Anal, Inc.

11) Featuring a Memorable View

Going into the bedroom, Robin returned with the bottle of oil - now a little depleted - and placed it on the counter.

She opened the peach-pink brassiere again, and allowed the pink globes to swing free: away from her body.

The oil went on her hand, and - from her hand - to my cock, which - by now - was more than ready for a second round. Then she used a paper towel to wipe the extra from her hand.

"It's a wonderful day outside. Let me show you my terrace."

That structure was a short walk: just off the living room, accessed through a set of sliding door covered by a curtain.

Still wearing her thin half-robe - with her bra dangling around her shoulders - she stepped nonchalantly out into the open air, and leaned against the balcony railing: studying what was going on (but mostly not going on) in her condo development.

All I had was my robe, so I was reluctant to step out into public. She obviously thought I was being over-sensitive: talking to me over her shoulder, without turning around.

"Only about half these places have been sold, by the way. And all of them are working people. Pretty much a ghost town during the day."

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"I am thinking that. It's a shame to waste such a beautiful day."

Opening my robe, I cautiously walked up to behind her and pressed my penis through the fabric of her robe.

"This is too public. I'd like to go back inside."

She changed the subject.

"I'm too short for this, aren't I? You probably need a few more inches to get into alignment. Be right back."

As she walked away, I could see an oil stain on her robe and I understood that - however she wanted to do it - I was going to have to do it her way. Because I was truly in need of what she was about to give me. As a matter of fact, I had reached a point of near desperation. I had to have this woman.

When she got back she was tettering around on platform shoes that gave her another 4 inches in height. And the brassiere was fastened back up again.

She leaned against the balcony rail.

"Now anyone looking up here will think that I just woke up, and decided to come out to admire the view of the the city. Because they won't be able to see where you'll be working."

"Where will I be working?"

"Take my underpants off, please."

I lowered them down, while she lifted one foot - then the other. She rested a hand on my shoulder, so I wouldn't lose my balance.

"I'm going to lift up my robe, just a little. Tongue, and finger, remember. Tongue, and finger. Until I give you the green light for something else."

"And then nothing hard and fast."

"Very good. It's a nice day. We should just enjoy it. A nice easy time. Nobody in a hurry."

"You didn't bring out any latex."

"Well - you saw me dump all my inventory. It's a nice, clean room back there, now. And sex, for me, is always skin to skin. Which, I guess, means a lot of babies in my future - if I'm not careful."

I was able to confirm that she had done a nice job cleaning up the venue. Getting down on my knees, I noticed a light lavender smell around her crotch.

This piece of information gave me some confidence, and I started going around her anal opening with my tongue - pushing my folded tongue into the opening from time to time - while, at the same time, not really believing that I was doing that.

Once the area was wet, I started working in my index finger. One finger...and then two.

"How's that feeling?"

I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Very nice. There's absolutely no one around right now. If we couldn't hear the traffic we might think that we were all alone in the world."

"No trouble getting in my fingers, now."

"A little more tongue, then. For just a couple of minutes."

It was a kind of torture for me, since I was long overdue on my side.

But I hung on.

Finally, I got the green light.

"OK. Any time you're ready."

"And you're sure I can't help you with that whole virginity problem?"

She knew this was a joke, and wasn't offended.

"It's not a problem that needs to be solved. Give me some credit. Because of that decision, I've never taken a birth control pill, or sweated before dawn waiting to see if my period was going to come. I was lucky, though."

I stopped licking for a second.

"Lucky?"

"My partners were always grateful. And careful. Just what I hope you will be."

"I'm going to do my best."

A few minutes later, I picked up the thread of the conversation again. It had been a very slow, and deliberate insertion. One step forward...one step back. Just trying to be as opportunistic as I could.

"I'm most of the way in, actually."

"I can feel it. That is nice. Easy does it, though."

"Understood. Do you ever get anything out of this?"

"Sometimes. But I don't plan on it. It's just a nice feeling. Something alive inside of you."

"And I'm definitely there, now."

"Very nice. You've probably gotten a little tired of all these instructions. You know what I want. How's it feel?"

