Love In The 1950s - Ch. 01

Melanie fumed. It was a nice day, the top was down on her '51 Muntz letting the sun stream in, and she should have been enjoying a leisurely drive home. However, the conversation she had surreptitiously overhead at the Social Club picnic was repeating in her head. With each iteration her white gloved hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

"I'll never understand what possessed John to marry that pale, flat chested, freckled little red head." Milly King had announced to a gaggle of her friends around the punch bowl. At that moment Melanie happened to be standing on the other side of the particularly thick trunk of the elm tree which they had all gathered beneath, taking advantage of the dappled shade it provided.

"You know she won't be able to keep him happy at home. I give it a month before he realises what a wet rag she is and he goes looking to have his needs met elsewhere, if you know what I mean." Constance Clarke was a chesty, bottle blond who was homecoming queen with a mind to running for Miss USA, "The other day when I was at the pool I saw him looking at me as I walked from the change rooms to the pool."

"What did you do?"

"You wouldn't believe it, I just happened to drop my towel in front of him and I had to bend over right there to pick it up. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time which got me all hot and bothered. I don't mind telling you."

"With that chiselled jaw and dark, thick hair, he can stare at me any time he wants." Laura Buckman's voice, "I wouldn't even tell mister Buckman if he did more than look either."

"So other than Constance and Laura, who else is my competition? Do any of you married ladies feel like trading in their current model and being the next Mrs Baker?" Asked Milly, and a moment passed, "I guess it's unanimous then. I almost feel sorry for the little bookworm."

Bookworm, it was the name she had been teased with in high school, and now being the only lady in the social club who had attended university, it was back again. It was during her time studying that she had met John. While her roommate's father had paid her tuition with the understanding that she had three semesters to secure a husband, Melanie had completed her study with honours. A fact which had endeared her to John, rather than decrease her attractive qualities as she had been warned on many occasions.

Driving aimlessly through town, Melanie thought back to her wedding night, and the few subsequent nights in her marital bed with John. She hadn't had a great understanding of what to expect. John had taken his time and been gentle enough while she lay in the dark, the two of them under the covers, until he finished a short time later.

In comparison the two of them would spend hours most evenings debating the news of the day, their dinner plates forgotten, still loaded with food that had long gone cold. Their voices would rise to a crescendo as each of them keenly drove home some esoteric point or other until they were left horse and ragged.

Stopped at a traffic light, not looking at anything in particular, her gaze fell upon the answer to the collective assault upon her marriage from the social club ladies. It was a small red door next to a blacked out shop front window. Looking around she noted that she had never been in this part of town. Many of the stores looked industrial or low rent, and there were no shoppers or other signs of community along the sidewalk. A small shingle above the red door read 'Bookshop'.

Melanie started to see pieces of a plan coalesce and the first step lay within this bookshop. While not a prude per se and having no objection to the lascivious parts of society, she had only a passing familiarity of what lay beyond the red door from overhead conversations held in whispers at some very conservative college parties.

When the light changed to green, Melanie pulled the car around in a wide circle to park parallel with an industrial dry cleaners on the opposite side of the street from the bookshop. There was no one around, and even if there were, she doubted they would know each other let alone move in the same social circles. In spite of her anonymity, Melanie felt a small uneasiness in her stomach accompanied by a quick skip of her heart and when she tried to swallow she found her mouth was dry. It was a feeling not dissimilar to when she was fourteen and had crept down stairs to pilfer from her daddy's liquor cabinet. What she had learnt from that experience was to steal her resolve and move decisively once set upon a course of action, as dallying and hesitation ensured a wrathful discovery.

Before exiting the car she examined herself in the rear view mirror. Her silk headscarf, light peach in colour, had fulfilled its role in keeping her shoulder length hair protected from the ravages of the whipping wind as she drove. She decided to keep it in place for the task ahead. Once she had checked her teeth were clear of lipstick, she exited the car and made her way across the street.

