New England Triad Ch. 04
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Stephen, Ann, and Beth have breakfast the morning after; Ann gets sent out of town; Stephen finally meets Dev and has three memorable showers in one evening.
* * * * *
Author’s note: This chapter is part of a long narrative. For best results, begin reading New England Triad at Chapter 1.
The story so far: Stephen (the narrator) is an English professor. Ann and Beth are co-workers. Stephen is married to Ann and having an affair with Beth. Ann knows, because everybody is being honest with one another. Last night, at Steven and Ann’s house, the two women had sex with each other; then they all enjoyed a nice threesome. Now it’s the morning after.
Technical term: panniers (PAN-yays) are removable cloth bags for carrying things on a bicycle. They attach to the sides of a bike’s rear rack.
Advisory: This chapter includes graphic descriptions of golden showers.
On with the story. Enjoy.
* * * * *
First Splendor in the Grass, then maybe Carnal Knowledge. Now Saturday Night and Sunday Morning. I could probably write the story of our romantic triangle using nothing but old movie titles.
Diabolique: that was the one I couldn’t remember–where the wife and the mistress plot to kill the husband. We haven’t reached that point yet. Give us another month.
In any case Saturday night had passed, and Sunday morning was upon us. As usual, I awoke next to a lovely naked woman, my wife Ann. Unusually, on the far side of Ann was another one, my lover Beth. Or should that now be Ann’s lover Beth? Our? The semantics were beyond me.
After a month fucking up a storm, Beth and I clearly qualified as lovers. Then last night had seen a totally unplanned and improbable lesbian adventure. Followed by a lovely three-way–my first and Ann’s first.
Is everybody’s first sex with Beth totally unplanned and improbable? Mine certainly was, and now Ann’s.
Another question: how did Ann get in the middle? I’m sure I had been there when we all drifted off to sleep last night. Probably one of the ladies had gotten up to pee, and the bed’s other occupants shifted.
I dressed quietly and went down to the kitchen. I put on a big pot of coffee and then began making my usual oddball breakfast. It involved whole-grain toast, oat bran, shredded cheese, a few chopped vegetables, and some low-fat pepperoni. It’s bizarre but satisfying. Like certain other aspects of my life.
As I was working I heard the upstairs toilet flush and the shower run. Twenty minutes later the girls, freshly showered, dressed but braless, entered the kitchen together. I glanced up at them appreciatively. Both looked beautiful.
“Did you have a nice shower?” I asked. “And do they fit?”
“Yes indeed, and yes,” Beth replied, with a smile. I figured Ann would have offered her a pair of clean panties. Maybe I’d ask again later about the shower: that “indeed” was intriguing.
Beth joined me at the kitchen table as Ann cooked bacon and eggs for the two of them. I brought them both some coffee. Beth and I gave each other little smiles and small sideways shakes of the head. As of this morning, none of us knew exactly what we were doing, what we wanted, or where we were headed.
Nor did we even have a good language to make sense of last night. For example, did Ann’s lesbian sex count as “adultery”? Beats me.
Ann and Beth did the dishes together, then Beth took her leave. At the door, warm hugs and kisses for Ann and then for me, plus thanks for the most wonderful dinner party ever. Beth accepted Ann’s offer of some leftover roast lamb and then was off.
I came up behind Ann and put my arms around her waist.
“Whatever question you’re about to ask, the answer is ‘I don’t have any idea,'” she said.
“You’re ‘way ahead of me,” I replied. “At this point I couldn’t even put together a good question.”
“Here’s one,” she said. “How about if we go upstairs, climb into bed, and just snuggle for awhile?”
* * * * *
The bed did seem a little empty with just the two of us in it.
After 10 minutes of snuggling, Ann was feeling much mellower, and I did have a question to ask. “What was it like for you, watching Beth and me having sex?”
Ann thought for a few moments. “A bit of a letdown, actually. This is supposed to be one of the most horrible, traumatic things that could happen to a woman, right? Her husband cheating on her with another woman. Of course I’ve had a month to get over the surprise of that. And then I had made love to Beth myself last night before you did. That made a difference. I knew full well that having sex with Beth was not a shocking, horrible, degrading act. It was a perfectly lovely thing to do.