"Very warm."

"And tight?"

"Yes. It's good."

I felt sure that her eyes were closed, even though I couldn't see them. She just held onto the balcony railing, and moved gently in rhythm with me: so the session felt more and more like a partnership: topped off by the excitement of anticipating that anyone walking through the development could have looked up and recognized immediately what we were doing up there.

But noise was certainly not giving us away. She had the classic inventory of moans and groans. But, otherwise, she just leavened the experience with some exclamations of "Oh!" - and, a little later, got wired up enough to say "Oh! My goodness!"

All I was doing was breathing: my cock sliding smoothly in and out, until I announced my finish in the form of a question.

"Finish inside?"

"What? Already?"

"'Fraid so. You're just too damn attractive."

"Inside then. That should be fine. Plus I don't want a big mess."

And then - after another 30 seconds or so.

"I think I can feel you getting harder. Is this it?"

"This is it."

"Not too deep, please."

In the end, the surge was so inevitable that I was able to pull halfway out - and
just let it happen, as though I was watching it happen to someone else. And it must have been abundant, judging by the way she reacted.

"Wow. That's a wave. And your second time today. Good job."

I carefully pulled out, and she wanted to leave the terrace right away - since the excitement was over.

"Would you like some tea? Or coffee? And I think I have some cake."

We dressed for tea - in separate rooms - but I had seen enough to supply my fantasy life for awhile. Once again, I had to mention how relieved I was to find someone so feminine.

She smiled brightly in response.

"That'll need to be a big secret, too. Along with all the rest of this. Over there in the boys' club, we wouldn't survive for a minute if we tried to be girly-girls. No one would give us credit for anything - and, eventually, they'd figure out a way to get rid of us."

"Doesn't seem fair."

She shrugged.

"But it's still a man's world. And I'm not sure there's anything that anybody can really do about it. Except lead this kind of double life."

She looked at her watch.

"Kriss said you should be downstairs, soon."

"OK. Thank you for your hospitality."

"You've very welcome. Please come again."

It was a goofy pun, of course. But we both found it funny.

***

Another weekend began: empty of Kriss, and empty of excitement. I felt disengaged, with a bad case of the blues - and didn't perk up until Saturday night: when an advertisement for a cruise line appeared on the family television set.

Watching Phizz watch video clips of people having fun on the big boat, I had the idea of trying to mine that enthusiasm: trying to partially compensate for the fact that I had been secretly intimate with 3 women (with the potential for even more).

I turned to her, trying to be a little more charming than usual.

"Have we ever talking about cruising?"

Phizz paged through her memories for a moment.

"I can't remember talking about it...seriously. I think we just kind of knock it around when we see ads like that. They make it look like a lot of fun. Whether or not it is fun."

"And romantic, maybe. Moon on the water. All that kind of thing."

"Here you go again: always shooting for the moon. I have to wonder what you're thinking sometimes."

"I'm thinking that it might be fun to hang out on a boat for awhile."

"It would be just the same as what we have here. Only not here. And would cost tons of money. And think how much stuff we would need to get on a plane. How much we'd have to carry with us."

"For the two of us? We'd be able to travel light. In swimsuits, most of the time."

"Not the two of us. The five of us. Don't be stupid."

"But the whole point of the trip would be to get away from the the kids."

"But there's no getting away from the kids!"

She was looking at me with terminal frustration.

"There's no getting away from the kids, and I wish you would just accept that! They go wherever we go. We're locked in for the duration, mister. So - if you're doing the math for a cruise - please do the calculations for 5. Not 2. And airfare for 5. Not 2. And a boat that would welcome children - and have something for them to do - since our little ones won't be sitting around the lounge making cocktail conversation."

"Don't make me feel bad for dreaming."

"The whole idea is to stop dreaming. Stop dreaming! Our path is set. We have little lives depending on us for at least the next 20 years. I'm sorry if you didn't get fucking out of your system when you had the chance - but we had plenty of romance. We humped to beat the band, and now that's over. That's over with. Do you understand?"

"It's over."

