Facets of Love Ch. 05

-

January 2019

Christmas was a blast. We were inundated with Mary's relatives, Robbie got more presents than any ten kids deserved, and we were so busy with company, Martha temporarily suspended what she called my "how to please a woman" lessons. Or, in my words, I didn't have to fuck her for two solid weeks. I spent New Year's Day watching football with Robbie and drinking beer with James, my number two and three favorite things to do... loving my wife taking the top spot.

The second Monday of the new year brought me back to reality. This was the week our Oklas government grant was up for review. It was my job to convince an army of bureaucrats that we were "spending the taxpayers hard earned dollars wisely". At least that's what the chief inquisitor told me.

There was one unexpected offshoot of their visit.

"Welcome back Mr. Ryan," Manny said when I arrived in Oklas Monday morning. "Hope you don't mind bunking with Doc May this week."

"You expecting another ice storm?"

"No. We can't blame God on this one. This time it's your fault. All them damn government folks demanded a room of their own so I'm asking my regulars to double up for a while."

"Did you tell Doc May about this?"

"Yeah. As expected, she bitched and complained, but I could tell her heart wasn't in it. She ran out of steam after five or ten minutes of protesting like a spoiled college kid and agreed to take one for the team."

"Doesn't surprise me. The same government morons that are harassing me are also reviewing her grant. Sure, May can sleep in my room, just don't let her assume it's a permanent thing."

"Wouldn't think of it," the old timer said.

After a couple of days, it was obvious that not one of the dozen auditors had ever stepped foot in a cardboard box factory before. It wasn't too hard to convince them we were on the cusp of single handedly solving Oklas' financial issues while combatting global warming.

Due to the influx of out-of-towners, Manny's dining room was just as overcrowded as his hotel. Not wanting to share a table with the zealots from DC, May and I commandeered a two-seat high top in the corner every evening. Our conversation rules didn't change. Any discussion about our lives outside of Oklas was forbidden, but since we were both under the same spotlight we commiserated over our shared burden.

Wednesday evening, one of the inquisitors, a lady that both May and I had dealt with earlier in the week, approached our table.

"Are you two an item?" she asked, trying hard not to spill her third cocktail of the night.

"Not hardly," May laughed. "Mr. Ryan and I are about as incompatible as two people can get."

"Then why have you two dined together for three nights in a row."

"He runs the box factory, I run the clinic. We're both financed by your agency. Even though we're adamantly against nearly everything the other believes in, we both agree that Oklas needs us. So, we meet every night and, instead of clawing each other's eyes out, we try to find some common ground. I think they call it compromising. You folks in DC should give it a try sometime."

"You obviously don't understand politics," the woman said and walked back to the bar.

"Wow," I said. "Nicely done, but aren't you afraid she'll get you fired?"

"She's an asshole and an idiot. She deserved it."

"True. But she also holds your purse strings."

"I'm not worried. Despite what she said, I do understand politics. There's no way in hell she can fire me. The doctors that usually accept this kind of shit posting are those who can't find a job anywhere else. Last in their med school class with no other options. Firing somebody with my skills would be career suicide."

"If you're such a shit hot doc, why are you here?"

"I ask myself the same question every time I drive across the Red River Bridge."

After dinner, not wanting anybody but Manny privy to our sleeping arrangement, May went upstairs to our room.

"Have a good evening Mr. Ryan. And thanks for your insight," she said loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.

"Sleep well Doctor May," I answered as I went to the bar.

I drank a beer with Manny and then ordered another that I took to a quiet corner for my nightly call with Mary. When the coast was clear, I snuck upstairs and climbed into bed with May.

May's wrong, I thought as she fell asleep in my arms. We're not nearly the polar opposites she thinks we are.

-

Dr. Martha Weaver Spencer

Robert never figured it out. I spent a month wantonly waving my ass in front of the well-hung hillbilly. I could tell he was tempted, but he never voluntarily took the next step.

At the time, he was exploring his dominant side. It's a phase many men go through some time in their lives, feeling the need to control his woman both physically and mentally. Most guys eventually grow out of it. For those that don't, their wives either submit or leave them. Regardless of the end result, it usually starts with gentle slaps on the ass as they're making love and progresses to more painful blows.

