The First Ninety Days Ch. 11

And that was how they ended up with visitors. Caitlyn scheduled them for seven that night, which should be enough time for her and Jon to put something good together for dinner, and then left him another message keeping him abreast of the updates. She needed to put in some harp and oboe practice in preparation for her lessons on Tuesday and Thursday; she was starting to think that maybe she should set oboe lessons aside, at least for her own sanity. The two instruments together took up about ninety minutes of her time; the homework took another forty-five, as she had no "real" classes until Wednesday and some of it could be spread out to there. Between it all, her mind had plenty of time to wander.

She'd never put that much thought before into domination and submission, but in retrospect she wondered why it hadn't occurred to her yet. She had assembled a modest collection of what her mother had condescendingly termed "young women's fiction," always with a bit of a sneer that Caitlyn should have descended to that level. "What's to read about," she'd once asked. "You'll find a nice young man and get married by Pastor Pendleton, and that'll be it." Sometimes Caitlyn wasn't sure her mother understood her at all. But that was neither here nor there; the relevant fact was that almost all of those "young women's fictions"—the romance novels, in other words—had elements of control in them. There was always the powerful man with half-unlaced shirt and burning gaze, the man whom (it was sensed, and sometimes spelled out) could take a woman against his will if he so chose. Of course, he never did... Or, if he did, the loss of control was dismissed or validated when it turned out that the woman "burned" for him just as much as he did for her.

It was a rape fantasy, pure and simple; the message was that, if a woman wanted sex, it was permissible for a man to go for it even if she resisted, because in the heat of the moment she would be compliant. Caitlyn wasn't sure if she liked this fantasy, or the fact that she was buying into it. Because shewas buying into it, that much was plain; there was something incredibly exciting about the idea that she might be able to incite her man to some lust-crazed frenzy. After all, if she had inspired him to hold her down and ravish her, who truly held the power in this situation? And besides, she could not deny the animal attraction in being taken by a strong, powerful man who would convince her to see things his way—a man who knew what he wanted, and intended for them both to have it.

The aspects of non-consent were troubling... But they linked perfectly with the animal-lust aspect too. It was as if a womanhad to trick her man into ravishing her in order to be satisfied; it was as if his lust for her was the actual goal, and achieving it would simply carry them away and smooth over all the rough edges. That seemed stupid at first glance; after all, what if the woman actuallydidn't want it? But, at the same time, wasn't that more or less how her own sex life had started? Here was Jon, knowing that he could show her to her pleasure, knowing that he could awaken her sexuality, but having to overcome her hesitations and inhibitions to do so. Hadn't there been an element of non-consent in those actions?—he, riding roughshod over whatever barriers and defenses had been instilled in her by upbringing and education, to touch her most intimate places, awaken her most intimate responses?

And yet it hadn't been like that at all, and she knew it. She had not asked, but she knew in her heart—had never doubted—that, if shehad on their wedding night asked him to hold off, to ease her in more slowly, that he would have. He had opened her secrets that night, plumbed her depths, yes, but only because she'd let him. He would not have forced himself on her. He would've been anxious, frustrated, maybe even angry (and knowing now what she did about sex, she couldn't blame him), but he would have forebore. And with her consent, he had done only what he knew she would thank him for: touch her most secrets places, awaken her most intimate responses. She knew now what he had done, and she was glad for it.If he'd left me to discover these things alone, I would probably be just lying there thinking of England. I would never have understood just how intimate and passionate our loving was supposed to be.

And that was the heart of it.

In those romance stories, the danger was part of the fun—the women protagonists, frail though they might be in body, always seemed to enjoy playing with the lit bombs they made of their men, teasing them until the overwhelming passion swept everything away (especially reason, dignity and clothing). Caitlyn understood that feeling—the frisson of danger in toying with something only somewhat under control, something that could turn on you if you mistreated it... But in the romance novels, the turning-on-you was never a bad thing. When a man turned on her woman, it was always to their mutual pleasure; it was a no-lose scenario—especially since, even if the woman was at first resistant to the idea of sex, she turned out to have wanted it too. There was never a sense that the woman was teasing simply because she could, but had no intention of giving it up; there was never the sense that she was promising more than she intended to give. Caitlyn thought such an action was stupid in the extreme; Caitlyn thought it still didn't justify rape. And yet, in the stories, this side of it just simply didn't happen. The womenalways wanted it; the men werealways gentle. Caitlyn knew enough of real life to see those for the fantasies they were.

