Talkin' To Me

The essence of this story is true - a woman calling her husband, long-distance, to tell him what she's up to in her hotel room with another man. It was told to me by a long-time friend, someone I trust. I can't, however, vouch for the dialog; I don't remember his tale verbatim and so I've imagined what a woman like my friend described - gutsy, sure of herself, determined to be free - might say.

You talkin' to me? Yes, I'm talkin' to you...

"It's complicated," she said.

He nodded empathetically but remained silent. It was her story to tell if she wanted to. She could either go on, keeping alive both the conversation and their nascent interest in each other, or just let it end.

Sitting on a tall barstool, she took another top-to-bottom look at the man standing next to her and liked what she saw. Still, she took a moment, sipping her vodka, to dial up her feminine instinct - "what do you think, Instinct? Go? Or no-go?" No alarms went off so she decided to take another small, cautious step forward.

"My husband is a good man," she said. "He really is."

Again, the man simply nodded, holding her gaze with his. "Not a very exciting man, to be honest," she continued, "but a kind man, a good husband and a very good father to our daughter."

"Sounds like there's a lot there to like," the man said.

"Indeed," she replied. "But I'm sure you know that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing. Goodness can be like that. Goodness can be suffocating."

"I guess..."

Goodness was the very thing now going bump in the night of their nearly 20 years of marriage. They lived in a Midwest city, where he was a mid-level city official, a deacon in their church, a member of the church choir, a Little League coach, a Rotarian and a staunch Republican.

"Not a Scoutmaster? How did he miss that?"

That tickled her. "I am so surrounded by goodness there are times I could puke. Normally, I'd say 'I could shit' but I don't want you to think I'm uncouth."

It was his turn to laugh. And he did.

She had been thinking, when the man approached her and invited her to a drink, of how she and her husband had been growing apart over time. The first crack occurred over women's rights, which she supported ardently and he regarded as unimportant. It diverged even further over civil rights, the cultural and foreign wars, and now politics. It seemed as if she was for something, he wasn't.

"He takes the Bible very, very seriously," she said, noticing that the man's eyes were occasionally slipping down from her eyes to her scoop-neck blouse and her breasts. Far from being offended, she was flattered.

"He's conservative and a born-again Christian," she said. "He believes there really is a God, that there's a heaven and a hell and - this really gets me - that there's really a devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, or whatever you want to call him, prowling the Earth looking to recruit sinners."

"Hmm...I'm a card-carrying sinner," the man said, "but I was never recruited. I volunteered when I discovered the wonder and joys of the female sex. Never regretted it, never looked back. Well, let me correct that: I do look back when a pretty woman passes by to see if the rearview is as nice as the front view."

"Did you check me out that way this afternoon in the exhibit hall?" she asked with a sly smile.

"Yes, I most certainly did."

"And?"

"Front to back, you're a babe. A witty, smart babe. I'm delighted to be having a drink with you right now and I'd be even more delighted to spend more of the evening with you."

"Well, we'll see about that - maybe, maybe not."

"Go back to what you were saying about your husband and complications."

"Oh, goodness and Satan and sin? I think it's all nonsense. Goodness can squeeze every last drop of fun out of life. I try to find as much fun as I can from life. So I'm not much of a "Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes."

"Okay. But please tell me: do the complications rule out the two of us having some fun together tonight?"

She looked at him for several seconds as a little smile quickly grew into a laugh. "What you're really asking me, aren't you, is this: what are your chances of getting into my pants tonight? Or should I say panties?"

"Okay, you're right...what are my chances of getting into your panties tonight? Do the complications make that..." His voice trailed off.

"Not...necessarily. My husband and I have this little game we play when I'm away from home. It's called "guess-what-I'm-doing"? Maybe ten years ago, I realized I've got a sexually adventurous streak in me, much more so than he. Travel offers a break from the vanilla sex I get at home. If I meet an attractive, congenial man, a man like you, who can make me laugh, who's fun to be with, then I'm fair game."

"Ahhh, you're my kind of woman."

She laughed and went on: "The complication, since you ask, is front-loaded. If we can get that squared away I'd say your chances are pretty good. Here's the deal: We go up to my room where the fun's going to take place. Once there, you become mute and stay mute as one of those monks who take a vow of silence...that is, if you want a piece of me.

"You'll just sit there when I call my husband. He and I will chat briefly about family stuff...how is he, how am I, how's our daughter, how's the dog, blah-blah-blah. But you've got to be...let me repeat, got to be...absolutely quiet until I hang up that phone. Can you live with that?"

"You bet."

"Good. And when you hear me tell my husband I sense there's another being in the room, that's your cue to get to work. You'll start by slowly undressing me, kissing my breasts, fingering me, licking me in all the right places, pretending your thingie is a car and my mouth a car wash, doing every sweet, sweaty, slip-slidin' bit of foreplay that you can think of. If you run out of ideas, I'll gladly suggest a few more.

"Agreed - but if you're telling him everything, what difference does it make...?

"The difference is the difference between fact and fiction. He doesn't know if I'm describing reality or imaging things. Part of him would love to watch me getting planked by another man and part of him thinks I'm making it all up just to spice our love-life and even make him a little jealous. He's torn between the two and can't decide which one he'd rather believe. And I want to keep it that way."