In Robert's case, he went from a gentle lover to a raving lunatic overnight. One day he treated me like I was a porcelain doll and the next, my bum turned into his punching bag. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was purposely trying to put an end to our training sessions by scaring me off.

Normally, I wouldn't have put up with such vile treatment. But, as a trained professional, I knew that, once he got used to slapping my ass as he fucked my pussy, the next step in the process was to stick it in the wrong hole. Which was what I was trying to get him to do in the first place.

I eventually gave up on the boy's sense of initiative and took matters in my own hands.

"Robert," I told him the Wednesday before Mary's first trip to Gainesville. "This Saturday, I want you to fuck me in the ass."

The look on his face alone was worth it.

"You... you've got to be shitting me."

"No. I'm not. And I plan to give myself an enema beforehand to prevent such an occurrence."

"I thought you were training me to please your daughter. Do you really think Mary wants to do anal?"

"Of course not. If I ever hear of you sodomizing my girl, I'll push a stick of dynamite up your butt and personally light the fuse. And don't you dare think I'm doing this for my own enjoyment."

"Then why do you want me to butt fuck you?"

"I've got a couple of clients with a unique issue. A problem so severe, my normal techniques aren't working. I want you to help me help them."

I gave him the Reader's Digest version of Peter's and Olive's story, the large peckered man with a small pussied wife. From his body language, I could tell he didn't believe me, but it gave him an out.

Very few men could resist the opportunity to bend a woman over the kitchen table, lift up her dress, pull down her panties, and shove his cock into her puckered hole. Especially if said woman had a virgin ass as tight and round as mine. Add the fact that I was his mother-in-law, the woman who did everything in her power to keep him away from his future wife. Giving him the opportunity to physically punish me for my supposed sins was, in itself, sufficient incentive to drive his torpedo against the flow of normal traffic. Combine all those factors and the chances of him turning me down were less than zero.

-

Mary Spencer Jones

My joint Christmas present from Mom, Uncle James, and Robert was a brand-new Honda Accord with all the safety features.

"We want you to have a reliable set of wheels for your monthly trip up north," Robert said.

He offered to go with me the first time I went to Gainesville. "I'll follow you in my truck. Just in case. You've never met this Gloria person and, even though Casandra vouches for her..."

It was tempting. I was a bit nervous about it. But I also didn't want Gloria to think I was a kid who needed a chaperone wherever I went. Because I wasn't. I was a nineteen-year-old woman with a husband and a son. So, on the third Friday of January, I fed Robbie his lunch, put him down for his nap, and drove the hundred thirty miles to Gainesville. By myself. Crying the entire trip.

I called Mom from the parking lot of Gloria's building to make sure Robbie was okay, texted Robert so he knew I arrived safely, and then spent a minute drying my eyes and regaining my composure before I went looking for apartment 3C.

It took Gloria a total of thirty seconds to wash away my concerns. She was a tall, thin, athletic woman with short brown hair, eyes to match, and an honest smile. Her olive toned skin showed evidence of either time in the sun, a mixed ethnic ancestry or maybe a bit of both. If forced to guess, I'd put her age somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.

The first thing she did when we met was wrap me in her arms and squeeze.

"Sorry if that was a little forward," she said as she backed away. "Cousin Casandra said you'd need a hug as soon as you got here, so I thought it best we get it out of the way sooner than later."

"Not a problem. It was exactly what the doctor ordered. Casandra knows me well."

Gloria chuckled as she led me into her apartment which wasn't much larger than my old dorm room. A couch separated the small kitchen from an even smaller living area. A TV hung from the lone exposed wall, surrounded on both sides by bookshelves. A table with two chairs sat under a window with a parking lot view. Her bedroom was just large enough for a queen size bed, chest of drawers, and standing wardrobe. No closet. The bathroom was slightly larger than the one in Robert's trailer in Auburn, but not by much.

"I know it's not the Ritz," Gloria said, "but the plumbing and air conditioning work, it's not infested with roaches, and I spend most of my time on the job anyway."

"What do you do?" I asked.

