shock. Hobart had forced her to try sucking him a handful of times, but she'd never managed to get him to finish. And if she had, she'd never have swallowed it! Yet Annabelle seemed almost proud!

They kissed afterward. Hobart sure hadn't wanted to do that right after she'd had him in her mouth, but Jimmy didn't seem to care. They canoodled for a bit longer, then Annabelle said, "We gotta get back. My mom's gonna worry. "

Jimmy gave her one last lingering kiss, and they got their clothes decent and walked off again, hand-in-hand.

She followed them to end of the bleachers and watched them shrink into the distance. She hadn't imagined this night could get any stranger, but it had.

She wished she'd masturbated during the show. Why hadn't she? It wasn't like they'd have noticed...

She woke to the sound of a door slamming closed. She blinked awake, confused, wondering where she was.

The morning sunlight was filtered through closed curtains, but it was enough to jog her memory. She'd come home after midnight, found Hobart still watching TV. And still ignoring her. With relief, she'd gone off to sleep in the spare bedroom.

She got out of bed and padded to the door. Carefully, she pulled it open, peeked down the hall and saw Hobart's back, walking away.

He picked up the phone handset, laying unhooked on the table. "Nah, the sheets are all rumpled but she ain't here. She must've come in and left, all when I was sleeping." He listened. "I swear, I never heard a thing. When the hell did she get to be so sneaky?"

Emboldened, she stepped out of the bedroom and came toward him. He didn't turn to look her way.

"When I find out who she's hidin' out with, I'm gonna tear 'em a new one, I swear." He paused. "Maybe. I'll have to ask around." Another silence. "Well, I'll keep lookin'. Let me know if you hear anything."

He hung up the phone, and looked around the room. As she was coming to expect, his gaze never focused on her. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and went into the kitchen. "Gotta fix my own damn breakfast. Damn fool woman, when I..." He trailed off to a mumble.

Whatever was happening... was still happening. She was exiled from the whole human race, even when she was sleeping.

Why wasn't she scared, or sad? Why was she excited?

Mary changed out of her nightgown into a comfortable dress, and made herself some breakfast. She didn't bother to clean it up. While she was brushing her teeth, she got startled by the sound of Hobart hollering.

He charged around the small tract house like a crazy man, screaming bloody murder. "I know you're here, woman! I found your damn dishes! You come out right now, y'hear?!"

He poked his head into the bathroom, looked right past her, and ran off to search elsewhere. She giggled.

The weather was bright and sunny and just a little breezy as she stepped out. Perfect for another walk. She set right off for downtown Cornelia.

As the day wore on, she learned things about her new situation. If she was carrying or wearing something, it was just as undetectable as she was. If she picked up a drink off a table in a restaurant, it would eventually be missed. She could hold it right in front of their faces and they wouldn't recognize it. When she set it back down empty they'd suddenly find it, and wonder what had happened to the contents.

Yet she wasn't exactly invisible, either. As an experiment, she sat at a table outside the diner and deliberately stretched her legs out onto the busy sidewalk. Nobody tripped over her; they walked around instead. They didn't even seem to be aware they were doing anything strange. Very carefully, she stepped out onto Main Street when there were only a few cars coming. She crouched, ready to jump for the sidewalk. But the oncoming Chrysler switched lanes to the center about forty feet away. The driver didn't look at her as he passed by.

People could tell at some level that something was there. It was just that they were somehow prevented from attaching any importance to that fact at all. Nobody could pay attention to her.

She played a few pranks. Martha and Patty-Jo sat talking on a bench in front of the five and dime. Neither woman had ever been willing to even give her the time of day at church. Mary tried to swap their purses, but while they didn't feel her taking them away, they noticed the absence of weight on their shoulders and started looking around frantically. She put them on the ground.

The women immediately saw their bags, and marveled that they could have missed them. Once they'd calmed down and got back to gossiping, Mary experimented again. She could get away with reaching into the purses and rummaging for their wallets. She almost took out the money, but restrained herself. Instead, she put them back, each in the wrong purse. All through it the two chewed the fat, oblivious.

The grade-school classic of tying a man's shoelaces together was good for a laugh. She flipped 'open' signs to 'closed'. Then, in the bookstore, she saw Mr. Prentiss' old fat cat. Although she approached it carefully - the thing was never too friendly - it didn't notice her either. She rubbed it, and it stirred and stretched, but never gave any sign it recognized her presence. In revenge for remembered nips, she pushed it off the counter. The old tabby yowled and landed with a thud. The confusion on its face reminded her so much of Hobart that she almost fell over laughing.

She got bored with the jokes and explored. She could go anywhere now. She wandered past 'Employees Only' signs and snooped.

Mostly she saw boring, cramped spaces. The back areas of the Burger King put her right off fast food. It was kind of disappointing.

Mary wound up sitting on the bleachers again. It was mid-afternoon, and football practice was winding down in front of her. The day was still gorgeous. So were several of the boys playing around on the field.