And yet, with Jon, she had a fairy-tale come true. She knew he would never hurt her. She knew he was safe. And so it would be okay for them to play like that—because she knew that, if she said the word, if she was too frightened or the situation was spiraling out of control, he would stand down and they could reset. (She made herself a promise right there that, if they everdid have to back off like that, she would give him a blowjob as a reward. After all, one good turn deserves another.) No matter how threateningly he might posture, how loudly he might growl, she knew that, down at the bedrock of soul where the real decisions were made, he would never hurt her.

And if their sex in these sessions should happen to involve a certain amount of grabbing and holding-down...

Caitlyn came to herself suddenly. She was sitting behind the harp, its massive countenance frowning down on her shoulder, but the sheet music seemed utterly foreign to her, as though she had never seen it before. She had a vague recollection of having played the same page five or six times. And between her legs... She could feel the throb, the ache, the void inside her begging to be filled; her panties were wet, and maybe even the bottoms of her pants. Her chest was heaving, her nipples stiff against her bra; she was more turned-on than she had been even when Jon was fucking her this morning.

Carefully, as though it (or she!) might break, she leaned the harp back down until it supported its own weight. Then, carefully, as though she (or it) might break, she slid her hand down inside her pants, between her legs, into the flaming heat and murky damp, touching herself with sexual intent for the first time in her life.

The lower fringes of her hair were matted with her own wetness; she felt the slipperiness of her pussy as she leaned back against the wall to give herself more access. She had thought to slide a finger inside herself, but some unknown instinct made her press her hand against her own clit, nestling it into the webbing between her fingers. The wave of pleasure was almost dizzying, but oh so good; she had barely begun to press down when orgasm burst over her.

Her body shook like a leaf in a storm; she felt the explosion of pleasure beneath her as her pussy spasmed, clenching down on some non-existent intruder; her own movements caused her hips to buck against her hand, pressing her clit against her fingers and deluging her with sensations so strong as to be almost unbearable. She heard the rushing in her ears, and faintly beyond that her own gasping moans; and then it was over and she collapsed back down to the wall, breathing hard.

After a minute she stirred, and began extricating her hand from her privates. Unsurprisingly they were coated with her own lubricants; she smelled up close the tangy scent Jon's face always bore after he went down on her. After a dream-like moment she raised that hand to her face and tasted her own self for the first time; she was curious, and this seemed the thing to do. It tasted not unlike its smell: sour, somewhat metallic. She wasn't sure why Jon seemed to like it so much.

She was more composed when Jon came home; she'd changed her panties, and her pants to be safe. She couldn't remember being that worked up in her life. Jon had certainly never managed it, which was somewhat frightening considering that he basicallywas her sex life. Of course, Jonhad been involved in the fantasy—kind of, sort of, to a certain extent, maybe—but it was just that: a fantasy. For mere imagination to have that much power over her—more than herhusband...

Despite all her efforts, Jon sensed it. He turned her away from the mashed-potato mix with gentle hands and then tilted her chin up to look at him. "Hey. You've been quiet ever since I got home. Plus, your favorite jeans, which you were wearing today, are in the wash all of a sudden. Something happen?"

Caitlyn wilted for a moment.You notice these things? Though, considering how much she loved those jeans, and how often she wore them, maybe it would've been something to yell about if hehadn't noticed by now. But that was neither here nor there. The pertinent fact was that she couldn't talk about this, not to Jon—it was too potentially volatile, too potentially shameful. And yet she was bound to him by love, and if he wanted to know...

"You'll always love me, right? Always? There's nothing that could change that..."

He gave a gentle laugh. "What, this again? Didn't we just go through it withme earlier today? What's going on, hon?"

