My dear! Who says “my dear” any more?
She felt his arm around her shoulders and allowed herself to be pulled close. He kissed her perfunctorily on the lips. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he turned back into the hall on the way to the garage. A small lump of uneasiness bobbed around in her stomach. What was it? For weeks she had been growing increasingly uneasy, discontent with the house, with their routine, with David himself. Still, a lot of women would be happy to have a husband half as dependable as David. So what was the problem? Was this the seven-year itch eight years late, or what?
She heard the door between the kitchen and garage close, then the rattle of the overhead door and David's Volvo start and back out. She watched it down the drive and into the street, waved when she heard the muffled toot of the horn. Her shoulders relaxed. She had told a little lie about running late. She had wanted an excuse to get on the road in case David had hung around the house any longer. She actually had plenty of time; the drive was only a couple of hours and registration didn’t begin until noon.
So what was it? Why the uneasiness of the past few weeks? Why lie about her schedule? The coffee was cold. She carried the cup to the kitchen, rinsed it and set it in the sink.
At thirty-six, David Smith was one year her senior. He was a good man. He didn’t smoke or drink or gamble. She would bet her last dime that he hadn’t looked at another woman --- well, touched one anyway --- since their wedding. He was attentive and considerate and still good looking. He was just under six-feet and still looked youthful, a bit soft from inactivity, perhaps --- he had never been athletic. He seemed years older, as if he had aged two years for her one since they had come here. When had that happened?
They had married during her freshman year at a mid-western university and she had quit to work and help pay the bills while he completed his undergraduate degree and began graduate school. He went straight through for a Ph.D. in psychology. Those had been good years. They shared spaghetti dinners with other student couples, made do on a low income with imagination and made love almost nightly. David had been full of youthful enthusiasm and determination in bed as well as in school. She had been proud of his accomplishment and her contribution to his progress. And David, to his everlasting credit, had acknowledged her contribution and treated her like a partner as well as a wife.
Then, after five years of tough sledding, he had landed a tenure track position at a major university and they had moved here to the East. They were suddenly middle class. They had enough money to cultivate a lifestyle and enter the university society, to trade in David’s old Chevy on the Volvo and even, a few years later, purchase a used VW Cabrio for her. After a couple of years on the junior faculty, David was voted tenure. He began to consult for businesses and even appeared, at times, as an expert witness in trials that involved aberrant workplace behavior. Money, so long a problem for them, was plentiful now but David seemed still unsatisfied. He put in a full week at the university and often spent his evenings and weekends working for his consulting clients.
Julianne, after a number of solitary nights in front of the TV, had returned in desperation to school and acquired a degree in personnel administration, finishing just two years ago. She found a job immediately with the State Department of Revenue as a personnel clerk. When her boss died unexpectedly three months ago, Julianne had been elevated to Director of Human Resources.
It was in this capacity that she was to attend the conference at a coastal island resort for the next four days. It disturbed her that she was looking forward to the four days as a vacation --- a vacation, if she was honest with herself, from David. With that thought, the lump of uneasiness hardened into guilt. She made a quick hard gesture as if driving her thoughts away.
Nonsense
, she thought with finality,
David is a wonderful guy and I’m lucky to have him! Besides, I love him! I always have! And he loves me!
She shook herself to throw off the mood and went into the hall, put on a short leather jacket and picked up her suitcases. She let herself out, locked up the house and stowed her luggage in the VW. She started the engine and let the top down with a delicious feeling of anticipation. With a last guilty twinge, she said a silent goodbye to the house, backed out, and headed for the Interstate.
On Monday morning, Jack Gibson unlocked the door to the SoftFile office suite an hour and a half earlier than usual. He had dressed for the road in a pair of faded jeans, an open-throated shirt and a tan corduroy sport coat, unusual for the president of the company but this was an unusual day. It was a two-hour drive to the coast and he wanted to be in place at the HR conference when people began to arrive. He slid in behind his desk, booted up his computer and retrieved the set of instructions he had typed Saturday morning for Carla, his administrative assistant. She would run the place while he was away for the next three and a half days.
He wanted to be on the road before she came in. The last few weeks had been a trifle strained. He had a hard and fast rule about not fraternizing with the help. As president of SoftFile, he couldn’t afford it. It wasn’t just the threat of a harassment suit but the fact that such alliances always took their toll in productivity and the company was struggling as it was. “Don’t dip your pen in the office ink,” his banker father had often told him. A cliché, perhaps but clichés were usually true. That’s how they became clichés.
