This sense of being cheated, of missing out on something, followed her down the stairs into the kitchen. By the time her family was assembled at the breakfast table, she was just emerging from her funk. She sat down opposite her husband, whose face was buried behind the morning paper.
Such a fucking typical American family, she thought to herself, a note of anguish and unvoiced bitterness creeping into her mind.
Passing the toast, she stared at her children. The very sight of them pleased her. They were growing up quickly, maybe too quickly, and she tried to imagine the things she herself had felt at their age. Gary was tall, dark-haired like his father, a football player with an appetite enough for two grown men. At fifteen, he looked two or three years older.
She recalled going into his room a few mornings before. Something had been tenting up the blankets to an enormous degree and she knew enough to leave him undisturbed. He had ceased to be her little boy and sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, she would gaze at the prominent bulge that always seemed to be behind the fly of his skin-tight blue jeans.
A man already, she said to herself. I wonder if he's still a virgin. Shit, with a cock like that, if I was a girl his age I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off him.
"I won't be home for supper," her daughter Gail told her. "I'm going to be cramming with an exchange student from school."
"Okay, dear," Lois replied, nodding her head, smiling fondly at her blonde-haired daughter.
Cramming for what? she asked herself. Cramming his meat into her pussy, more than likely.
For at seventeen, Gail had the lush ripe kind of body that had first attracted Bret to his wife. She looked like a younger version of her mother, only thinner, more svelte. Disdaining bras, she wore tight little skinny-rib sweaters that showed off her boobs, the nipples always pressing against the material, displaying everything she had to offer.
More than once Lois had caught her husband looking at his daughter with a little more than just fatherly pride. She wondered if he was hot for her, with her perfect round little bottom and the sexy way she paraded herself around the house in mini-pajamas, the bottoms always left unworn in a dresser drawer.
"Don't forget about the plumbers," Bret told his wife just before he left for the office.
"What plumbers?" she asked.
"How many times do I have to remind you? To fix the leaking pipe in the basement," he said with annoyance.
"Oh sure, sure," she mumbled, kissing him on the cheek and waving good-bye.
Left alone in the house, she made herself another cup of coffee. And the question, the question kept rising up in her mind: What do I want and why can't I be satisfied with just one man, one hot-blooded healthy animal of a husband?
About an hour later, she was still sitting in the kitchen, day-dreaming and staring out into the back yard. Lois hadn't bothered to change and she still wore the thin negligee she had slept in all night. But when the doorbell rang she jerked to attention.
The fucking plumbers, she thought to herself, irritated that she would have to stay in all morning to supervise the work and make sure they took care of everything properly.
Opening the door, she smiled, staring at a tall Negro man and his partner, a squat and burly Mediterranean type. They introduced themselves, the black man reaching out to shake Lois' hand, saying, "I'm Monroe and this here is Tony."
She showed them down to the basement, standing at the top of the stairs as they lugged down their tools. There was nothing else for her to do and feeling a bit lonely and sorry for herself, Lois decided to wash the dishes and clean up later. She followed them down to the finished den, hoping to strike up a conversation and get into a better frame of mind.
Sitting down on a moldy leather couch, she watched them unpack their things. And the more she looked at them, the black man and his muscular partner, the more she thought about what it might be like to have sex with them. She decided she was acting like a kid, for she hadn't slept with anyone other than her husband. In all the years they had been married she had been perfectly faithful.
In fact, she had never even looked at another man with lust or desire. But somehow, it was different today. The sense of loss, the gnawing doubt that had been with her all morning, emerged and crystallized. Then, she remembered how her neighbor had told her about a friend of hers, a woman who had been raped by a Negro. Later, she had admitted that she had rather liked the experience and that the guy had the most enormous prick she had ever seen in all of her life.
When her neighbor had mentioned this to her, Lois hadn't paid it much mind, but now that she watched Monroe and Tony, it all came back to her.
She wondered if what she had always heard about blacks was true. Someone was always saying that they were better in bed, more physical, more animal-like. And always it was told how much better endowed they were, much more hung than white guys. Glancing up at them, she noticed how muscular and solid they both appeared.
Dressed in overalls, already working on the leaky pipe, Monroe bent over and it surprised her that she found herself staring at his ass, wondering at the firm shape of his bottom and how his thickset thighs were muscled so well as he reached down to find one of his tools.
Like two brick shit-houses, she thought to herself, saying aloud, "Are your guys married?"
They looked back at her and smiled. "Nope. Two bachelor-boys," they admitted, grinning at her in an open and friendly manner.
Lois then said, "Two big handsome brutes like you!" surprised at her own daring. "I don't believe it."
"It's the truth, all right," Tony told her. "Much better playin' the field, if you know what I mean."
Lois began to laugh. "Sure, I know all about sowing oats," she kidded them. "But I bet the ladies fall all over you." She got up from the couch and moved towards them. The nightgown hung loosely around her and she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
I'm getting as bad as Gail, she said to herself as she came up to Monroe, the taller of the two workmen. He had coffee-colored skin and a strongly angular face.
Almost as if she was possessed, Lois reached out and felt the man's biceps. He looked at her curiously, but said nothing. "Man, that's what I call muscle," she told him admiringly. "You're really built. I bet you lift weights, shit like that."
"Just comes natural, I guess," he replied, slightly ill at ease.
She noticed his discomfort, but went on, "Well if you don't, then I bet you have flab like my husband," she lied, for Bret was in perfect physical shape. She punched him playfully in the stomach.
Shit, he's hard as a fucking rock, she marveled.
It seemed that the more she looked at them, Monroe in particular, the crazier she became. She was suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity and excitement. The need to know whether the black guy was really hung or not began to consume her and she had an instant image of both of them attacking her, taking her, raping her and fucking the shit out of her.
There was something raw and savage about both of them that appealed to Lois incredibly. Their eyes seemed to burn like fiery coals and their very presence began to give her the chills. But it wasn't chills of fear. No, for she could feel her pussy getting hot and itchy and she recognized the signs of her growing physical excitement, excitement which seemed to mount and grow more intense with each passing minute.
"I bet you could both use a nice cold drink," she suddenly suggested. "It certainly is hot down her without any ventilation. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Take your shirts off if you like."
Leaving them with that notion, she hurried upstairs and returned a few minutes later with three glasses of bourbon and water. Monroe told her that they never drank on the job.