"All kinds of useless things, none of them important," she said. "You can stow your suitcase under the table. As far as the bathroom goes, feel free to use my soap, shampoo, and conditioner. They're nothing fancy, but my hair doesn't deserve the good stuff. I'm a just-before-bed shower taker, otherwise it's all yours whenever you want it."

Gloria went out to run a couple of errands while I made a nest in my corner of her apartment. At her suggestion, I brought my own sheets, blanket, and pillow with me and quickly transformed her couch into a passable bed.

Using my nearly new, battery powered, high suction, dual cupped, breast pumps; it only took me fifteen minutes to empty my swollen boobs. I felt a pang of guilt as I dumped the milk down the sink. It wasn't the first time I'd used the mechanical pump. Not sure if Mom was up to feeding Robbie full time, I'd spent the last two weeks depriving Robert of his nightly snack so I could stockpile bottles of my milk in the refrigerator, just in case. But this was the first time I "pumped and dumped".

Gloria took me to a local pizza place for dinner. She ordered a glass of Merlot with her meal and asked if I'd like one as well.

"I would," I said. "It's been over a year since I've had a glass of wine. You're not supposed to drink alcohol at all when pregnant and, after the baby is born, you're not supposed to imbibe within four hours of breast feeding."

"So, what's stopping you now? It's Friday night and you're not going to feed your kid until Sunday afternoon at the earliest."

"I've got two hours of class tonight. I'm afraid one glass of wine will put me to sleep."

"Fair enough," she said. "But I expect you to help me finish a bottle of Riesling tomorrow night."

"I look forward to it. Now tell me about yourself," I said. "Do you have a boyfriend, or perhaps a significant other?"

"A couple of prospects but nothing serious."

"Care to tell me about them?"

"Not really, I'd much rather hear about your son."

Which was the wrong thing to ask a new mom who was away from her child for the first time. I spent the rest of the meal talking nonstop about Robbie and, although she was probably bored to tears after the first five minutes of my monolog, she listened and smiled, only interrupting to ask affirming questions.

Friday night classes started at 7:00 and dismissed at 9:00. It was my Introduction to Accounting course. I know it sounds boring and, for non-nerds, it most likely would be. But I ate it up. Not only enjoyed the material presented, but also my classmates. I was, by far, the youngest in the room. Most of my supposed peers had at least ten years on me and were already gainfully employed.

As Robert predicted, a few of the younger men (those in their late twenties), tried to put the moves on me. I brought that to a screeching halt by showing them a video of me holding Robbie in my arms while Robert cleaned his shotgun in the background.

I got back to Gloria's at 9:20, called Robert, pumped and dumped, studied until I was sleepy, and crashed on the couch.

I woke with a start at 3:00 am. Not to the sound of a crying baby. It was my boobs. They called out for relief by making my entire body feel like it was about to explode.

That's when I found out how much noise my breast pumps made. They seemed rather unintrusive the previous afternoon when I was alone in the apartment. And that night, when Gloria put on a pair of headsets while I pumped, I just figured she didn't want to disturb me with her podcast. But at 3:00 am, when the rest of the world is sound asleep, when there is no traffic noise from the street, no music from the neighboring apartment, not even a chirp from a lovesick dove; the sound of my breast pumps seemed worse than an airhorn in a library.

Gloria didn't storm out of her room and threaten to kick me out. She didn't even poke her head out the bedroom door and give me a dirty look. But, when I heard the toilet flush, I knew I'd woken her up.

I apologized the next morning. Told Gloria how sorry I was and promised to figure out a way to not disturb her sleep, "even if I have to go to the laundry room to pump and dump."

"It's not a big deal. If you can survive getting woke up in the middle of the night every night of the week, I can certainly tolerate it two nights a month." She gave me a sisterly kiss on the forehead and then took off for a morning jog in the park.

I had six hours of class on Saturday. Three in the morning, an hour off at noon, and three more after lunch. It was a bit of a grind, and I certainly didn't appreciate having to explain to an irate woman in the lady's room that the noise emanating from my stall came from a breast pump and not a vibrator. By the time I got back to Gloria's, I was more than ready for her promised bottle of wine.

One bottle turned into two, diluted only by Chinese delivery food. Sometime during our slightly inebriated bonding session, the term "Nipple Envy" escaped from my mouth. Like pandora's box, once out in the open, there was no way to stuff it back in.