Still, he was single again --- had been for the last two years and Carla was a very pretty girl. That was the real trouble --- she was a girl. Fresh from business school graduation, she had nervously interviewed for the position and Jack had hired her on the strength of her sterling record and the uniformly good references from the part-time jobs she had worked to get through school. She was a worker and that always impressed Jack more than anything else. Nor had he been sorry. She had organized the office and created some communication channels that had noticeably streamlined the work of their small workforce.
But Carla was interested in Jack. He sensed it every time they spoke. Nothing had been said on either side but her interest was clear and he was afraid that she sensed that the feeling was mutual. Except that he knew that she was still young enough to fantasize about marrying the boss and living happily ever after and on his part it was pure horniness.
Since his divorce he had kept to himself and concentrated on building the company, a small software firm that specialized in human resource support. Revenues had increased for the last three fiscal quarters in a row but if this conference resulted in a couple of sizeable contracts it would ease the financial strain considerably. As a result, he had allowed his personal life to dwindle to the point where he had almost no one to call if he wanted a date.
After his divorce, he had “thrown a wide loop,” as the cowboys used to describe rustlers. He had bedded anyone who took his fancy, married or not, and had been the cause of more than one break-up. But that was over. It had cut into his business life and nearly sunk the company before he righted himself and began to work in earnest.
Too long, old buddy! Too long without someone to warm your bed! That’s why Carla looks so good
, he told himself. Silently, he congratulated himself on his maturity and his refusal to risk trouble on that account. Besides, she was coolly efficient, dedicated and loyal. He was not about to trade all that because she was also sexy and his for the taking.
He had always attracted women. He was six-two and darkly handsome. His body was hardened by four years in Army Special Forces; he had been discharged then called back and seen combat in the Gulf War. Regular running as well as handball and racket ball dates had preserved his naturally athletic physique. And, at forty, he was president of his own company --- always an aphrodisiac, or so he was told.
The instructions complete, he e-mailed it to Carla’s computer, locked his desk and headed for the parking lot. The spring air was fresh even in the middle of the city and he felt exhilarated to be getting away for a few days even if it was a prospecting trip. He checked his display materials and his freebies in the back of the company van then got in and headed out to the Interstate
Janice came into his head about three miles out. They had been married for twelve years. (“How long have you been married?” “Two wonderful years --- and ten awful ones!”) He smiled in spite of himself at the old joke and decided to deal with her ghost for once. He didn’t have anything else to do but drive until he got there anyway.
He had married Janice while he had still been working for a software company in Chicago. She was from a family similar to his and they shared a lot of common needs and desires. It should have worked, and for a while it had --- very well. Janice proved an eager and willing partner, went with him to all the company functions and charmed everyone. Her statuesque figure and blonde, blue-eyed Scandinavian beauty disarmed even the most jaded observer. He knew for a fact that she had fended off indecent proposals from most of the single men in the firm and half the married ones.
That had not been the problem, however. Janice might have lived in Chicago when he married her but her roots were firmly planted in Minnesota and she was still a good Lutheran girl and sexually unliberated. Affairs of any kind were unthinkable for her. She gave herself to him without resistance, out of duty it seemed to him, allowed him all he wanted of conventional sex and seemed to relish it as much as he had but she had issued a strong refusal of oral sex.
Even that didn’t bother him much. Her voluptuous suntanned body, the satiny suntanned skin, the full bouncing breasts with big, pink strawberry nipples and the round cushiony thighs were such a pleasure that he forgave and respected her aversion. He smiled now as he remembered her sitting atop him, his cock up to the hilt inside that sweet, wet, blonde-fringed cunt, those big tits swaying as she levered herself up and down on his cock. His hands perspired a little on the steering wheel remembering the feel of her ass --- her true sexual glory --- that firm round ass that turned heads whenever she walked down the street or even across a room. He had never tired of fondling those two perfect cheeks, smooth, hairless and warm. He loved to grip them, slap them, caress them while she squirmed and writhed above him. He felt his cock stir at the memory as he drove.
And she had been fun-loving, too, in a sexual way, stripping for him at times --- on one memorable occasion after the guests had gone home from a boozy party, even serving dinner topless once as a birthday treat. During their “happy years,” as she referred to them later, she never failed to provide a sensational, energetic and satisfying fuck on demand.
No, there had been no problems in the bed --- or with other men. The real source of the trouble was money. Janice spent every cent he earned and then some. She overdrew her bank account on several occasions and maxed out her all of credit cards to his everlasting horror. Explanations about interest didn’t phase her. Threats didn’t deter her. The house continued to acquire drapes, furniture, glassware and every other known appointment. Her wardrobe burgeoned. So did his --- against his will!