"So, no more cruises, please. No more beach. No more honeymoon suite. Because we aren't on our honeymoon, anymore."

She was interrupted by a soft cry from one of the kids in the back bedroom.

"If you want to make travel plans, look around for the closest theme park. That gives us something for everyone."

"There wouldn't be anything in it for me."

The childish cry was repeated - and she closed off our conversation with an impatient gesture.

"Grow up! I can't make it any plainer than that. Just grow up, and maybe give me some help around here."

She hurried off - and the rest of the evening was easy to predict, because bedtime patterns around our house were gradually changing. When the late news ended - and my wife had still not returned - I peered into the girl's bedroom, and saw what I expected to see: Phizz stretched out on one of the compact beds, next to one of our daughters, sleeping soundly.

Sleeping soundly: because that was exactly where she wanted to be. Not only at that moment, but forever: holding one of her children.

I could have awakened her, and insisted that she join me in the marital bed. But it was much more effort than it was worth.

As time went on, my wife started falling asleep, every night, in the girls' room - then waking up later, so I would sleepily greet her as she arrived in the big bed.

And, at last, she just found it easier to spend the whole night in that crowded little room: where she would be free of sexual demands from her immature and unreasonable husband.

So - without any legal paperwork being processed - I found myself alone in a bed intended for two. I had already seen phases in our marriage come and go, so I assumed that this distance would not be permanent. But the fact that I was physically being shunned by my wife diluted the guilt I was feeling about my work relationships - and I discovered that I was no longer thinking of leaving Coincidental for greener pastures.

***

The pasture I had seemed pretty damn green.

Of the meetings I had accomplished, so far, Robin had been the most inspirational by a long shot - but she was the one who seemed to have the least use for me.

Although she kept referring to some sort of future session, the schedule returned to Miriam on Monday, and Ruth on Thursday.

The Mondays with Miriam chugged on, in their uneventful manner. She responded to me by thanking me each time, while crying her eyes out.

However, an argument between Ruth, and I, was coming to a head: centering on a difference of opinion about how many people should be in the van during our lunchtime meetings.

The unusual thing about this conversation was that it occurred in the middle of a session: both of us naked, and spooning - skin to skin - back to front - with my reliable erection holding her sphincter open. I held her tits (for my own enjoyment), while she instructed me to just stay in, and not to move.

So, with nothing better to do, we took up our debate again. Ruth seemed to think that I was missing a huge opportunity.

"What kind of a man turns down two women at once? There must be something seriously wrong with you!"

"There's no room in this van, for one thing. We're bumping into stuff as it is. And, once we get going, it gets really warm. We both end up sweating like pigs. And then I have to go back to the Claims Floor, and sit there, and stink."

"But I'm not even saying that a third person would need to participate. We're a long way from that."

"That sounds even worse than your original idea."

"I'm trying to explain that even just a third person here, watching, would change the dynamics of what we've got going. Just someone watching. Or masturbating. Imagine watching someone fingering herself while you're doing me. Or maybe we're set up so that you're looking-"

I had to stop her at this point. And I did it by putting my hips in motion.

"I told you to hold still."

"I can't help it. All this talk is getting me wired up. I want to finish."

"So it is catching your imagination."

"It can capture my imagination without me really wanting to do it."

"It wouldn't kill you. It's nothing. One afternoon out in Littleton I had 20 people watching me take 3 cocks at one time. I got a round of applause while my face was still dripping."

"Last time you told that story, it was 4 cocks."

"It was either 3, or 4. Nobody takes notes during a gangbang."

That image captured my imagination more than any of the others, and I put my hand on her hip, signalling her to roll over on her stomach.

"Can't you hang on just a few more minutes?"

"I really can't."

So, over she went: resting her head on her folded hands, and spreading her legs wide so I could go a little longer, with a little less friction, and plunge in a little deeper.

"Think what it would be like to have someone watching this. Cradling her boobs. Oh Jesus! Or putting her finger up her wet pussy. Oh! Holy Mother of God! That's right! Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!"

I split her like a wishbone, and - afterward - she seemed too tired to remember how much fun it might be to have someone watching us.

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN