I guess you’d call this a transitional period.
Two
The transition didn’t last very long. Lasted only until this new one walked up to me. It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks later.
I went with him a few times there in his car before he asked me to come home with him. That’s not something I’d usually agree to, never had in fact. I’d made up my mind not to when I began this. But he was kind of a rough guy, which made it harder to refuse. Not for the reasons you might think, but because that thing pulls me. And then, too, he’d dangled a carrot, which was his wife.
So we drove to his place. It couldn’t have been even ten miles from the station. Going up the driveway seemed to take longer than getting there.
Once inside he sat me down on the living-room couch with a drink and then called his wife to join us. I couldn’t tell yet how he wanted it played so I stayed put – drank my drink, smoked my cigarette, and kept quiet.
His wife was good-looking, nothing suburban or matronly going on, which was a decided relief. I looked her over pretty carefully because I knew he’d want at least that much. She acted shy of me, fidgety. He’d told her to expect me, or to expect something. I could tell by what she was wearing – a long black negligee that trailed a little behind her when she crossed the room.
She sat down beside me. I still waited for my cue, didn’t touch her. I understood they’d scripted things this far and so I put out my cigarette, not wanting it to get in the way.
The wife touched my cheek, still awkward and shaky like she was trying to find the right way to go about it. When her fingers got to my neck I found myself borrowing her shivers. Found myself trembling all over and so already I knew this was not a good thing to pursue. That it would make me feel something, which naturally is about the last thing you want.
I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look anywhere near her eyes, great big brown eyes I could tell were sad every night and not just this one, not just because of this. Hers was the last sort of headset I needed to slip into. I knew I couldn’t afford to get that kind of sloppy around her husband.
By now she’d begun touching my breasts so I took off my shirt, left my bra on because he told me to. He told me to hike up my skirt and open my legs, and I did these things too. All this time I looked at my bag. I’d put my underwear in there when he’d had me take it off in the car. I’d put the first half of the money there too.
Not looking at his wife didn’t exactly solve all my problems. She’d solved some of hers though, and was no longer so hesitant. She’d slid on to my lap, was facing me. By then I had to turn my head back to her and besides, like I said, not looking wasn’t working anyway.
I took the negligee off her shoulders, began to kiss her there, held her around the waist and she let the negligee drop.
Her husband, by now he’d sat down. I could catch sight of him over her shoulder. Could smell his cigarette, hear the ice in his glass. At first, closing my eyes helped. But I found I liked keeping them open better. Felt safer that way.
She was wearing one of those female lingerie things I couldn’t name. All I know is you unbuttoned the front of it. Well, I did. She started to take off my bra, but her husband still didn’t want this. And he didn’t want us lying down on the couch either. What he wanted was her on the floor on her knees and everything taken off her.
This was the point I got nervous, began searching for a way out. But I had no idea why because what she did to me now had me leaning back one minute and grasping her the next — back and forth like this until he got out of his chair.
The only thing he took off was his belt. He put it around her waist and pulled up. This made her stop what she was doing to me and that made him mad, or gave him the excuse. He'd gotten down behind her and was pulling harder on the belt, was rubbing against her, pressing into her. She’d laid her head across my lap and I was holding on to her. I put my fingers into her mouth because I didn’t like how she sounded. I couldn’t listen to it.
When he put his dick in her ass she grabbed hold of me. She had her arms around my waist, her head tucked into my stomach. I probably should have held her too, but instead I tried pulling away, but getting leverage was impossible. It was then I noticed him watching me.
He fucked her methodically. Slammed her pretty good, and it was clear this hurt her. She was crying into my skirt. But the look on his face? There was nothing there, a hint of a smile but that was it. Maybe that’s why I was trying to get away.
He hadn’t paid me enough to watch something like this. He’d paid me enough to do it to me, but not to watch him do it to her. And if this sounds like a pure thought, understand it as purely self-serving. Believe me, getting it would’ve been way the hell easier.
When he’d finished with her, we left her there on the floor. I put my shirt back on, picked up my bag, followed him out to his car. I knew we weren’t done yet because he hadn’t come off. Turned out, he was always like this — he got his money’s worth always.
Now, outside, he took my bag from my hand. Put it on the hood of the car and then pressed my head down beside it. He held my hands together behind my back and I didn’t mind any of this. I was kind of sleepy about it and didn’t struggle. I just waited.
I felt his dick through his pants before he took it out and then I felt it between my legs, rubbing me. He let go of my hands. I tried to find something to hold on the hood of his car, but couldn’t. There was nothing there. And so when he pulled me back, I turned my face into my bag because it smelled smokey and leathery; it smelled familiar.
I don’t know whether this would’ve happened without having his wife, but when he fingered me I got edgy. I knew he was bringing me close and I didn’t think I could stop it. Worse, I knew he could tell. Not that he said anything. He didn’t have to. What he did was put his dick in my cunt and not my ass. And this not being his style made it clear to me he really wanted to be sure.
I didn’t take long once he’d done that. And though I was silent about it, I knew he felt it by the little tug he gave my hair. And just to ice it, he pulled out. Jerked himself. Had his dick up close to my ass when he did this, but then slipped it away. Pulled my skirt down and leaned into me.
This wasn’t entirely new. He always jerked himself. But he’d hand me his handkerchief, let me clean myself off. Tonight, though, he was rubbing me in it. Tonight, he wanted me taking this home.
After, he walked around and got in the car. I wasn’t completely sure I could move but I did. Moved my hand first, toward my bag, and then moved the rest of me. And while my legs were shaky, there wasn’t too far to go.
I opened the door and sank into the seat. He started the car. I had my bag on my lap and was rummaging for a cigarette. Soon as I’d lit it, he took it from me and so I had to start over. We didn’t say anything, not until we got out on the road. Then he was asking where to drop me because before we’d always been in that parking lot.
That’s where I should’ve gone back to. My car was still there and I knew it wasn’t good for him to know where I lived. My faculties let me down, though. And there he was suggesting he just drop me at home. “Wherever that is,” he said.
So this man, this regular, he drives me right up to my door. And without me having to ask he gives me the rest of my money. And though I’m thinking it’s not enough and never again, instead we’re making another date, and he’s saying he’ll pick me up here instead of the train station, and while this is all bad precedent I’m agreeing.