Dale's Women Ch. 05

"Then something surprising happened: as she felt the successive shots of my seed filling her, she cried out, 'Oh, God! Omigod!' and a shudder passed through her as she clung desperately to me and kept me in her as long as possible. This unexpected second climax made me send a final dollop of my seed into her, and after that we both collapsed in exhaustion.

"As I wearily rolled off of her, I asked between breaths, 'Did you . . . did you really come again?'

"She nodded quickly, giving me a benevolent smile. Her face was bright pink, her hair was tousled, and she looked like the most desirable woman on earth. I almost wanted to plunge into her again, but I wasn't quite ready for that.

"It quickly became obvious to me that she was one of those women who can come early and often. During that first session, which lasted close to two hours, she must have come ten times—maybe a dozen. Every time, she signaled it with that frenetic cry, 'Oh, God! Omigod!' Sometimes she let out a high-pitched squeal, other times a rough groan.

"Have you ever noticed," Dale said in a tone of academic inquiry, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at Gloria, "how every woman comes differently? I mean, men all come the same: they shoot their wad and that's it. But every woman I've been with has a totally different way of expressing her orgasm: some laugh hysterically, some cry out, some moan and groan, some just sigh heavily the way Paula did, and so on and so forth. Have you ever noticed that?"

"Um," Gloria said, "I haven't had much of an opportunity to conduct a scientific investigation on that point."

"Well, it's true—and fascinating. It's just one more thing that makes women so much more distinctive and interesting than men."

"How nice of you," she said pungently.

"I mean it! And I swear that most women are never more beautiful than when they come. I even like it when some women frown, almost as if they're in pain, and then their features suddenly relax as their climax washes over them. It's at that very moment when I feel that women are most themselves."

"I'll take your word for it. Why don't you get on with your story?"

"Well, in all honesty, there's not a whole lot more to tell. I—"

"You mean that was it?" Gloria cried in disbelief. "You never saw her again?"

"No, no! I saw her plenty of times after that. In fact, we quickly fell into the habit of getting together three times a week—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Weekends, obviously, were impossible—and anyway, it was on a rare Saturday that her lump of a husband did his poor best to satisfy her between the sheets. She seemed to enjoy the prospect of feeding me lunch and then leading me up to the bedroom. It didn't take a genius to figure out why: the lunch (and, even more so, the sex) was something she chose to do, rather than something she had to do as part of her family responsibilities. She took to answering the doorbell in her robe—she was clearly wearing nothing underneath. Once she even opened the door naked, and prepared lunch naked."

"The shameless hussy!"

"Oh, she was just having some belated fun—and making up for lost time. Of course, given my fascination with women's posteriors, I introduced her to rear entry. She—"

"You mean that, at her advanced age, she hadn't done it before?"

"No. I thought I'd mentioned that her husband wasn't exactly imaginative in things of that kind. She admitted that the first few times were a bit painful, but she got used to it after that—and then she couldn't get enough. I swear that on one occasion she came three times while I was in her bottom."

"Good God!"

"Yeah, it was pretty impressive. It seems that that position somehow freed her up to have climax after climax, more than she would have in the ordinary way. Who can explain the mysteries of female desire? I certainly can't.

"Anyway, things were going swimmingly for about two months. I was never really certain what she felt for me—whether she was truly fond of me or just liked the stimulation I was giving her—but I myself was starting to have pretty strong feelings for her. Several times I almost blurted out that I loved her—but I held my tongue, because I knew that that would create all manner of complications that she might not be able to deal with."

"Smart move."

"I mean, she was married with children. I think she still loved her husband; she just didn't find him very . . . interesting anymore. They'd lived with each other too long, they knew each other too well—although he obviously didn't know her well enough to realize that she needed a lot more physical attention than he was willing or able to provide.

"Well, there was this lovely spring afternoon—a Wednesday, I think—when we had had another splendid lunch (Welsh rarebit and vegetables), and we were tossing around in the sheets like two sailors who had gotten thrown overboard and were fighting over the same piece of flotsam to stay afloat. I believe, in fact, I was in her bottom—but she wasn't being in any way passive, and was contorting her body in a strange way to look me in the face and force her tongue in my mouth.

"Then the door opened and slammed.

"We froze in this awkward position. In another second we heard someone shouting: 'Hi, Mom! I'm home!'

"It was her daughter, Janice. I can't remember if we'd lost track of time or she'd come home early from school. Rose's face was petrified with a look of horror as she hissed at me, 'Get out of me—right now!' I was a bit annoyed that she wouldn't let me finish, but I could understand her consternation. I obliged, and she almost leaped from the bed and threw on a dressing gown.

