Call me paranoid, or whatever, but my wife’s “volunteer work” was really
about sex all along, and I knew it from the beginning. She went on about
self-actualization and needing to “discover herself” and to do something
about society’s problems. And I went along, reluctantly – unhappily. I
knew this was really all about us. It was about sex. I knew my marriage
was in trouble.
Problem is, what do you do about it? My brother and my best friend had
both warned me. They told me Pamela was a brainy, sexy, spoiled rotten
bitch (“just like Gail,” my brother warned – a reference to his wife’s
sister, who had left her husband for a professor soon after she started
as a part-time grad student). Lately, they said, she’d been showing all
the signs of “turning hippy.” What they meant was that she had begun
sheepishly defending the antiwar protesters, had expressed curiosity
about pot, and had taken to wearing less makeup and letting her hair
fall loose and full. Moreover, they said, she seemed to be bored at
family gatherings, which my Dad regarded as the very most disturbing
sign. Unlike my brother, who had never liked Pamela (although he’d made
it clear he found her sexually desireable) Dad had a genuine affection
for her, and seemed to think of her as the daughter he never had. She
returned his warm feelings, too – even when she started to get strange.
Naturally, I told them they were crazy. She had a right to her own
opinions, didn’t she? (Well? Didn’t she?) And, I added, I happened to
really like her new look. What’s more, I lied, our sex life was better
than ever. Why did I say that? It was completely out of character for me
to even mention our sex life, for one thing. And for another, our sex
life was a source of total confusion to me. My wife had never, to my
knowledge, anyway, had an orgasm, and she had steadfastly refused to
discuss it, brushing the topic aside on the two occasions when I’d asked
her about it.
“What difference does it make?” she’d said on our honeymoon. “You were
great and I think you’re probably the sexiest man alive.”
And later, once when we were tipsy following a New Year’s party, we made
love for much longer than usual. Probably due to the alcohol I’d
consumed, I’d been able to continue without climaxing for probably twice
the time of our usual brief couplings.
“Did you…?” I asked as we lay there afterward, the room spinning just
“Did I what?” she answered, her tongue as thick with booze as mine.
“You know….did you have an orgasm?”
She gave a long sigh……
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
With that she rolled over and almost immediately started snoring softly.
So that was that.
And lately, things had just gotten stranger. She always – repeat: ALWAYS
refused when I made the first move. Always. But occasionally, just
lately, she would initiate the first contact and each time, it was
The first time, she came to bed late and snuggled up behind me, her
chest against my back. I woke up about halfway and little of it. After
all, she was wearing the chin-to-floor flannel nighty that usually
signaled a chaste bedding.
But as I drifted back to sleep, I felt her lips pressed to the back of
my neck, and her hand slid down into my pajamas. She is a lot shorter
than me, so she had to scoot down for her hand to reach my penis. As she
did so, she pressed her cheek against my back. I could feel her heat
through the material of my pajama top.
I tried to turn to face her, but she held my slack penis and resisted
with a murmured “No…..”
I lay there blinking as she pressed up against me, her hand on my penis
for a while. I just listened to our breathing, wondering if she’d gone
Eventually, her hand began to squeeze and stroke me. Ineptly, at first.
Not really sure what to do with a soft penis, I guess. But as I began to
swell in her hand, her breathing began to grow rougher, along with mine.
And soon she was masturbating me….stroking my cock rhythmically – a
slow, maddening slide of her fingertips along the underside of my cock,
with her thumb pressed to the upper side. The loose skin slid over my
shaft under her fingers and she milked me insistently.
Soon I was nearing orgasm, and I was frankly embarrassed. Did she really
mean to make me do this? Shouldn’t I at least get a tissue or a towel or
something? My years of masturbation with a wash cloth and soap came back
to me….was she going to make me squirt on the sheets?
“Honey, I’m going to….”
“Shh!! I’ll stop,” she whispered harshly, resisting my second attempt to
roll over to face her.”