The shopfront's blacked out window was turned into a mirror in the bright sunlight, giving Melanie an opportunity to examine herself as she walked briskly to the red door. Her tea dress was dark green with white polka dots and set off her wavy ginger curls nicely. As she noted this contrast Milly King's comments came to the front of her mind once again. She set her jaw tight, pressed her lips, and strode purposefully through the red door.

There was no silvery tinkling of a bell overhead struck by the door, nor a shop assistant standing idly by some merchandise to greet her warmly with a smile that was all teeth and no eyes. The shop's interior was rather dim, with the sun excluded by the back outs. The interior was lit by a series of lamps positioned to shine on shelves lining the walls.

There was a woman seated behind a desk which contained a small battered cash box, another lamp, and a fine china cup and saucer with a floral pattern and gold rim. The woman herself was of African descent, heavyset and of indeterminate middle age. There were some crows feet at her eyes and slight sagging of her cheeks, however, she looked too young for her short silver hair in tight curls, and thick glasses attached to a delicate chain around her neck.

Melanie stepped in from the doorway and paused to scan the shop while her eyes adjusted. The shop woman lost interest in the abrupt visitor and raised her hand, in which she held a dog eared magazine, pages folded back upon themselves, from behind the desk and continued to read.

Taking stock of the inventory on display, Melanie saw various glossy magazines, quite a few from Europe, with bold colourful titles and women staring back at her. The magazine women wore a range of clothes and expressions; while some were innocent and others sultry, Melanie was surprised by the faces that were demanding or dismissive. There were young women but also women her mothers age, and all shapes and sizes. Melanie was reminded for a brief moment of church and the story of the Tower of Babel in the Old Testament where people of all races and colours worked together speaking one language before God broke them all up. The shelves of this bookshop seemed to have brought together the greatest diversity of people seen since the time of that Biblical story.

On a table in the middle of the room sat a wide shallow box partitioned into sections as if for a library card catalogue. However, contained within each compartment of this box were different packages of prophylactics. A stiff piece of white card stuck out of each compartment with a short description and price in neat handwritten script. Melanie's pupils dilated slightly as she noted the range of colours, designs, and sizes they came in.

Unable to see anything approaching what she was looking for, Melanie stepped up to the desk when something caught her eye, distracting her for a moment.

"Hello, is that the Journal of Politics?" Not waiting for an answer she rushed ahead enthusiastically, "I didn't mean to pry, I just noticed the University of Chicago Press watermark and I was excited to see someone else in town who reads it. Did you attend U of C?"

The shop woman remained stationary but her eyes flashed up to stare at Melanie over the top rim of her glasses. She breathed out heavily through her nose as her mouth pulled tight into a slight grimace. When Melanie's eager looks remained unchanged she broke the silence between them by tossing down the journal.

"Do I look like the kind of person who attended the University of Chicago, hmm? I scrubbed toilets there for twenty years. Now are you lost lady, or are you actually looking for something to stick in your cooch?"

Melanie's excitement of finding a potential kindred spirit, another woman she could talk about politics, history and sociology with, dissolved. She was silent for a moment, and felt the warm flush of a crimson tide move up from her collar bone to her hairline. She was caught between wanting to apologise profusely and hastily retreating from the store, and the red hot vitriol waiting to be spewed forth in response to such a rude and uncouth comment.

While only a moment had passed Melanie felt as if it had been an age. She pushed her right palm flat against the hard bone at the centre of her chest, the pressure was calming, and she took a slow breath before speaking.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I am looking for some information, a book if you have it? I'd like to learn about sex. I don't know much, you see."

"What would you like to know?" The shop lady's expression softened, her curiosity piqued.

"Everything!"

Melanie's voice was suddenly deeper, rich and cloying. Her hand flew to cover her mouth; she was surprised at the enthusiasm with which she had spoken. Giving two little coughs, as if clearing her throat, she moved her two hands to hold her handbag in front of herself and affected a demure façade to wait upon whatever assistance she could be provided.