"Will you?" she insisted.

He sensed her intensity and didn't laugh again. "Yes, Caitlyn Stanford, I will. I will always love you. For better or worse, in good times and bad, through sickness and health, as long as we both should live. And even beyond then."

"Okay, then I can tell you," she whispered, though she still wasn't sure she could. "When you... When we talked, earlier on the phone... What you said about... Dominating me... I thought about it, and..." Almost silent now. "I really really liked it."

She saw Jon's eyebrows leap practically into his hair.

"I don't... I'm still not really surewhy I like it, but... I do. And..." A nervous giggle. "I gotsoo worked up thinking about it."

"Hence the, err, pants replacement?" he said, an amused smile on his face. "You must've really been going, for that much smell."

She felt her face drop. "You couldsmell it?"

"And, if Zach or Christa pass by the laundry hamper, which they almost certainly will since it's in the bathroom, they will too." Then he laughed as

Caitlyn stormed over to the hamper and stuffed the offending articles all the way to the bottom.

"Well," she said. "Where were we?"

"Err," he said, still laughing, "I think both of us had received shocks in a rather brief period of time."

"Mine has been dealt with," she said primly. "What about you?"

"Well..." His lapsed into silence. "It's, um... Well, I guess I can see it. I mean, you've never lacked for strong authority figures in your life; even me, to a certain extent. It makes sense that they would get... What, entangled up in your ideas of sexuality."

"You don't think they're supposed to be," she asked, immediately apprehensive.

"Well..." He shrugged. "It's not my personal cup of tea, I have to say. I'm not into the whole 'power' thing. But that doesn't mean it'swrong orbad or anything. As long as you aren't harming people, whatever floats your boat, right?"

But if it isn't his cup of tea, how do I get him to do it to me? "Okay."

"I mean, there's nothing in the Bible aboutthat either, is there?"

"Not to my knowledge," she said. "I mean, there's the strictures about rape and all that, but it's notreally rape if we're both just pretending."

She could see by his eyebrows that she had shocked him again, but to his credit he plowed on. "If we ever get to the point where we can entertain fantasies, I think it's a good sign. A lot of times—well, heck, just a minute ago—we feel really nervous about trying to explore the, umm,exotic sides of our sex lives."

"Or eventalking about them."

"Or even talking about them. And that sort of exploration is only possible when you feel, you know, really safe and secure with your partner, because if you tried it for real you might get hurt, or somebody might get in trouble. So... I'd say it'd be a good sign."

"Isn't it already?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Jon, Ido feel that safe. I know we can explore the... Iknow that we can, you know, play out those fantasies without anybody getting hurt. Because Ialready feel that safe."

"That's good," he said, smiling, and reached out to draw her into a hug.

"So can we try it?" she asked.

He stopped with his arms halfway around her. "What, like... Right now?"

She glanced at the mashed potatoes, and then at the vegetables Jon had been working on. They could keep. "Sure, why not?"

He gave a distracted grin. "Who are you, and where's the woman I actually married? She's really hesitant about sex."

"And isn't it every man's dream to be married to a woman who really likes it," she countered, grinning.

"I suppose it is, but I'm not justany man," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"Of course not," she said, slinking closer to him. "You're the man who's going to hold me down and have his way with me." Just the thought of it made her tingle.

But Jon didn't look excited; as a matter of fact, now that she looked closely, he seemed downright worried. "Umm... Look, Caitlyn... I'm not sure if this is really the, umm, the right expression for me."

"Huh?"

"It's just... I don't like the idea of putting that power relationship in sex. We've never done that and I don't know if it's a smart idea. It adds violence to the relationship, pure and simple."

"Oh, come on, Jon, I'm not asking you to spank me or anything."Not even a little? "Just... You know. To be a little more aggressive. To be more physical. To be more... Controlling."

"I don't know if I even likethat," he said. "That's what your mother does. It just isn't..." He sighed. "Are yousure you like this idea?"

In answer, she took his hand and placed it on the juncture between her legs. She knew he could feel the heat even through the cloth. But even then, it wasn't enough, so she guided him into her pants. She felt his fingers taste the slipperiness between her nether lips, and watched his eyebrows jump for a third time.

