"I'd love to realize it, but with my husband. That's why I married him. I didn't realize that it was going to be all over after the first two years. I mean, if I didn't know Adam, I'd swear he had another woman!"
The prospect brought out such a rage of jealousy within Helen that her hand shook on the telephone. She was brought to her senses, however, by the thought. No, she would never commit suicide and let Adam find another woman to marry. Another woman with whom he might be happier than he was with her! No, she'd never let that happen!
"How about you, Stan? Why don't you make love with me, since you're such a liberal type?" she asked tauntingly.
"Well, I don't think that would help your analysis, really," Stan answered. Helen hated him sometimes, and this was one of them.
"You're rejecting me," she told him. "Don't tell me you've never made love with one of your patients!"
"I didn't say that."
"Go To Hell!" Helen slammed down the telephone and threw the entire set across the room. It made a satisfying noise of bells and thick plastic as it hit the wall, and the low hum of the dial tone reached her from where she sat. "What good is analysis anyway?" she asked herself out loud. Once more she contemplated never going to see Stan again. She couldn't see that the psychiatrist was doing her any good. But then she wasn't sure of that either. It was hard to tell. She certainly didn't agree with half the things he said to her. But then he was the doctor, and she was the patient. He was just about the only person that she talked to, and the thought of starting out all over again with another analyst was depressing to say the least as was the thought of trying to muddle through her life on her own.
Slowly, Helen rose and began to slip out of her black lace gown. It had been bought with the idea in mind of tempting her husband into some kind of interest in her. But it had not worked, of course. Tears brimmed to the blonde wife's eyes as she uncovered the smooth creamy planes of her naked body. Her large breasts were just as firm and attractive as ever with their rosy tips that were thick and pouting, just waiting for Adam's fingers or even his mouth. She blushed at the thought. How long had it been since he'd made love with her? Really made love? It had been two weeks now since he'd touched her, and now as she thought about it, Helen realized that he hadn't actually touched her. No, he'd made a few in and out motions, his penis fitted snugly inside her, and then he'd cum and he rolled off to the side, and that was it. He'd never once kissed her or felt her breasts or anything else for that matter during the entire brief operation.
She just couldn't go on like this! The golden blonde area of her pussy caught her attention in the mirror. Her thighs were full and long, and the smoothly rounded mounds of her buttocks were just the right size. Why then couldn't she manage to attract her own husband? What was wrong with her? She knew that Stan would say, "There's nothing wrong with you, Helen. If anything there's something wrong with him, but that is not the point. The point is to approach the problem from an entirely different angle."
Well, tonight, that's what I'm going to do! Helen resolved. I don't care what, I'm going to get him to pay some attention to me!
Adam Randolph pulled his Ford Pinto into the apartment house garage and got out. He left it at the entrance within the building, knowing that Howie would come and park it for him in the space allotted to him. Then he took the elevator up to the 12th floor and stepped out. His briefcase contained the precious notebook in which he had begun the notes on his new experiment, including the short questionnaire which he had had Betty Johnson fill out for him. He was looking forward to rereading it all in his study once he entered the spacious apartment. He lived in one of the few old apartment buildings left in New York, a spacious apartment with high ceilings and seven rooms was a luxury that the professor fully appreciated. Of course, he had gotten the apartment through a friend when he'd gotten the post teaching at the university. He and Helen had moved from New Jersey seven years before and settled into the apartment. For a while Helen had grumbled about the hectic city life and the fact that they knew hardly any of the neighbors, but eventually she'd seemed to get used to it, or as used to it as she ever would. In any case, there was no question of moving for the professor. His work was here in the city, and his position was a coveted one among his colleagues. He taught several classes, lectured two times a month, and had unlimited use of the laboratories at the school. What more could he ask?
Randolph chuckled to himself as he fit his key into the lock and turned. Now he knew what more he could ask, all right! It was late, and the professor expected his wife to be in the bedroom sleeping. He would go directly to his study and reread his notes. By God! His loins were still throbbing at the thought of what he'd done to Miss Johnson! He couldn't wait to go over the whole thing again, verifying his experiment.
With a spring in his step, Adam went into his study and flicked on the light. To his surprise, he saw that his wife was sleeping on the sofa!
"Helen!" he gasped. "What the devil?"
Helen sat up, blinking her eyes. She clutched the sheet up to her neck, remembering that she was naked beneath it. Now she didn't feel nearly as bold as she had earlier when she'd decided to waylay her husband in his study, the place where he spent most of his time when he was home. No, now she was just sleepy, and she felt foolish to say the least. But her husband stood looking at her so incredulously, his mouth gaping fish-like at the sight of her that Helen grew suddenly angry and defiant. Why did he look at her like that? How stupid he looked standing there with his briefcase wearing that same old overcoat and that hat that she hated. Was she such a stranger to him, so little a part of his life that the sight of her in his study would shock him so?
"I thought I'd wait for you here," she said tersely, "since you hardly ever get to bed anymore!"
"Well, really, Helen!" Adam moved at last, placing his briefcase carefully upon his big oak desk and turning on the small lamp on it. He slowly unbuttoned his overcoat and took it to the closet and carefully hung it up the way he usually did.
Watching him, Helen grew more and more distressed. "Are you going to continue to ignore me, then?" she asked.
Adam turned toward her. "Why, I'm not ignoring you," he said. "I'm merely hanging up my coat."
This only infuriated Helen all the more. "Hanging up your coat! Huh!" she grunted, playing for time, trying to think of what tack to take now. The pretty blonde woman had visualized it all quite differently, and now she was forced to deal with a reality which was growing more and more confusing.
"I… I thought we might talk a little!" she declared, her blue eyes glinting with anger.
Adam sat down behind his desk. "Talk? About what?" he inquired as though she had said the strangest thing in the world.
"Anything. About anything!" Helen spat out. "I'm a woman, Adam! I need companionship. I need…" Her voice trailed off and a crimson shade colored her features. She grappled and twisted at the pink sheet she had brought in from her bedroom, feeling more naked than she'd dreamed possible underneath. Why hadn't she just gone to bed as usual? It was Stan's fault that she had attempted this confrontation!
"Yes?" Adam looked at his wife inquiringly. What was it anyway? Why didn't she leave him alone? Of all times to come bothering him, just when he was at the commencement of a very important phase of his life and his work.
"Sex!" The word slipped from Helen's lips and seemed to hang suspended in the room. Helen was aware of all the books on the shelf behind her husband's back. She felt mortified. How could she have said such a thing? She had, of course, intimated as much in the past, but never had she come right out and said it!
Adam regarded his wife and realized for the first time that she was naked underneath the sheet. His first reaction was to look down at his briefcase as if to ascertain that it was still there. Just looking at it gave him a raging erection, and the middle-aged scientist could feel his penis throbbing with life again.