The coach gathered up the team, gave some speech she couldn't hear, and dismissed them. On impulse, she got up and trailed the team into the locker room. She'd always wondered what it was like in there.

It turned out to be sweaty and smelly and damp. Boys were undressing and heading to the showers. Talking about... pretty much what she'd expected.

She didn't want to 'jump' any of them. Not really. They were cute like... like puppies. Fun to look at, maybe even fantasize about - just imagine if she were a high-school girl again! - but not serious lust objects.

Back when she'd actually been a high-school girl, she hadn't appreciated how good the boys looked. All of them. Young, clean, graceful in a way kids that age didn't recognize. None of them believed they'd one day be old.

She poked her head into the big shower area. Oh, yes - as a girl she'd have given all she owned for a sight like this. She squinted. Goodness, was Hobart that sub-par?

The boys were talking about... boy stuff. Sports and cars and movies. They didn't even talk about girls as much as she'd expected. Then she noticed they started to bring up girlfriends as they got dressed. Which made sense; just imagine if they 'perked up' around other boys!

She gave the biggest of them a playful swat on the behind while he was bent over, tying his sneakers. He stood up and looked around, confused. He gave the boy sitting next to him a careful look before cautiously returning to his laces.

She laughed all the way out of the locker room.

Sunday, Mary went to church.

It was so strange not having to dress up. For anything. What clothes she picked, which shoes went with them, how she did her hair or makeup, jewelry... none of that mattered anymore. Not in the least.

She grabbed a seat right up front, curious to see what would happen. The high muckety-mucks seemed a little confused about why they were walking around to the other side of the pew, but no one attempted to sit on her or move her. It was like the spot she sat on plumb didn't exist.

Once service started, she stood up and wandered about the church as Pastor Collins droned on. You weren't allowed to stare at people, normally. You could glance, sneak peeks, that kind of thing. Frankly and openly staring wasn't polite, though. People would get uncomfortable, even angry.

But she could really study people. And not like from the back of the choir. She could walk up and sit next to them.

Take Mayor Stephens; he was bored. He was facing the altar, but his eyes weren't focused on anything. His wife beside him nodded with the pastor's words, all unknowing.

The teenaged boys kept looking at the girls. And vice versa. She'd seen that before, but she hadn't realized how much of it was going on. Or maybe she just didn't remember.

The second hymn of the service drew her attention. It was one of her favorites, and it was an interesting change to hear it from the audience.

Even in choir, she'd been hiding, she realized. In the chorus, the background, the congregation wasn't supposed to be able to hear anyone's voice in particular. The whole point was to blend in.

Lydia was sighing, watching Pastor Bob speak. Everyone knew she had a crush on him. Mary had overheard once that Lydia might even have tried to get at the preacher one night. She could understand that. She'd had some fantasies about him, too. Dreams he'd come take her away from Hobart. Lots of ladies had a thing for preachers, she knew.

She lost interest after a while. There weren't that many surprises. It was a church service, how could there be?

At home, Hobart was in the front room sitting and watching TV. Just for grins, she almost turned the channel. But she'd never gotten in the habit of watching the tube; Hobart hadn't allowed it. It didn't seem like a habit worth acquiring.

She went into the kitchen and searched around, trying to figure what to make for lunch. Wrappers from a fast-food joint stuck out of the trash; Hobart wasn't good at fending for himself. It wasn't like the fridge was empty. It sported a fresh case of beer, even.

She made some pan-fried chicken. Just enough for one. It was nice to be able to make it way she liked, extra crispy. Hobart always wanted it greasy.

Hobart wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air, as she sat down to eat. He stopped abruptly and stared with amazement at the setting before her on the table. "You gotta be fucking kidding!" he exclaimed.

She grinned hugely as he looked around the kitchen, trying to find her. He'd been drinking in front of the TV, oblivious to her cooking.

He gave up the search. "Well, fuck her. I'll eat it," he said, sounding like a whiny four-year-old with a potty mouth.

He reached for her plate. Startled, she grabbed it up. His hands stopped and a look of astonishment replaced the sullen anger on his face. His eyes darted, trying to find the food she held. Slowly, bewildered, he stood up straight. Then he bent over to look under the table.

She set the plate down, curious now. When he came back up, it took him a second or two to notice the food was back. He gasped and jumped back.

To her surprise, he managed to call up enough courage to come back to the table. But his hands still moved cautiously for her plate, and she had plenty of time to pick it up again.

Hobart froze. His eyes, squinting, searched for it, and her, but glided over without recognition. "What the hell..." he whispered in utter confusion.

For fun she let go of the plate. It only fell about an inch but the clatter in the silence made her jump in her seat.

Hobart did more than jump. He screamed and fell back.

Her husband lay there flailing for a moment, hands and feet skidding on the linoleum, trying to push himself away from the table. A second or two later, he rolled over and propelled himself toward the doorway. He stood there, breathing heavily, staring with terror at the plateful of food.

Mary found her voice, and burst into peals of laughter. He didn't look at her, or prick his ears, or anything. But maybe on some level he heard it, because it was then he turned and skedaddled off to the living room.

