New England Triad Ch. 06: Interlude

Chapter 06

Interlude: Beth relieves Stephen's October blahs, but the sheets suffer.

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Author's note: The six chapters (so far) of New England Triad are best read in sequence. However, this chapter does start off with a recap of the action so far. All the characters are in their thirties. The narrator is Stephen Lancome, a college English professor and bicycle enthusiast.

Thanks to tennesseered for his support and good advice throughout this series. The faults of this series are my own.

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Even with the nice fall weather, October always feels dull and blah. My wife Ann, back from the trade show in Pittsburgh, had settled into her normal routine at Edson-Kelly. She was still working on the product catalogue plus several other projects, and nothing was moving fast. I was getting bogged down with my teaching duties plus a paper I was writing for a scholarly conference. The paper was not coming along well: even I found it dull. My lover Beth's freelance work for Edson-Kelly ebbed and flowed. It was ebbing at the moment, but other clients were keeping her busy.

Our personal lives were in the doldrums too--though I suppose here the doldrums were better than a gale. Ann was acting remarkably blase' and guilt-free about her adultery in Pittsburgh. I found that a bit unsettling, but there wasn't much I could say or do about it. I was in no position to play the role of Wronged Husband.

By now, Beth's and my affair had been going on for three months. We had reached the point where we no longer jumped into bed with each other at every opportunity. Nearly two weeks had passed since our last tumble.

Back in July, Beth's and my best-case forecast had Ann tolerating the affair for two or three months. That would give all three of us time to figure out what we wanted, exactly--we thought. Now, three months later, Beth and I still didn't know what we wanted, let alone how to make it happen. If anything, a complicated situation had gotten only more complicated.

On the plus side, some of the complications had probably postponed the day when Ann would say, "Enough!" The complications included Ann's and Beth's sex together and then our threesome, in August. Then Ann's extramarital adventure in Pittsburgh, in September. But I sensed that the day of reckoning had only been postponed, not cancelled. Other complications included Beth's and my deepening emotional ties and my fantasies involving Beth's housemate Dev.

A phone call from Beth interrupted my Thursday-morning funk. She was about to bicycle up to the bread bakery in Vernon. How about getting together for lunch at my place on her way back? Unless I'd prefer to meet her at the little cafe at the bakery?

I thought my place offered certain advantages over the cafe--a bed, for instance--so I suggested she come here. She said she'd call or text me just before she left the store, probably around 11:30, and should be on my doorstep 35 or 40 minutes later. I did the math: that would give us three hours together before I had to leave to teach my 4:15 seminar.

Her bike ride would be at least 45 miles round-trip, so at noon her body would want a little fat, a little protein, and a good dose of carbohydrates. I decided that tuna salad with whole wheat elbow macaroni would do nicely. I started cooking the pasta.

Beth arrived just after noon. We had lunch and then fresh black coffee; then we went upstairs. Beth quickly stripped, went into the bathroom, and gave her body a quick touchup with a washcloth.

By now, at least some of the October blahs had drifted away.

"Your toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet if you want it," I said. It had lain there since Beth's overnight stay following our threesome. Beth seemed delighted that the toothbrush was now officially hers and had a semi-permanent place in this house. That made it, to some small extent, her house too.

When she was done brushing, she sat on the toilet and peed while I brushed my own teeth. We were certainly acting comfortable around each other, like a long-married couple, and to hell with decorum. She wiped, then went into the bedroom, pulled the bed's covers and top sheet back, and hopped on. She lay on her back, legs slightly spread, head on a pillow, hands on her tummy. I finished using the toilet and joined her. A sweet smile was on her face.

I lay on my right side, next to her. My right hand propped my head up: I wanted to look at Beth's lovely body. My left hand went to the beautiful brown curls on top of her also-beautiful mound of Venus. From time to time a finger of mine found its way down to her plump labia and then--as her moisture came and the labia parted easily--around and onto her clitoris. She turned towards me a little, and we kissed as I stroked her. A minute later a small orgasm--hers--surprised us both.

I moved down, put my head between her legs, and admired the sight and the smell of her sex. "Open wider, please," I requested. She obliged. My finger traced the delicate inner lips, now glistening a little in her moisture. Then, gently with one finger, I played with the opening of her vagina while softly licking her clitoris with my tongue. I inhaled her lovely scent. Gradually I began flicking her clitoris faster and more firmly.

"That's good, Stephen.... Like that.... Yes.... That's it.... Don't stop...."

I had no intention of stopping. Beth now held me firmly with her knees. I moved my finger around in her warm vagina, penetrating less than a half inch. After a few minutes I could see she was approaching climax again. Her back was arching, her eyes squinting, her thick brown nipples protruding beautifully. This one might be a big one.

Beth's hands gripped my head. Her vocal offerings were sounding less and less like words. Now her vagina was tightening, but I managed to move my finger all the way in and slowly wiggle it a bit. About twenty more licks of the tongue and she was convulsing. Her hips were bucking, and her vagina squeezed my finger firmly seven or eight times. Then she lay limp, her eyes closed, for the next half minute.

I removed my finger and licked her gently for a bit. Then I gave my face a quick wipe with a Kleenex and lay down next to her again.

"Jesus," she said. "I think I'm going to mark that one on my calendar when I get home."

We kissed and hugged for a couple minutes. I caressed those beautiful breasts and lovely brown nipples.