"Okay."

"Good. So here's how it usually goes, after the family chit-chat. I say to my husband...

'Well, it's getting late, I'm going to turn in, brush my ...uh-oh...uh-oh... the room has suddenly gotten very warm and there's that sulfurous smell...we both recognize what that means, don't we?... yep, Satan is somehow in my room once again...and here he is...sitting next to me on the bed, putting an arm around my shoulders...

"...and just now slipping his other hand down my blouse and squeezing my breasts as if they belong to him. I'm trying to push him away but I can't budge him...yes, okay, my husband says to stop tormenting me and go to hell...I mean, back to hell...that didn't faze him in the slightest because now he's pulling my blouse up over my head... and...it's off; he dropped it on the floor...he's pulling the cups of my bra down to tweak my nipples...

"...you know what that does to me...now he's opened the clasp and taken it off ...tossed it on the floor...now it's the zipper on my skirt...he's pulling it all the way down... making me wiggle my butt, shifting from side to side, to get it down past my hips...now he's got it all the way down around my ankles...tossed it aside also...I'm sitting here in just my underwear and I can feel the heat radiating off his body...yes, yes, I keep telling him to stop, to go away, that I'm a virtuous married woman and stop trying to lure me into sin...

'...but he just ignores everything I say...just like he did that time I was in those other cities...Chicago, Omaha, Cleveland...how does he know where I am when he tries to get me to sin?...he's holding my breasts in both of his hands...his hands are hot...he's teasing my nipples with his fingers, he's licking them and biting them...my heart is starting to pound... be gone, Satan, be gone...it's no use, he knows what he's done to me before...and he's doing it to me again...I'm powerless to stop him... ohmygod, now he's tugging on my panties and he's staring into my eyes with that smile...that evil, arrogant smile...I'm losing control...

'...ohmygod, he's pulled my panties down...I tried to hold on to them but oh, he's so strong...I'm getting very wet...ah! he's holding them up to his nose, sniffing them...and smiling...now they're on the floor too, with all my other clothes... be gone, be gone!...no, he's still here, staring at my nakedness and playing with himself... yes, it's starting to get hard...ohhh, he's pushing my knees apart and stroking himself faster ...

'...he's kneeling now between my legs and he's flicking his tongue at me like the snake he is...he's putting his mouth on my sex...ohgod, he's licking me there...his tongue is raspy, like a cat's...ahhhh! he's licking my labes (labia) ...it feels rough, like sandpaper...but it's so exciting...I'm so wet...he's running his fingers all over my vulva...uh! he's slipped a finger inside me, inside my vagina...and now a second finger...and another...his fingers are running wild inside me...he's taken his hand off his cock and made me hold it...it's hard...it's hot, really hot...and yet it's not like a burning sensation...oh god help me, I'm arching my back...I'm really getting excited...

'...he's wagging his cock in my face...he wants me to suck it...yes, I'll tell him...my husband says that fellatio is immoral and I mustn't do it...ahh...he's forced me to open my mouth...ummmm, I...ummm...can't talk...with ...ummm, it..in my mouth...he's fucking my mouth... ummm...making me suck it...

'...he's between my legs now...I'm afraid he's going to penetrate me...like he's done before...yes, he's putting his cock into me...just a little...just the tip...leaving it in for a second or two and then pulling it out...and slapping my clit with it...putting it back in a little bit deeper...

'...I'm going crazy... I know it's a sin, but I want...I need ...him to fuck me, I'm sorry...yes, it's wrong, I know...but I can't fight him off any longer...ahhh! It feels like he's all the way inside me now...he's stuffing me, it's so big... he's put my legs over his shoulders...I'm folded in two... my knees are squashing my breasts...he's humping me ...oh!...oh!...oh, fuck!...oh, fuck-fuck-fuckety-fuck!

'...just like that, he's pulled out of me...and he's slapping my butt...to make me turn over and get on my hands and knees...doggy...ooo! that one stung...but he just ignores me when I tell him to stop...and he's slipped his cock back inside me again."

"That's about when I hang up. I'm thisclose to an orgasm and I'll bet you'll be too. I make a lot of noise when I cum and I can't take the chance that you won't grunt like a sex-crazed elephant when you pop."

"No. I can hold it for quite a while. But doesn't your husband ever call you back after you've hung up - to hear the end of your story?"

"No. He'll figure if things have gotten this far and Satan is already balls-deep in me, this game's over. Plan B is then to seek God's forgiveness on the grounds that I'm a weak, helpless woman. Now it's his personal challenge to get me back on the path of righteousness.

"Okay. I understand. Shall we be off to your room?"

"Let's."

The man paid the bar tab - he'd had three drinks, she two, just enough to whet their sexual appetites - and both went up to her room.

There, she kicked off her shoes, peed, washed herself with a soapy washcloth, propped pillows behind her back as she sat against the headboard and patted the bed to indicate where she wanted the man to be. She picked up her cellphone,

"Ready?" she asked the man.

"Ready when you are, Mrs. DeMille."

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