"We could now hear Janice tripping up the stairs, presumably to go to her bedroom, which was down the hall from the master bedroom we were in. Giving me an almost hateful look, she whispered, 'Get dressed! And don't come out of this room!' At least she hadn't told me to hide in the closet.

"Tousled as she was, Rose stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her. I guess she felt she had to make her presence known to her daughter, lest Janice simply blunder into the bedroom and see what was going on.

"As it was, I could distinctly hear the conversation that passed between the two females.

"'My God, Mom!' Janice said. 'What's the matter with you? You're all red. You have a fever or something?'

"'Maybe,' Rose said. 'I'm not feeling so well.'

"'You better get back to bed,' Janice said, tripping down the hallway. Excellent idea! I thought flippantly.

"As soon as Rose was certain Janice was in her room, she carefully made her way back to the master bedroom.

"Janice may have thought she looked feverish, but as she entered the room Rose seemed pale as a ghost. I've never seen blood drain so quickly from a person's face. I had managed to wash up hastily in the attached bathroom and get dressed. She looked me over as if I was radioactive, and I think she wished I could just leap out the window and out of her sight.

"'You're going to have to leave,' she whispered.

"'I know that,' I said calmly.

"Giving a look over her shoulder, she said, 'I'll let you know when the coast is clear.'

"But we managed to figure that out pretty quickly by ourselves. In a matter of seconds, we heard music blasting out of Janice's room: evidently she didn't think her mother was sick enough to mind the horrible racket being blasted from her CD player. Rose opened the door a fraction of an inch to make sure her daughter was nowhere in sight, and then she silently but frenetically gestured me out of the room and down the stairs. Thankfully, the whole house was carpeted, so that my shoes didn't make much noise. I nonetheless tiptoed down the stairs, Rose following me like a hawk; then she opened the front door and shooed me out.

"We were set to meet again on Friday, and I moseyed on over then without giving much thought to the awkward near-confrontation with Janice; incredible as it may sound, I'd practically forgotten about it. But Rose clearly had not: she was fidgety all through serving me lunch, and when we got down to our cuddling I could tell she was still freaked out. The least little sound would make her almost jump out of bed and say, 'What was that?' I must say it got pretty annoying, and this was one of the most unsatisfactory sessions we had.

"I thought she would settle down as the incident faded from her memory, but she never really did. That close shave with her daughter was a symbol for the precarious situation she had gotten herself into: she was playing with fire, and she knew it. Quite frankly, I don't think it would have bothered her so much if her husband had found out about her cheating; but her children had to be shielded. You can replace a husband; you can't replace your children so easily. She would be the only mother they ever had, and she was determined to remain a 'good' mother to them, even if it meant reducing the sum total of her own happiness.

"And so, after a few weeks, she called it quits. We'd had a pretty energetic session, and after we finished dressing—well in advance of the time when either of her children were likely to show up—she came up to me, put both hands on my cheeks, and said:

"'Dale, dear, I think we'd better not see each other anymore.'

"I knew in my heart that she would eventually say something like that, but I was still not prepared to have her say it just then. I got all choked up and thought I would cry. She saw how distressed I was and held me close for a long time, but didn't budge on her decision.

"As we walked down the stairs, I said bitterly: 'I think you need to get a better husband.'

"She wasn't insulted at my rude comment. Smiling ruefully, she said, 'He's not a bad man.'

"'He doesn't appreciate you,' I said tritely.

"'I know he doesn't—but he's the father of my children.'

"'Maybe when they go to college, you can . . .'

"'Maybe,' she said.

"But I could tell she didn't really mean it. The idea of dumping her husband and getting back into the dating game seemed unutterably wearying to her—"

"I know what that's like," Gloria said bitterly.

"Yeah, well, you just have to decide if the tedium and annoyance of dating is worth the benefits. Both you and Rose are fabulous creatures—there isn't any reason why any man, young or old, wouldn't snap you up."

"Thank you for saying so."

"I said that very thing to Rose as we parted, and she just smiled that wistful smile. I really didn't want to leave—or, rather, I wanted to keep on coming over and enjoying her lunch and her body as before—but she was firm.

"As we kissed one last time, she said, 'Thank you for all you've done for me.'

"'You've done as much for me as I have for you,' I said.

"'That's very sweet of you,' she said, patting my cheek as she closed the door behind me."