Wife and Ex-Wife Ch. 04

Monday morning, Nina arrived at her bank a few minutes late. At the desk next to hers, Teresa was sitting there glaring at every move Nina made until she too sat down at her own desk.

"Wh-what's the matter?" Nina stammered.

"I think I'm going to kill you," Teresa said with quiet menace.

"Why?" Nina exclaimed. "What did I do?"

It almost seemed as if steam was coming out of Teresa's ears. "Thanks to you, I got fucked up the ass two nights ago."

"Oh?" Nina said weakly.

"Yeah—and it hurt like hell!"

"Shhh!" Nina cried. "Not so loud!"

Teresa was writhing on the chair as if trying in vain to get comfortable. "And it still hurts!"

"I didn't tell you to do it!" Nina said desperately.

"Yeah, well, you certainly made it sound like the cat's pajamas. So I finally gave in to Frank and let him do it to me. God, what a mistake that was!"

"Did it really hurt that much?"

"Yes!"

"You used lube, didn't you?"

"Of course we did—we're not that stupid."

"And it still hurt?"

"Yes!"

"Well, I think I told you it would. It takes a few times to get used to it."

"Oh, so you want to let Frank do it to me over and over again until I get 'used' to it?"

"Only if you want to. I mean, you don't have to like it. I'm just saying you shouldn't make a snap judgment based on just one time."

"I'll take that under advisement," Teresa said snidely.

"What about Frank? Did he like it?"

"Oh, God, yes! I think he wanted to do it again right away! And let me tell you, he has a lot of trouble getting it up a second time in one night. In fact, I can't remember the last time he was able to do that."

"How did you do it?"

"How else? Doggie style. God, I hate that position—makes me feel like some bitch in heat."

"I don't like it, either—but that's not how we do it."

"Then how do you do it?"

"I lie down flat on my stomach, and he just lies on top of me."

"Doesn't that crush you? I don't know how heavy Patrick is, but Frank would just about asphyxiate me if he did that."

"I kind of like a man's weight on me that way. Anyway, Frank could prop himself up on his elbows if he got too heavy."

"Gee, Nina, you ought to write a sex column—you seem to know everything."

"Patrick also grabs my breasts—and sometimes he . . ." She stopped abruptly.

"He what?" Nina said suspiciously.

"Well," Nina said, blushing, "he slips a hand down to my—you know, and he . . . fingers me."

"You mean he makes you come," Teresa said flatly.

"Yes," Nina said, getting redder by the second. "That makes it hurt a little less."

"I suppose it would."

"Oh, Teresa!" Nina exploded. "Why are we talking about this? You don't have to do it again if you don't want to. I'm sure there are plenty of other things you and Frank can do."

"Well, if you want to be frank about it—sorry, bad pun—our sex life has gotten pretty boring lately."'

"Really?"

"Yeah. We do it the same way each time—and pretty much it's the old missionary position. Frank likes doggie style, too, so he insists that I do it. I think it's mostly so he can look at my butt."

"I'm sure you have a very nice butt."

"Maybe, but I'm not sure I want him gawking at it."

"You shouldn't do it the same way each time."

"I know. But we're usually both pretty tired when we get to it, and we're not so young anymore."

"There's no need to do it just at night. You could do it anytime, especially on weekends."

"Yeah, I suppose we'll have to try that." Teresa sighed. "So how are things going with you and Patrick?"

"Great!" Nina said. Then she blurted out: "He moved in with me."

Teresa almost fell off her chair. "He did what?"

"He moved in with me," Nina said, almost under her breath—"sort of."

"Are you crazy, girl?" Teresa exploded. "You've known him, what, a week?"

"I don't think that matters," Nina said defensively.

"Of course it matters! What do you really know about him? Isn't this really jumping the gun?"

"That's what he said," Nina said sulkily.

"I'm not surprised. And yet he went ahead and moved in."

"Well, not entirely. We're just trying it for a week or two." Nina giggled nervously. "You might say it's a trial living together. Kind of like a trial marriage, only maybe not so serious."

"I think you're asking for trouble, girl."

"Why?"

"Why? Because having somebody else around when you don't really know each other very well is a recipe for disaster. I mean, some people's living habits can be really annoying. I don't care what you feel about someone—they can just drive you crazy."

"He loves me."