"We can't have you going off to teach looking like that," she astutely observed. I was indeed quite erect: Beth is a very good kisser. She continued: "I'd really like to lie here, just floating, for awhile, if that's okay.... How about if I get you nice and wet and then we play missionary?"

I didn't need much persuasion. I brought my erect penis up to her mouth and guided it in. Beth's skilled tongue did a fine job of wetting me. In fact she brought me to the brink of orgasm and then backed off. Okay, fellow missionaries, let's go convert a few heathens. As "Onward, Christian Soldiers" played in my head, I moved between Beth's legs and slowly inserted my cock into her still-moist vagina.

This standard sexual position actually felt a bit exotic to me. Beth usually preferred being on top. Any-which-way is usually fine with me, so during sex I found myself looking up at Beth a lot. Seeing and feeling her underneath me today was kind of a treat.

Then Beth offered me another treat. "I think I am all set for now, as far as orgasms. So don't worry about me. Just enjoy. I just want to feel you come inside me."

If real missionaries had adopted Beth's approach, the entire world would have converted in short order. It probably never occurred to them, the dimwits.

I made a halfhearted effort to prolong our copulation, but I was too aroused to last long. So I surrendered to the delight. Soon I had a splendid orgasm and filled Beth with enough semen to get her through the afternoon. I collapsed on top of her. She put her arms around me and held me.

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Minutes later, now lying next to me, Beth identified a practical problem. "After we force ourselves to get up and get dressed, what do we do about the bed?"

I gave her a blank look. She explained, "I mean, the bottom sheet seems to be quite damp in places--I'm sure you can imagine where. And the sheet probably smells like two naked people recently had some very nice sex on it."

"I see the problem," I said. "If we just remake the bed, then when someone pulls the covers back tonight..."

"Right."

"And if we leave the bed uncovered so the sheets dry and air out... and I go off to my seminar..."

"Right."

"And if we change the sheets, the chance of Ann not noticing..."

"Right."

"In sum: no matter what we do..."

"Ann finds out we had sex in her bed today," Beth concluded. "Well, of course she can't make too big a fuss about that, can she? Since the first person to have sex with me on this bed was her.... Was 'she'?"

"'She,' I think."

Beth continued: "And the first time you and I had sex on this bed, she asked us to and then watched us do it. Helped, at the end."

"That's true," I said. "On the other hand, we've been lovers for three months now. Which was the limit of the best-case scenario we imagined back in July. I'd like not to set Ann off if I can avoid it... trigger an eruption that ends with her saying, 'This has gone on long enough!'"

Beth looked a little troubled. "Has it gone on long enough, Stephen?"

"No, it hasn't.... Well,... how do you feel?"

Beth paused for several seconds. Too long. "I guess maybe I'm a little unsure where our relationship is going."

Probably more than "a little," I thought. And no "maybes" about it. In fact, aren't we both unsure?

"That is the big problem, isn't it?" I said. "There seems to be no place it can go that's both socially approved and legally permissible.... Look, no, let's try a different tack. Remember that long talk we had, when you talked about pair-bonds... the constant pressure from every side to get yourself into a pair-bond? Could it be that--pressure or no pressure--that's what you really do need and want? I certainly wouldn't scoff at you if you do. I've been in a pair-bond myself for ten or twelve years. Essentially I still am, though it's a pair-bond that's a little looser than most. But your mother was right: if that is what you need and want, a married man is not the best place to find what you are looking for."

Beth looked decidedly unhappy. "The problem is, I don't know what I need and want. Or maybe I do know, but half of it doesn't fit in with the other half.... Look, Stephen, do we even love each other?"

Probably she was expecting me to say something like, "I guess not really." Or at most, "I don't know."

"Yes," I said. "We do."

"We do?"

"Yes."

"You said 'yes,' not 'I think so.'" She knew my speech habits pretty well by now.

"I did. Let me ask you. Do we love each other?"

"Stephen, that is not a fair question."

"Perhaps not. Do we?"

Beth hesitated. "Probably," she said.

There was nothing to gain by pressing her, so I backed off. I kissed her forehead and held her gently.

"I've got it!" she suddenly said. "Take the sheet off, pop it into the dryer for about three minutes, then put it back on. Then remake the bed."

"Beth, you're an evil genius," I said. "Let's do it. And afterwards, at the first good opportunity, I'll tell Ann that you and I had a nice roll in the hay--figuratively speaking. So ultimately there's no deception.... We can also toss your bike clothes in to get them dry for your ride home. The Spandex ought to survive a few minutes in the dryer. Or for that matter I can lend you some of Ann's bike clothes. Or mine."

Beth thought it would be easiest to give her own clothes a quick spin along with the sheet, so we did. By the time she and I were dressed and the bed was fixed, it was time for me to leave for the university. There wasn't time to bike in; I'd be taking the car.

Beth and I went to the garage together to get our vehicles. Inside the garage she threw her arms around my neck and gave me an especially nice kiss. Then she smiled, mounted her bike, and pedaled off.

When she got home, Beth probably wouldn't really record her big orgasm on her calendar. I was tempted to make an entry on my own, though. October 7: the day Beth and I almost said "I love you" to each other.

Almost but not quite.

If Ann noticed anything odd about the sheets, she kept it to herself. Even weeks later, "the first good opportunity" to tell her about my romp with Beth still hadn't presented itself--though I did tell her right away that Beth had biked over for lunch. Probably Ann correctly guessed what happened next. Eventually I decided that, if Ann had wanted to hear the details, she would have asked by now.