Suddenly she became aware of just how weird this might look: the two of them just standing here with his hand down her pants.I hope I closed the blinds!—I haven't had any more problems with that stupid Mrs. Clarke, but why tempt fate? Nonetheless she didn'tfeel weird; there wasn't anything wrong, in her mind, with sharing her arousal with her husband. Especially since, in its own way, this wasn't even remotely sexual. They were talking about sex, obviously, but he wasn't really doing anything to her, nor she to him; she was simply expressing her arousal, the effect this particular fantasy had on her. It wasn't erotic; it was factual.

I see what he means about feeling safe.

"Well," he said, slithering his hand out of her pants. "That answers my question. Umm. Gosh. Umm. Look, Caitlyn, this is just... I dunno if I can just swallow all of this all at once. Give me a little time to think about it, okay?"

He hadn't said no. She smiled. "Take all the time you need, my love."

Christa and Zach arrived thirteen minutes late—Caitlyn should've remembered to account for that when scheduling them—and burst onto the scene with their typical energy. Barely had Caitlyn opened the door when she was being engulfed in a full-on hug. She wasn't used to there being someone else's breasts in the way. Jon popped the chicken from the oven, Caitlyn grabbed the mashed potatoes, Zach offered to say a quick (and all-inclusive) grace, and off they went.

The Cranes were doing just fine, thanks for asking. They had returned to Greenfield at the beginning of the month for the second quarter of their respective Master's programs, much as Caitlyn had just last Wednesday, and were settling back into their school-year routines. Octapella had rehearsed several times already, of course, but they'd only seen Jon there and didn't want Caitlyn to feel left out. Yes, they had very much enjoyed their first Christmas together; they'd gone home to spend it with their respective families, but on the 26th had had their own personal Christmas together back at their place—well, right after they'd helped move the Stanfords into this very apartment, that's when! They were married now; though they loved going back to Mount Hill to see their family, 'home' was their apartment just off the Greenfield campus, and the two people who lived there. How was Caitlyn doing?

"Oh, about the same," Caitlyn said. "Shellview went back in on Wednesday." She described her classes, what little there was to say about them; it wasn't like she'd learned that much jazz theory or new composition techniques since then. She was also taking a class about music in the age of computers and filling her ensemble requirement in the orchestra, in addition to harp and oboe lessons every week.

Jon talked about the truck they'd bought and the adventures of finding a cap for the bed, and then moved on to his new job. "The one Brandon told me about, at Caitlyn's birthday."

"That was barely two weeks ago," Christa said. "Two weeks ago yesterday, wasn't it? You guys move pretty fast."

Jon shrugged. "It was a good opportunity. No reason to wait, right?"

"How was it," Caitlyn asked. She realized that, though he'd come home over an hour ago, she hadn't asked him about his day yet.

Jon shrugged again. "It was... fine," he said. "It's my first day, after all. A lot of new technology, a lot of new jargon. And technically they haven't started training me yet."

"Oh?" said Zach.

"Well... Remember what Brandon said about the industry being short-handed?" Jon said. "He wasn't exaggerating. There were quite a few people home sick, and then quite a fewextra people coming in becausethey were sick and needed to see their doctors. We had more people coming in than the staff could handle. And that waswith me and the other two trainees being temporarily promoted to apprenticedom and actually just shadowing real medical assistants."

"Wow," said Christa. "Total immersion."

"Yeah. I think I can get to handle it. But what a way to find out."

"Do you like your coworkers?" Zach asked.

"Oh, yeah," said Jon. "They're just fine." He smiled. "I'm already learning which ones sleep around and which ones go home to their wives. It's a big complex—I'm not actually assigned to any one doctor, Brandon just said Dr. Chandakar because he was Brandon's connection, he was, like, the 'who you know' angle. Which is actually too bad, because Dr. Chandakar's nice. He's got an accent but his English is perfect. ...Well, except for the accent. I haven't dealt with too many Indian people, so occasionally I have to double-take."