"So you said. But that doesn't make a huge difference, if I may be so blunt."

"Why are you being so down on him?"'

"I'm not being down on him. If anything, I'm being down on you. Haven't you learned your lesson from what happened with Larry?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nina said angrily.

"You know what I mean."

Nina glared angrily at her friend. "You mean, because one marriage blew up in my face, I'm not supposed to have a relationship with a man ever again? You were the one who kept urging me to get out there and start dating again!"

"I know that, but you're really rushing into things. It's not healthy."

"Patrick is not going to treat me the way Larry did."

"How do you know?"

"I just know! That's not the way he is."

"You didn't think Larry was the way he was. He was a model husband for five years—until he ran off with that floozie."

Nina teared up. "You're being so mean," she said between sniffles.

"Nina, dear, I'm just trying to look out for you. I don't want you hurt again. You were a total basket case after Larry left. I know—I was there, remember? I would hate for you to have to go through something like that again."

"That's not going to happen," Nina said determinedly. "I won't let it."

"Okay," Teresa said, sighing with resignation. "It's your lookout."

Nina looked glumly at her friend, continuing to sniffle.

"So when do I get to meet this paragon of the male sex?" Teresa said.

Nina seemed startled by the question. "Well, um, maybe not for a while."

"And why is that?"

"Oh, Teresa, we just need to settle a bit. I don't want to throw my friends at him in such a hurry. Maybe in a few weeks."

"All right, I can be patient," Teresa said. I just hope he's still with you in a few weeks.

*

To Patrick's surprise (and, if truth be told, to Nina's as well), their experiment in cohabitation went fairly smoothly. Patrick set up his "studio" in the upstairs bedroom that Nina had been using for what she flamboyantly called her "boudoir": she moved most of the furniture out of the room, although keeping her clothes in the closet. She made sure to let him do his artwork in the evenings after dinner. He usually worked till about 9:30, then knocked off. She was grateful for the hour or two he spent with her before turning in, even if it was only a matter of watching DVDs of old TV shows and cuddling in bed.

Every now and then something more stimulating was on the agenda.

There was an evening when Patrick worked until almost 10, then dragged himself downstairs, where Nina was reading a book on the living-room couch. Throwing himself in a heap next to her, he said:

"God, I'm bushed."

"Poor baby, you work too hard," she said.

"Yeah, I know. But I have to finish this assignment."

"I'm sure you'll get it done soon."

Nina was already in her nightgown, and she impulsively plumped herself on Patrick's lap, boldly facing him as she lowered herself on his groin.

"Oh, Nina, dear, I'm so tired," he complained.

"I know you are—but you need a little treat."

And with that, she pulled the nightgown down from her shoulders and exposed her breasts. Exhausted as he was, Patrick always found stimulation in those magical globes. She moved closer to him and let him bury her face in her cleavage. He reached up to seize her breasts with his hands and squeeze them together around his cheeks.

"Feel better?" she said.

"Mmm," he said, his voice muffled by her flesh. He kissed and sucked and nuzzled in a way that excited both of them, gradually sliding one hand down to seize her bottom and give it a good squeeze.

"Dearest," he said sadly, "I really don't think I'm able to—"

"You just relax," she said. "I'll do everything."

Patrick was wearing some old sweat pants, and so Nina had no difficulty sliding them down to his knees. For all his weariness, his cock was almost fully erect, and she made it stiffer by raising up her nightgown to her waist, placing his member between her legs, and sliding back and forth on it. In the process she coated it with her own flowing juices.

Then, rising up a little, she placed it in herself. Making sure that he was still fixated on her breasts, she rode him gently. Clutching his head and holding it to her chest, she made little mewing sounds while pumping his organ. Patrick was all but motionless as, for once, Nina did all the work.

When he came, he let out his patented little sighs into her cleavage as she felt his wetness drench her orifice. She kept him in her for minutes until the accumulated sensations gave her a mild little climax of her own. Then she kissed the top of his head and got off of him.

"Was that nice?" she said, gazing at his glistening cock as it slowly softened.

"Very nice," he breathed.

"I guess you weren't so tired after all."

She bent down and licked up the mingled juices—his and hers—on his cock and went up to bed.