“And also… from any objective point of view, seeing two people fuck looks kind of sweet, and kind of awkward and ungainly, and quite comic, actually. Rather silly. And Beth’s last orgasm and yours were most entertaining. The gods looking down on us must find us humans escort ankara endlessly amusing.”
“I always wanted to be an entertainer.”
“In ten years of marriage I’ve entertained a number of thoughts concerning you.”
“Thank you for not carrying them all out,” I said. Then: “Diabolique. Simone Signoret.”
“Yes. I looked it up. About last night…”
“You owe me an orgasm or two,” she said, half-jokingly. “Are you free?”
“For you, I’m free.”
I unbuttoned her blouse and helped her remove her trousers and panties. She lay on her back. Even after 12 years, her naked body was still a turn-on for me. I nuzzled a sweet pink nipple while my left hand caressed her honey-blonde hairy pubic mound, with frequent forays down to her labia. When the moisture came I moved my head up to hers and kissed, while my finger rubbed the spot she liked just above her clitoris.
I wasn’t sure what Ann would most like next. As I mentioned, in bed she tended to be “the strong, silent type.” I tried my best not to imagine Gary Cooper naked in my bed. Beth was right: I was considerably less bisexual than she was.
Cunnilingus restored my focus. I immersed myself in the lovely feel and smells and tastes between her legs. I licked around Ann’s sweet vagina, then into it, exploring with my tongue. Then I wanted to see everything, so I moved my head back and admired the view. Those delicate pink inner lips, the gracefully shaped outer lips, the wetness everywhere, catching the light in a few places and glistening. With my finger I gently traced the inner lips.
I’d better get back to work. I returned my tongue to her vagina then moved it up to her clitoris and slowly flicked. My right hand very gently tugged on some honey-blonde pubic hairs near her labia. When Ann was aroused, that usually aroused her further. I also moved my left hand to her pussy. The index finger gently traced the opening of her vagina.
Good lord! She was breaking her vow of silence! I flicked my tongue faster. She didn’t vocalize her orgasm, apart from a loud intake of breath, but there was no mistaking it. She held my head in place while her hips bucked and her vagina repeatedly contracted and she breathed hard. For another minute I gently moved my tongue around her now-very-wet privates, keeping it away from her clitoris, which I knew would be too sensitive to touch right away.
“Oh, that was nice,” she finally said.
“Care for another?”
She hesitated a few seconds. “No, thanks. I’m fine. Come hold me a bit.”
I grabbed a Kleenex and gave my face a quick wipe. Then I came up, put my arms around her, and gave her a quick kiss. I would have preferred a long kiss, but my face still carried her fragrance. I absolutely loved the scent, but Ann never seemed to care for it as much as I did.
“Can I do anything for you?” she politely inquired.
“How does a quick fuck sound?”
She retrieved the tube of spermicidal jelly from the bedside table and carried it into the bathroom, leaving the door open. Her diaphragm, removed this morning, was drying on the counter. In less than a minute she had peed, prepared and inserted her diaphragm, and rejoined me.
She went directly to my half-erect penis and took it into her mouth. I made a few noises to let her know I was enjoying the fluffing. It didn’t take long before she moved to her back, spread her legs, bent her knees, and held out both arms.
I joked, “You’re trying to tell me something. But what?” Then I climbed on and put myself in. No additional foreplay. Probably I should have added some saliva or K-Y Jelly, but things worked out okay. I lasted less than a minute. I had a powerful orgasm and transferred more than enough semen to get her through the day.
The sex was totally self-centered, completely selfish, and I loved it. The first “wham-bam-thank you, ma’am” sex I had had all year. Ann wouldn’t like that as a steady diet, but it was just fine this morning. We hugged and kissed for a few more minutes. She really was an excellent mate, I thought, sexually and otherwise.
I just had funny ways of showing my appreciation.
But the day was getting on. It was time to dress and go downstairs.
* * * * *
Late August was busy, as always. I had to finish the syllabi for three courses, revise my other handouts, and plan in detail the events of each class session for at least the first three weeks–plus touch base with a few students who were doing independent-study projects with me.
Plus skim through dozens of long email memos from university administrators–almost all of which were written in Bureaucratic Gobbledegook. The Provost was the lone exception. Somehow he had gotten into that powerful position despite his insistence on writing clear, concise, graceful English. The man obviously had no future in this business.