She squeezed me harder and I felt her taut body straining against me as
she held onto my shoulder with her free hand. We were both rocking with
her effort. I was both aroused to the point of fever, and deeply
I came hard. When she felt the first spurt, she loosened her grip, but
continued to stroke me even faster. What I would have wanted, I couldn’t
ask for. I would have wanted her to stop stroking altogether and just
hold onto the base of my cock, pulling back as hard as possible, so hard
that the skin sheath would distort the shape of my cockhead, and hold me
like that, very still. I had done it many times, aroused myself nearly
to orgasm, then just pulled back on my cock and held still to wait for
But this, although physically not what I’d have requested had I been
less uptight, was in all other ways an extraordinary sexual experience.
Several heavy spurts soaked the sheets on my side of the bed as my
wife’s hand flew over my cock. I thought I heard her chuckle to herself
against my back as I came…..and whisper something. Not sure, I
whispered hoarsely “what….?” but she never answered. I tried one more
time to turn to her, but she silently resisted. Wouldn’t have it.
A while later, I felt her climb out of bed. Looking back, I think she
probably went somewhere in the house to satisfy herself. Also looking
back, I suppose she was thinking of him the whole time.
Another time, as she came to bed after a night of her “volunteer work,”
she turned off the nightlight in the hall that we usually kept on for
our daughter. She quietly closed our bedroom door, as I continued to
feign sleep. I heard her tiptoe to the windows and carefully, almost
silently, pull the shades and curtains shut. She paused by the dresser
to turn the alarm clock to the wall, the final source of light in the
room. Total darkness.
She found her way over to my side of the bed and knelt down. I felt her
hand go up under the covers, and directly to the waist of my pajamas.
Faintly, I could smell beer and cigarette smoke….she’d gone out for a
beer with the other volunteers, as she often did. But had she been
smoking? Totally out of character.
Her hand found me and I pretended to be coming out of sleep as she began
to fondle me, her fingers cool and dry. I reached down to touch her in
the dark, but her free hand found mine and she pushed me away silently.
Before I was completely hard, she pulled down the sheets and fished my
cock out through the fly of my pajamas. I inhaled deeply – smell of her
perfume, mixed with the smell of whatever pub she’d gone to actually
excited me, and by the time she got me freed, I was hard.
Then, to my complete surprise, I felt her lips and tongue on the head of
my erection, at first tentative, but almost immediately her tongue began
to swirl over my flesh and her full lips opened to take me in. She had
occasionally teased my cock with a kiss or a lick when we were dating,
but had never actually taken me into her mouth. I’d subtly hinted that I
would like more, but nothing doing.
But now, my wife was kneeling by our bed in the darkness mouthing me
with real urgency and, from the sound of her breathing and her
occasional, involuntary sounds, she was hungry for me. When I reached
down with both hands to touch her hair, she batted me away, but
continued to suck, actually moving her head over me as she took more of
my length into her mouth. Never, never, ever had she done this, or
anything even close. Each time she plunged downward to take in more of
me, she moaned deeply – was it effort, or satisfaction?
Inevitably, I began to moan. Usually, I wasn’t at all verbal in bed, but
THIS – well, I began to babble I suppose.
“Oh, Pammy, yesssss……oh, god…..please, yes……oh, god,
Almost roughly, her hand flew to my mouth and covered it! I was reduced
to stifled moans as her hand left my face.
Soon after, and just as I began to feel my orgasm approaching, she
pulled away from my cock and there was a pause of what felt like
forever, but was probably about thirty seconds, before I heard her make
a sound I’d never heard. It was somewhere between a moan and a squeal
and her breathing was ragged and loud as she keened from spot on the
floor by our bed.
“Are you alright? Honey? Sweetie…..”
As I began to fumble for the bedside light switch, I heard her softly
leave the room and close the door behind her.
My cock hard and my balls aching, I fantasized going after her,
demanding – well – demanding SOMETHING! An explanation? An orgasm? What?
I briefly fantasized just going and raping her, but I put the thought
out of my mind. Surely she must know what she was doing to me….surely
she knew how unfair this was, and how strange it all was to me.