Another time—on a Sunday morning, after they had finished their usual big weekend breakfast at the small kitchen table in the breakfast nook—Nina caught Patrick glaring at her in a strange way. It was not at all a hostile gaze—just an incredibly intense one. It made her nervous.

"What's the matter, Patrick?" she said in alarm. "Have I done something?"

He didn't reply, but merely turned his head to one side as if regarding her as some kind of scientific specimen. Then he said:

"Stand up, please, Nina darling."

She did so, but was actually filled with a mild fear of what might follow. "Now what?" she said in a shaky voice.

"Could you please bend over?" he said a bit sheepishly.

"What?" she cried. "Bend over how? Where?"

"Over the table."

Her jaw dropped. "Right now? You don't really mean to—"

"Please," he said, sounding exactly like a little boy asking his mother for another cookie.

"Oh, honestly!" she said. "I suppose you want me to—" And with that, she raised up her nightgown to her waist.

"Yes, please."

She duly bent over the small table (I'm doing this in protest, I'll have you know!), her breasts getting squeezed by the hard wood. She was wearing nothing underneath the nightgown, and her bare bottom was now available to his gaze.

For some moments Patrick did nothing. He did part her legs a little, and he opened his robe (he too was wearing nothing underneath), but otherwise he didn't touch her.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" she said. She could think of several things he could do at this juncture.

He said nothing, but bent down and fastened his lips on her sex. The sudden act made her cry out with a little "Oh!" of surprise, and his mouth and tongue made her wet in no time. In spite of her undignified position, she was wanting him to enter her in the worst way.

But he still refrained, and after a while he just stood behind her in contemplation.

"Oh, Patrick, just do something, will you?"

He said nothing at first, but then muttered, as if to himself, "No lube handy."

"Lube?" she cried. "Why do you need lube? Why don't you just go into my pussy? I mean, it's right there!"

But then, he seemed to get a sudden inspiration. She watched him in amazement as he strode briskly to the refrigerator and pulled out a white jar.

"Omigod, Patrick, you're not going to use that, are you?"

Without a word he slathered her anus with mayonnaise. "I think this will work pretty well."

And it did. He entered her forcefully, eliciting something approaching a scream from her; but presently they both got into the hang of things, their thighs slapping together as he probed deeper and deeper into that nether crevice. As much as Nina had gotten used to this procedure, her peculiar position made it seem as if she was some kind of sex doll that some crazed bachelor was pummeling to satisfy his unnatural urges. When he came, he let out a harsh grunt that Nina echoed with one of her own.

As usual, he remained firmly in her for minutes, until finally she said sharply, "Damn it, Patrick, get out of me! What a mess you've made!"

He pulled out reluctantly and slumped exhausted back in his chair. Returning to a standing position, Nina held up her nightgown so that it wouldn't get soiled, then stomped over to a counter and tore off some paper towels from the dispenser. Glaring evilly at her lover, she wiped her bottom vigorously and, as she flung the towels into the garbage can, said:

"So you've discovered a new lube, eh?"

"Yeah," he said with a grin. "It's not as good as cold cream, but it gets the job done."

She didn't feel that comment was worth a response, and she marched off to take a shower.

*

In mid-August Nina fulfilled her promise to Teresa and invited her and her husband over to dinner at her house.

When the couple showed up, Patrick expressed his admiration for Teresa's good looks by giving her a warm hug as she was introduced to him. She was a few inches shorter than Nina, but her compact frame had plenty of curves at bust and bottom, and her dark hair framed a round face with sharp features that always seemed curious and inquisitive, highlighted by twinkling green eyes that took in their surroundings with effortless ease. Patrick greeted Teresa's husband Frank more reservedly, appraising the tallish, stocky man who was nearly a decade older than himself. His imposing physique was tempered by a kind, honest face that was quick to smile, and he took Patrick's hand and shook it vigorously.

Nina turned her back on her guests and said, "Things aren't quite ready, so just make yourselves at home," waving casually at a plate of appetizers on the coffee table in front of the sofa. But as the men sat down, Teresa tripped after Nina, saying, "I'll just help her in the kitchen."

Once in the kitchen, Nina said, "It's nice of you, Teresa, but I don't really need any help."

"I know you don't," Teresa said. "That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?"

"Oh, I just wanted to tell you something," Teresa said with a strange smugness.

"And what might that be?"

Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in Nina's ear, "I like rear entry now!"