Ann was kept pretty busy too, and also Beth, racing ankara escortlar to get the product catalogue and several brochures finished ahead of the big trade shows this winter.
Plus Beth had invited Ann and me over for dinner on the Saturday after Labor Day. Beth’s housemate Dev–whom I still had not met–would be there too. The evening sounded pleasant indeed and a nice break from everyone’s routine. So of course the gods decided to throw a monkey wrench into the works.
A small-ish but important trade show was being held in Pittsburgh right after Labor Day, and Edson-Kelly would have a display booth. Bette Jankowski–a skilled and incidentally beautiful sales executive with a good engineering background–normally took charge of the company’s booth, with two or three male engineers and salesmen sharing the work of chatting with potential and actual customers. But Bette had taken sick–nobody was saying what her problem was–and couldn’t go.
One of the senior salesmen was put in charge of running the booth. He could do most of the job perfectly well, but obviously the booth needed a pretty girl who understood the product line, could speak well and answer questions well on the spot, who could be businesslike and alluring at the same time, and who wouldn’t mind showing a little leg and bosom when the situation warranted. Nobody could beat Bette at doing all of the above simultaneously.
But Ann would just have to do her best.
It was a mostly male industry and a mostly male company. And–apart from Bette–there actually was not any other woman at Edson-Kelly who knew the product line as well as Ann, who was pretty, who also could speak easily and well ad lib, who could think on her feet clearly and quickly, practice all the social graces, and at the same time (here they were guessing and hoping) show off her legs with grace and class. Plus Ann was obviously far from a prude, and she had always dealt gracefully with her male colleagues when they slipped into vulgarity–another useful skill at a convention.
Ann had no wish to trek off to Pittsburgh, but even she could see the logic of their choice.
Wednesday they would fly out, check in, and begin to set up. Thursday morning there’d be a little pre-show schmoozing with a few important clients. The show proper ran Thursday afternoon to Saturday noon. Ann would be manning the exhibit booth the whole time plus probably going out to dinner with company executives and important clients. More schmoozing and deal-making Saturday evening, then they would all fly back on Sunday–flight time TBA. At least she’d get to experience some fine dining at the company’s expense.
Beth decided to reschedule dinner for the four of us. But I was still welcome to come over for dinner that Saturday. September was always a busy time for her, and she couldn’t spend as much time with me as she would like. We could probably sleep together Thursday night–preferably at my house, as she’d really want to get away from her home office. Most of Friday was out. Then she was all mine again from Saturday afternoon through noon-ish Sunday. She’d love to make me dinner on Saturday, share her bed overnight, and fix breakfast for us the next morning. Like normal lovers do, I thought.
Beth said she assumed that spending the night together in Ann’s absence was permitted–was it? I wasn’t sure of the answer, so once again I channeled Gary Gilmore to the firing squad: “Let’s do it.”
By cancelling one class, I was able to drive Ann to the airport Wednesday morning. The class was Freshman Composition, so most of the students were delighted. Ann and I had a few quiet moments together before she joined her colleagues at the boarding gate.
“I’ll miss you,” I said truthfully. Then, feeling a bit mischievous, “Did you pack your diaphragm?”
“I’ll miss you too. And what makes you think I’m not wearing my diaphragm? You meet all sorts of interesting people flying Business Class.” She was telling me she didn’t entirely appreciate the question.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “When I get home I promise not to check.”
“Thank you. And I promise that if I have any interesting stories to tell afterwards, you’ll be among the first to hear them.”
We hugged. Then Ann added, “If you want to spend the night with her, it’s all right.”
I kissed her forehead. Ann was a keeper, for sure.
I drove directly to work. On the way, it dawned on me that Ann’s permission had been to sleep with “her,” not “them.” It was probably just as well I didn’t try to cover every possibility back at the airport. As they say, it’s always easier to apologize afterwards than to get permission beforehand. In any case, the likelihood of sleeping with Dev was extremely slight. And for all I knew, she was fat, ugly, and seven feet tall. To show my appreciation for Ann’s generosity, I resolved that, when I got home today, I really would not check the drawer of the bedside sincan kaliteli escortlar table for her diaphragm.