"There's a small bookcase in the corner, next to the cabinet with glass doors."

Melanie thanked the shop lady and walked to the far corner.

There was a dearth of books. The bookshelf was only waist height and was partitioned into three shelves. Most of the books had pictures of women in silk gowns or a shift, falling into the arms of a man who other than a change of costume from prince to pirate looked the same. One of the fiction books did look interesting, the title was simple enough, Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure by John Cleland. The blurb claimed it was written in seventeen forty nine.

Those books which were fact based were focused on the science of reproduction and biology. Wedged in between a book of photographs which seemed to be little more than a hard bound collection of the magazines in the rest of the shop, was the serendipitous object of Melanie's search. While it was technically a printed soft cover book it looked as if the publishing had been done on the equipment of a dilettante publisher rather than a professional press. The paper was grainy and rough with yellowing edges with no two pages quite the same size or alignment. The cover was merely blue card stock and black ink. There was no cover art only a title which read A Comprehensive Manual to Sexual Practices by Prudence G. Westergarth.

Melanie smiled faintly at the comforting smell of the paper, a faint mix of wood, caramel and vanilla drifting up to her as she leafed through the first few pages. The entries were arranged alphabetically and were titled in thick dark capitals. She paused on the entry for fellatio, which covered several pages, taken aback by the detailed description of the myriad of factors and variations, uses and components of conducting such an act. As she read she felt her skin grow hot, undoubtedly singling the red flush creeping up from her pale chest once again. Turning the page she revealed a line drawing of the male member, proudly erect, as if boldly driving out of the page at her. Immediately, she whipped the book closed and turned her head to look back over her shoulder, searching to see if the sudden feeling of being watched was genuine or her imagination.

Other than a few motes of dust tumbling in and out of lamp light, and the shop lady turning a page of her journal, she was still alone. In turning her head Melanie had noticed the contents of the cabinet with glass doors for the first time. A collection of dildos lay across shelves in all their phallic glory. Most were made of glass, ceramic or metal, though a number were made of black rubber. No two were the same. While some were smooth, others were lined with concentric rings along their length, some were short, others long and their girth varied as well. There were those which fitted the description for size of an average member which she had just read and also matched the diagram she had briefly seen. Others were gargantuan in size, conical in shape, or small and tapered with a ring at the large end. Most fascinating was an appendage which appeared to be two dildos joined at the base to make a single, double headed rubber implement.

Tucking her two books under one arm, Melanie carefully pulled open a glass door so as not to disturb anything. In a moment which seemed to pause, she slipped one hand out of its glove, and ran her fingertips across the length of the more realistic recreations. It was clear glass, seven inches in length with a slightly bulbous head mushrooming out at one end.

Realizing she had been holding her breath, Melanie admonished herself for getting distracted so easily. She was caught between wonder and seriousness of purpose. Deciding that this was not a time for half measures, and unsure if she would have the courage to return to the bookshop, she slipped her glove back on, grasped the glass dildo firmly, and returned with it to the front desk along with the writings of Ms Westergarth and Mr Cleland.

As Melanie approached the desk a second time and placed down her purchases the shop woman pulled out a large brown paper bag and, noting down the price for each item, transferred them to the bag.

"That will be thirty five dollars," said the shop woman.

Melanie handed over a fifty dollar bill which quickly disappeared into the small cash box out of which came change which was handed over along with the paper bad.

Although Melanie had felt a little thrill at handing over the glass penis and when she received the bag she quickly rolled up the top and clutched it to her body as if afraid someone would peek in at its contents and she would be found out.

"Thank you," She said quickly and retreated to the door quickly letting herself out of the shop all the while under the slightly bemused gaze of the shop woman.