Nina let out a guffaw. "That's what you wanted to tell me?"

Teresa seemed hurt by her friend's reaction. "Well, I thought you'd be pleased."

"I'm very pleased," Nina said, trying to mollify her. "What exactly did the trick?"

"You were right—I just need to do it a couple more times. And the cold cream helped."

"Did it?"

"Yeah. Of course," Teresa added, giggling, "I'm not going to use that jar on my face anymore."

"I would hope not," Nina said drily.

"The point is," Teresa said excitedly, her voice lowered so that the men in the other room couldn't hear, "I can get Frank to come twice a night now! Once in the front and once in the back. Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful."

"I mean, he hasn't been able to do that since before we were married. Of course, it's not that we have sex every night! God, his thing would fall off if we did that!"

"I daresay."

"Twice a week is about all we can manage. I mean, both of us are pretty tired after a hard day's work." Frank was a stockbroker who worked downtown.

"You must be."

"So we usually do it once during the week, and then at least once—sometimes twice—on the weekend. God, I haven't seen Frank so frisky in years!"

"How nice for you."

Teresa finally noticed her friend's tone of voice, so she changed the subject. "So how are things going with you and Patrick?"

"Great!" Nina said at once. "It's just been great! No arguments, everything smooth as pie. I can't believe it, really! I was so afraid that we'd rushed into things."

"Yeah, so was I."

"But I think we're both a lot more mature than we were when we were first married, and more tolerant of each other's idiosyncrasies."

"He's not fully moved in, is he?"

"Well, no—it's still a 'trial' situation right now. He still goes back to his apartment now and then to get stuff that he doesn't have. But that's a good sign: he's bringing more and more things over here!"

"Sounds fabulous. The place doesn't look a whole lot different from when I was here before."

"Oh, most of his stuff is either upstairs in his studio—"

"His what?"

"He has what we call a 'studio' in the upstairs bedroom—the other bedroom, not the one we use for sleeping. He's an artist, you know."

"I thought he only did that at work."'

"No, no! He's trying to work freelance also."

"Well, that doesn't sound like it leaves a lot of time for . . . you know."

"Oh, there's plenty of time. Anyway, I'm not greedy."

"Aren't you?" Teresa said pointedly.

"Teresa, what are you trying to say? That I'm—high-maintenance?"

"I don't know—I haven't lived with you. Although you did spend a lot of time with us after your . . . you know."

"Yeah, I know," Nina said, suddenly tearing up. "That was so nice of you."

"Sure, sure, we were glad to help. And I'm tickled that things seem to be working out for you."

"So far, so good," Nina said, smiling bravely. Then, shifting gears: "Come on, let's get this food on the table before it gets cold."

Nina had prepared a superb pot roast with vegetables, and there was artisan bread and a hearty salad to go with it. Store-bought cherry pie completed the meal, and everyone was stuffed after it was over.

The two couples explored the house, going upstairs to see the "studio." Teresa and Frank were properly impressed by the complex works of art—finished and unfinished—that were scattered around the room, although the subject matter wasn't entirely to their taste. But they could clearly recognize that Patrick had more than his share of talent.

Suddenly Teresa took her friend aside and whispered conspiratorially, "Nina, you keep Frank busy for a while. I want to talk to Patrick."

"Why?" Nina said, a little scared.

"Oh, nothing much. Just some things I want to explain."

"You like him, don't you?" Nina said anxiously.

"Sure I do—he seems wonderful. Don't worry about anything: just keep Frank occupied for a few minutes."

And with that, she took Patrick by the arm and led him back downstairs.

He was a bit nonplussed by finding himself suddenly alone with his lover's best friend, and he waited for her to initiate whatever discussion she had in mind.

"So," Teresa said, "you've made quite a hit with Nina."

Patrick smiled at the lame comment. "She's made a hit with me too."

"I can see that. It's really nice how you two have found each other. It's been a long time for her."

"Too long. I don't know why she didn't—you know . . ."

"Got out on dates? Well, I kept urging her to do just that, but she wasn't ready."

"It took her three years to get ready?" Patrick said, half-incredulously.

"Well, everybody's different. I mean, the way her marriage ended, it's not surprising she was a little traumatized."

"More than a little, I think."

"Maybe. She's just not had a lot of luck with men—beginning with her father."