"Art! That's not what I was talking about!"
"The hell it wasn't! Every time I go for a handful of tit or rub your ass, you make out like I'm being an animal! And I say that's horseshit! I'll tell you what it would be like if you had an animal screwing you!"
"ART! I won't listen!"
"Then don't listen. I'm telling you anyhow! Take that damn donkey of Dan's."
"Smokey? That's impossible, Art! Ugh!"
"Like hell! You bend over that feed table of his naked and you'll find out! Know how it would be? He'd look at you for a bit – look at those smooth, white cheeks on your butt and that pink twat with the red fur lining – and his dong would start to grow. Pretty soon he'd heave himself up and put his front hooves on your back, or maybe on either side of you, and jab that big goddamn prick at your pussy!"
"Don't! Please don't say any more!" She whispered, alarmed at the raging hunger in her pussy. Art's intense, rapid description had awakened the worst of her deep-buried dreams, thrusting them to the surface and making her writhe. "No, no, no!"
"Ever notice what a sharp point that dong's got when he's got a hard-on? He'd wiggle his butt until that point found your cunt, baby, and then he'd slam it to you! Think it wouldn't go? Bullshit! Like a greased rolling pin! Stretch you some – maybe make you do the splits – might make your eyes bug, but that prick would go all the way! And he'd play 'The Stars and Stripes Forever' on your belly with his balls while he was fucking you! Every time that ass poked his dick home, you'd bounce into the air! That son-ov-a-bitch wouldn't mess around trying to feel you up or show you he loved you. He'd just ram his cock in and fuck until he came! If you got a come out of it, fine. If you didn't, so what? Think he'd care? He'd get his rocks off and be done… what the hell!"
"Ooh! Brrr! Art, you're terrible! You've got a filthy mind! You're sick!" She shuddered, her pussy throbbing and her thighs working against each other. And I'm sick to let that make me excited, she thought miserably. "That's all you can think about any more. Sex! The way you looked at Vanessa tonight you might as well have been in bed with her! You even gave the eye to her sister, and Olga's only twenty!" She subsided, fighting to catch her breath and quiet the turmoil in her crotch.
After a long pause, Art replied, his tone hardly more than a whisper. "Maybe, if you thought as much of me as you do your goddamn housework, I wouldn't get turned on just because some broad acted human. Christ, Helen, you're about as warm these days as a snow bank. Just about as responsive, too."
"Maybe I'd be warmer if you weren't such a grouch. Art, don't you realize how sullen and nervous you've gotten? I almost hate to hear the car come into the driveway!"
"What the hell do you expect out of a guy when he gets a piece of ass once a month whether he needs it or not-and figures he's gotten his cock into the freezer by mistake even then?"
She stiffened. "And besides, you've gotten crude! You sound like some thug out of the gutter!" A sob caught in her throat. "You aren't the same at all! Housework's the only way for me to get rid of the tension from the way you're acting!"
"Goddamn it! I keep telling you I want a little affection! Shit, I'd like to have a woman turn on when she's getting screwed! I'd like a woman to figure out it's good if she gets excited when a guy sucks her tit or plays with her ass or something – that sex is fun instead of being a goddamn duty!"
"I can't help that, Art! I can't help it!"
"Yeah, I know." His voice was heavy with defeat. "Some guy gets in your pants when you're fifteen, and sixteen years later you're still afraid to let go. Hell, sixteen!" He sighed. "Sixteen years! Oh, shit, what's the use?" He turned his back to her.
"Art?"
There was no reply.
"Art? Please?"
"Go on to sleep."
Very slowly, she worked her nightgown into place. She held herself rigid, hands pressed to her thighs and knees clamped together, trying to quiet the lingering desire. As she let their argument reply itself in her mind, fear and anger replaced her frustration. Art hadn't been searching for cutting responses to her accusations. He'd said things that had been bottled inside, festering in his subconscious. The understanding patience she'd loved him for had been an act, she realized, masking irritation and resentment. And that was the way marriages fell apart.
There was a streak of gray in the sky before she finally managed to sleep.
Chapter 3
At the breakfast table after Dan had left for school, Art suggested Helen see a psychiatrist. He approached the subject carefully and had her agreement before she was fully aware of what he'd implied. Even then, she followed through by making an appointment; a "shrink" ought to understand what she was putting up with. He would most likely insist Art come in for treatment.
But Dr. Davis did not. Helen left his office with her ego bruised and her self-confidence shaken. She went to Vanessa Rush. She's the closest friend I've got, she reasoned. Even if she does act a little wild. She shook her head and pursed her lips. Come, now, Helen. More than a little. And the way she talks! But she's always been good to me, and she's never got a mean thought.
Vanessa listened closely to Helen's description of the fight and the subsequent visit to Dr. Davis. Helen wished it were easier to read her friend's expression – to know whether she was seeing sympathy or amusement or something else – but she was grateful for the fact Vanessa didn't interrupt.
"Oh!" Helen exclaimed as she concluded her account of Dr. Davis' reaction. "Can you imagine! Telling a married woman she doesn't know anything about sex! Vanessa, he was terrible! He said things I'd never let Art say! Ugh!"
"Like what?" Vanessa appeared interested.
"I wouldn't repeat them! Perverted sex things he said I ought to have Art do! He… he… Vanessa, he even said I ought to… to have intercourse with other men! He was awful. I'm never going back to him!"
"Honey, I think you need a drink." Vanessa mixed a double-strength screwdriver for Helen. "You sound tight as a drum."
Helen shuddered. The sympathy in Vanessa's voice was almost disastrous in its effect on Helen's self-control. She choked back a sob and gulped the orange juice and vodka. "How could such a dirty-minded man get to be a doctor? Honestly, Van!"
"Did he think your marriage might be in any danger, hon?"
Helen nodded and drained her glass. "The only thing he said that was right. He agreed there was a real danger."
"You don't want to lose Art, do you?"
"Omigod, no! That would kill me, Van!"
"Even if you knew you weren't going to be able to change him?"
Helen hesitated. "You mean, if he never did get over being… well, being a sex fiend?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to lose him," Helen whispered. She held out her empty glass to Vanessa for a refill. "I love him, Van. No matter what, I love him! I won't let him go!"
Vanessa mixed another double. She spoke without looking at Helen. "What if keeping him meant you had to be something you're not?"
"Change myself?" A sense of relaxed warmth was seeping through Helen. "Pretend I don't mind him looking at me naked? Let him do all those things he…?"
Vanessa nodded. "That's one way."
The image of her grandmother rose in Helen's mind, and horror filled her at the thoughts she'd been toying with. "No! I won't!" But I do love him! I can't lose him! "Isn't there any other way?"
"Well…" Vanessa hesitated. "You might try shocking him. Maybe you could bring him to his senses that way."
"How?"
"Shock hell out of him! He wants you naked, let him see you naked! In front of Barry and me!"
"VAN! For God's sake! I'm not that drunk!"
"I'm serious! Start like it's a game – or like we're practicing a skit for Wednesday Club."
"I'd die! I couldn't take my clothes off!"
"Make it a skit. You a new slave being auctioned off. Costumes. Think he'd let it go all the way?"