Melanie pulled into the driveway upon returning home and parked her car in the garage behind the new radio controlled automatic doors. John was always keen on new technology and they were the first family on the street to have an automatic garage. While their house wasn't as big as some there were little conveniences like this throughout the house making it the home of tomorrow.

John's car was missing indicating that he was still out at work which suited Melanie's plans perfectly. Moving quickly she entered the house, made her way to her bedroom, deposited her scarf, gloves, and handbag on the bed and sat down at her dressing table with the brown paper bag.

Melanie took a deep breath and held it while she opened the bag. Surrounded by the familiarity of her perfume bottles, makeup containers and hair brushes she almost didn't believe what she had brought home with her. She reached into the brown bag and felt the cool hard glass implement within. Gripping it firmly she pulled out the imitation member and placed it gently down in front of her. Then she retrieved the books and, keeping A Comprehensive Manual to Sexual Practices in hand, flipped through the alphabetised pages to F. As she more thoroughly read through the entry for fellatio she found her breath quickening and becoming shallow. At first she reached out with her free hand and lightly rubbed her fingertips along the length of the dildo, feeling its ridges and gullies, while simultaneously licking her lips.

Time passed unnoticed and the shadows cast by the sunlight through the window lengthened. Suddenly there was the sound of John's car pulling up in the driveway. Melanie panicked at the sound of the engine and froze for the nearest of seconds before quickly moving into action. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the dressing table and placed the day's purchases on top of the handkerchiefs within, knowing that John would have no reason to look through her personal items.

Heading to the front door Melanie smoothed out her dress, turned on the lamps in the living room and waited impatiently in the middle of the room. After what seemed an age the sound of keys in the lock made Melanie start. If she was going to see her plan through, now was the time to really commit.

As John walked through the door Melanie covered the distance between them, grabbed him around the neck before he had a chance to put his briefcase down and, rising up on the tips of her toes, planted a deep probing kiss on his lips.

"Hello to you too," John said, grinning from ear to ear.

Melanie took a moment to look up at her husband and take him in. His dark hair was combed back and gleamed like coal in the lap light. His square jaw showed the hints of a five o'clock shadow and his blue eyes shone back at her.

"Come over here, I have a surprise for you,"

John raised his eyebrows questioningly but let himself be led by the hand over to the recliner by the fireplace. He was further surprised when Melanie planted her small hand firmly on his chest and pushed him back into the chair. Melanie then placed her index finger over his lips, silencing John before he could speak.

She then knelt down in between John's knees and reached out for his belt. After some quick fumbling she had his trousers open and reached into John's cotton boxer shorts and gently grabbed ahold of his cock. In the back of Melanie's mind she mused that for all the time they had been married this was the first time she had held his member.

It had a velvety quality, warm and alive it started to grow in the palm of her hand. With a quick rustle of fabric his cock was free in the open air. With a small amount of wonder at what she held in her hand, Melanie gave a few experimental tugs feeling the skin sliding smoothly over the shaft. John took a sharp intake of breath and for a moment Melanie wondered if she had somehow hurt him, but looking up into his eyes she could see he was smiling warmly down at her so she continued to stroke her hand up and down.

When he was fully erect Melanie took a breath to steady herself and then parted her red painted lips. At first she just kissed the tip of the head of John's cock. Then, with her confidence building she slid the whole head into her wet mouth. John shifted slightly in his seat as the head of his cock was enclosed in Malanie's warm mouth.

Thinking back to the book she started to run through the different techniques she had read about.

Holding the head in her mouth she rolled her tongue around the bulbos member, first clockwise then anticlockwise. After a minute of this she changed her tactic. She felt out the ridge of John's cock head and firmly pressed her lips around it and then rocked back and forth sliding the head in and out of her mouth. Once she had her rhythm going she grabbed the shaft with one hand and started stroking John's cock in time with her bobbing head movements. WIth her other hand she reached down into the base of his cock and gently grabbed ahold of his balls. With an undulating motion of her fingers she continued to massage his ball sack in time with her stroking hand.