That evening, he ate dinner out.

Monday she awoke and found a mess in the kitchen, remnants of Hobart's incompetent attempts to make a lunch for himself. He was off to work.

She had a leisurely breakfast and set out for another walk. This time she headed into the 'old town', with more expensive homes. On impulse, she walked right up to a front door and jiggled the handle. It was unlocked.

She stepped in and took a little tour. The foyer was nicely decorated with a few pictures and a pretty stand. She moved on to the kitchen and felt an immediate stab of envy. A very nice refrigerator, the stove looked new, the countertops were marble... it would be a pleasure to cook here.

The upstairs sported comfortable beds and a bathroom to die for. Glancing out a window, she saw a woman working in a garden in the backyard.

She checked out more houses. Many were locked up - people at work, kids at school - but she found a few housewives and an elderly couple, bickering in a friendly way that made her heart ache. In their basement she beheld a model train set a dozen feet across, little houses and buildings and farms. She thought wryly about Hobart, who lacked even the ambition to support a hobby.

Another street, more homes. The most interesting one didn't look so at first.

A TV was on in the front room, and an older toddler sat watching cartoons. In the kitchen a woman wiped down the countertop and glanced at the clock. "Time for your nap, honey!" she called.

The little girl made about as much protest as could be expected, but the mother was dead set on that nap. Mary watched with curiosity and sadness. Homer would never let her have kids. She wasn't even sure she wanted any of Hobart's get, anyway. But this was another thing she'd missed.

The woman closed the tyke's door, checked her watch, and hurried to her bedroom. Mary watched curiously as she quickly touched up her makeup, continuing to check her watch.

A faint knock sounded on the door below. The woman leapt to her feet and raced - quietly - down the stairs. Mary couldn't keep up. By the time she got down to the landing, the woman was closing the door behind a tall, blonde-haired man.

"All clear?" he said, low and urgent. In answer, the woman wrapped her arms around him and planted an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He relaxed immediately and wrapped her up in a tight embrace.

It was almost a minute before they broke for air. The woman, voice husky, said, "Charlie's asleep. Miles won't be home 'til six or seven."

"Where do you want to do it?"

"Right over here."

She led him hand in hand into the living room, just off the foyer. A loveseat was under the front window - the shades were down low - and a couch sat at right angles to it, jutting into the room, guiding traffic behind it. Together they formed a space for the coffee table and the TV.

The couple went around in front of the couch and embraced again. The hunger with which the woman kissed him struck a deep chord in Mary. His hands pulled her close, stroked her back, her behind.

He worked up her skirt, and pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them, still kissing him. He started to work on his own belt, but that finally got her to stop smooching long enough to help.

Once he was free of pants and underwear, he eased her down onto the couch and lifted her skirt. He smiled and settled himself on top of her. There came a moan and he began to move.

Mary set one hand on the back of the couch, and leaned forward to stare down on them. Her other hand hiked up her skirt and slid under her panties. She found wetness between her lips, and worked her index and middle finger to frame and rub her button.

She could see the back of his head, his back... and his ass, moving up and down as he thrust into the woman. Past his shoulder, the woman's face. Eyes closed, moaning as she bit her lip. Her arms encircled him, pulled him toward her with each plunge.

It was a lot better than a Harlequin. More real, for sure.

Touring houses was just as fun in the evening, when everyone was home. She watched families having dinner, couples arguing, widows knitting, kids playing.

She came in as one dinner was wrapping up. The Peirsons, down the street. Their son Billy had the paper route for the neighborhood. Even though he was supposedly going to community college. Idly, she followed the boy upstairs, but he closed the door behind him with a solid click. She jiggered the handle, and sure enough, it was locked.

"Well, phooey!" she said softly. Then she bent to peer at the door handle. Memories from early in her marriage floated up. She'd locked herself in the bathroom, hiding from Hobart. When she'd heard the door unlock, the sheer terror that had filled her...

Yes, the lock had a little tab. A small screwdriver could unlock it from the outside. She turned and marched down the stairs. In the kitchen, she walked past the woman wiping dishes and started rifling drawers. No screwdriver, but a paring knife turned up.

Back at the room, she fiddled with the latch a bit and got it undone. Quietly, she turned the handle and the door creaked open enough for her to slip inside.

Maybe her strange power kept him from hearing what she'd been doing. Or maybe it was the music coming from a small radio. Or maybe it was just that he was too busy.

Little Billy had a bunch of magazines spread across his bed. Dirty magazines. Playboys and something called 'Penthouse'.

His pants were down and he was tugging at himself. He kept looking from one picture to another.

A half-foot-high pile sat on his desk. She saw the dates on some of the magazines came from back when he was in high school, or even earlier. "Now how the Dickens did you get your hands on those?" she wondered aloud. He didn't look up, of course. She ambled over and examined the images. Naked women, all sporting 'come hither' looks. And a close up of some lady bits. "Oof!" she exclaimed. "Why you'd want to look at that, I can't imagine."