* * * * *
The diaphragm was not in the drawer. Nor was it on the counter in either bathroom. Oh well. Better to have it and not need it than to… have it and need it? Of course I realized that my playing Outraged Husband was ludicrous. Besides, our marriage had survived Paul, five years ago, and so far it had survived Beth. It would likely survive anything that Pittsburgh could dish up. And as Beth had reminded me on our bed of weeds two months back, Ann was far from an easy lay, at least outside of her marriage.
On the other hand, she leapt into bed with Beth quickly enough.
Ann called that evening to let me know she had arrived safely and all is well. They’d be keeping her plenty busy the next few days, and she’d probably be tied up until fairly late each night. She’d send me a text from time to time if she couldn’t conveniently call. She gave me her return flight information, told me she loved me, and rang off.
We did exchange a few brief text messages over the next few days. The one on Saturday morning even wished me a good time at Beth’s dinner that evening. But I soon realized that, if Ann had any good stories to tell, I’d have to wait until her return to hear them.
Thursday Beth finished working around 9:30 at night and then came over to spend the night. We had some quick sex, a nice sleep, and a quick breakfast together the next morning; she was gone by 8:30 AM. Her visit was better than nothing, but we didn’t actually get to see much of each other. Saturday should be better.
Saturday morning I went through a stack of papers from my Freshman Composition class. Afterwards, I could think of three ways of easing my pain. A bullet through the head would be fastest and most effective. A fifth of good scotch would be almost as effective but expensive. A nice bike ride and a night in bed with Beth would be the most pleasant to administer and also the cheapest. I’ll try that one first. I’ll bike to dinner at Beth’s–a very pleasant 15 miles. I’ll pack some clean clothes in the panniers; also clean bike shorts, socks, and a jersey for the trip back.
I called the hostess to let her know. The plan sounded fine to her. She’d leave the garage door open for me.
As a bicyclist I have excellent endurance but not much speed. I was invited for 6 PM, so I left home about 4. I’d probably complete those 15 miles of rolling hills around 5:30. That gave me a half hour to secure the bike, change clothes, maybe take a quick shower. I didn’t bring wine, but I did pack a couple presents for Beth. Then I was off.
I pulled into her garage at 5:30 on the dot and leaned my bike against the Nishiki. I left my gloves and helmet on the bike but removed the two nylon panniers from the rear rack to take in with me. I closed the garage door, heard it latch, and walked to the house. Beth greeted me warmly at the front door.
“I’m still assembling the lasagna,” she said, “so there’s time before dinner. You’ll want to get out of those bike clothes. Did you want to take a shower while you’re at it? Unfortunately it’ll have to be solo this time. I’ll find some way to make it up to you later.”
A quick shower sounded good to me. Beth led me to the downstairs bathroom and said she’d bring in some fresh towels for me soon. I brought my panniers–which had my clean clothes–into the bathroom, closed the door, stripped, and turned on the shower.
As I was finishing up, she came in with the towels. I turned off the water, pulled back the shower curtain, and stepped onto the mat.
Except it wasn’t Beth holding the towels. It was a beautiful South Asian woman, Indian probably, early thirties, attractively dressed in slacks, a white V-necked blouse, and a little gold necklace. She had beautiful medium-brown skin; long, straight, jet-black hair; generously sized breasts; and–I would soon discover–a lovely lilt to her voice.
“Dev?” I inquired.
“Hello, Stephen. Beth asked me to bring you some towels.”
“Beth asked you to?”
“Technically, I asked her. But she assented. You needn’t be shy. I’m a licensed health care professional.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that one. Neither could Dev. I took a folded towel from her hands, faced her, and started drying my hair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at long last, Dev.”
“Likewise, Steven. I’ve heard very much about you. Here, let me dry your back.” I turned, and she did. The situation would have been incredibly erotic if it weren’t so funny–and vice-versa.
I continued to play it as cool as possible. My back done, Beth squatted and dried the back of my legs. Her cheek brushed lightly against my left buttock. My cock was now at the “turgid” point, and I was hoping to keep it at that level or below, so I dried my front myself. Dev was standing again, just watching, a little smile on her lips.
I retrieved my clean clothes from the panniers and dressed as we spoke. “Thank you, Dev. You do very good work. What branch of health care are you in?”
“I’m an RN,” she said, “doing only a little nursing at the moment. I’m finishing up my Ph.D. in biochemistry.”
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