"Is that really a thing?" Gloria asked.

"According to my mom it is. And she should know. She's a sex therapist."

"You have got to be shitting me."

Which led to a deeper and even more embarrassing discussion of my family situation.

"Hang on a sec," Gloria said while unsuccessfully trying to eat rice with chopsticks. "Your mother, the woman who birthed you, tricked her body into thinking it was pregnant for the express purpose of feeding your kid at night so you and your husband could fuck?"

"Yeah, that pretty much captures it. She has some pretty progressive views about sex and, although it's kind of embarrassing..."

"Embarrassing! Hell no. You have no idea what it's like to be embarrassed by your parents. My mom showing up drunk at a parent teacher conference; that's embarrassing. Going to court to testify against my dad because he molested me; that's humiliating. What your mother did was an act of love.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"Tell me about your dad. What's he like?"

I didn't want to. Didn't want to make her feel worse than she already did. But I had no choice.

"Dad passed a few days after Robbie was born. But when he was alive, he was the best father a girl could have. Supportive, loving, protective. Sitting on his lap when he watched football was the safest place in the world."

"And your husband?" she asked.

"Robert and I fell in love ten seconds after we met."

"Why? What attracted you to him."

"He's a younger version of Dad."

Tears spontaneously sprang from her dark brown eyes. My light blues quickly followed suit.

"Casandra was right," Gloria said. "You have got to be the most naïve, innocent girl in the entire southeast conference. Hell, I bet you don't even know how beautiful you are. You've got no clue how good your life is."

"That's not fair," I said. "Just because I have a supposedly perfect life, doesn't mean I'm not appreciative. I thank God every day for my good fortune."

"Oh, that's just friggin great. Big boobs, great family, and a Christian to boot. You're literally the virgin Mary. Robert hit the trifecta when he found you."

Nobody had ever talked to me like that before, which only proved her point. Not knowing how to respond, all I could do was cry even harder.

Gloria wrapped me up in her arms. I tried to push her away, but she was far stronger than me.

"I'm sorry. That was my jealousy talking. There is absolutely nothing wrong with perfection. But if you're going to associate with us mere mortals, you'll have to make a few adjustments."

"What kind of adjustments?"

"First off, I'm tired of your crap taking up space in my miniature apartment. When you show up next month, all you're allowed to bring is two pairs of panties, one extra blouse and your books. I'll get you a toothbrush, you can use my toothpaste, deodorant, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. With a face like yours, you don't need any makeup."

"How about my bedding?"

"Leave it at home. From now on, you're sleeping with me. Don't worry. I'm not going to rape you. It's a queen-sized bed, big enough for the both of us."

"And my breast pumps?"

"Yeah, go ahead and bring them, but we've got to do something about the 3:00 am feeding. I don't mind getting woke up, but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend another half hour lying awake, listening to a couple of buzz saws in the adjoining room."

There was only one logical solution to the "middle of the fucking night" feeding dilemma. Gloria claimed that her mother never breast fed her, but I doubted that mine were the first boobs she'd ever had in her mouth.

After she emptied both of my milk jugs, she gave my nipple one last kiss and, just before falling back to sleep said,

"Isn't that better? Your boobs don't hurt, and you don't even have to change my diaper."

-

Robert Ryan Jones

Two things worried me about Mary spending the weekend in Gainesville.

I didn't know Gloria Carter and therefore didn't trust her. Just because she was Casandra's cousin didn't mean she was a good person. I bet Jeffrey Dahmer also had cousins who, at one time, vouched for him as well. Luckily, if Gloria had any serial killer tendencies, she managed to keep them hidden, at least for that first weekend. From the tone of Mary's phone calls and texts, the two ladies were getting along swimmingly.

I was also uncomfortable spending the weekend alone with Martha. We weren't entirely by ourselves; Robbie was obviously with us. But, at that stage in his life, my son spent more time sleeping than awake, leaving Martha twelve hours a day to fuck with me... both physically and mentally.

To fully explain what happened the first weekend Mary was away, I'll have to review what Martha and I had been doing ever since Robbie was born.