When Allen Met Jill Again

It had been two weeks, Allen was horny, and he wanted to fuck.

It’s funny how wives can so thoroughly train their husband’s libidos. Early on in their marriage, Deatra had programmed Allen not to initiate sex by the simple tactic of rejecting him each and every time he tried. Not directly or in any way that could be described as emasculatingly cruel; but in the sense of there always being something else more pressing, more important, that she had to deal with at that moment. When he rolled over with his morning erection, she would give him a peck on the cheek and a “rain check,” citing the lack of time, having to get the kids up and ready, making their lunches, etc. If he set his mental alarm clock to allow enough time, she’d simply pretend to remain asleep, or complain that it was too early and she needed her rest. And as often as not, she wouldn’t deliver on that rain check the ensuing evening, complaining about various aches and/or pains, or fatigue. And when she did deliver, it was usually passionless and perfunctory, ending with him pounding away inside her while she made grimaces of pain or looked away from him, as though she were enduring the experience rather than enjoying it, the only effort at controlling her unhappy countenance mustered in order to hasten Allen’s ejaculation so that she could shove him off of her and go clean herself up.

Once in a great while Deatra would feel the stirrings of desire and give him a special treat – not in the sense of doing anything different, much less kinky, but simply of being as willing a lovemaking participant as he, rather than her usual conscript demeanor. And on those occasions, which invariably ended up with her on top riding his cock like a raging bronco, she could be as hot as anything Allen could ever remember.

With one exception.

And that’s what kept him within the narrow guardrails of fidelity.

That, and his characteristic passivity and general surface-unstudliness.

But this current dry spell had become intolerable, and with him and the kids going to his parents’ for his twenty-year high school reunion, and her staying home to work, he wanted to have her long and hard before embarking on this long-anticipated trip.

Allen’s strategy wasn’t original, but it was bold: wait until wifey had turned on the shower, then sneak into the bathroom, drop his clothes, and surprise her for a session of moistness, penetration, and squishing noises.

Dee disappeared into the bathroom while Allen was on the couch, nominally watching WWE Smackdown. Right as Brock Lesnar was F5-ing a member of Team Angle patella-first into the ring post, he heard the magic sound of shower water hitting the bottom of the bathtub. “It’s showtime,” he thought with a grin.

Quietly he tiptoed down the hall, and slowly opened the door.

He hadn’t gotten halfway through it when Deatra peaked out from behind the shower curtain and screamed in momentary terror. Which, in turn, startled Allen and blew down the erection he’d been building for the previous ten minutes.

“What!?” he barked, harsher than he intended – which was oftentimes the case.

“Oh, Allen, you startled me, that’s all,” Deatra attempted to soothe, embarrassed at her outburst. “I thought it was one of the kids.”

“The kids are in bed asleep, Dee,” Allen grated. “You put them there yourself, remember? And Leonard doesn’t get up to take a piss until around midnight, remember? Je..ez,” he caught himself before succumbing to the urge to curse, “what IS it with you, anyway? When I’m taking a shower in the morning you come barging in here all the time and I don’t shriek at you. Of course, you never join me in the shower, either. If you ever did, I’d probably faint dead away and fall out of the tub altogether.”

“But dear, you know I don’t like bathing together,” Deatra primly lectured. “My skin is dry and can’t tolerate prolonged exposure to the water, and besides, I’ve told you time and again that this tub just isn’t big enough for both of us. And with the hot water heater only firing on one cylinder or whatever, there isn’t enough hot water anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, there’s always a reason not to do it. Always a reason not to please me, and to prevent me from pleasing you. Sometimes I wonder whether you didn’t remove one of the heating elements in that heater deliberately so that I would be forced into regular regimen of cold showers. I really wouldn’t put it past you.”

Now she was getting that hurt expression on her face that she always got when they lapsed into one of these arguments. At one time he would have been overcome with the need to go to her and comfort her. Now he was so exasperated that he couldn’t get away from it, and her, fast enough.

Plopping back down in front of the tube, Allen was just in time to see Kevin Nash club Vince McMahon from behind while Hollywood Hogan looked on. Hey, the nWo was back! At least business was picking up someplace.

After Smackdown ended he flipped over to the Red Green Show when he thought he heard Deatra’s voice. “Nah, must be something else,” he thought. Then he heard it again. “What does she want now?” he grumbled. Seeing that the light was on in the bedroom behind the closed door, he padded down the hall to see if she was talking to him.

Allen opened the door only to have it closed on him, almost in his face. Incensed, he burst through it, only to have a naked Deatra shriek again.

His anger dissolving into confusion, he said, “What was that all about?”

Beginning to tear up, she whimpered, “I was going to surprise you, like you always want me to do.”

Oh, crap, he thought, starting to beat his forehead against the doorframe.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I thought I heard your voice, and I was coming down to see if you were calling me.” Unable to think of anything else to say, he turned on his heel and returned to the living room.

Allen’s consciousness didn’t make it through two installments of Red Green. As was a balefully regular habit, he dozed off on the couch, while Deatra dozed off in bed. Once again, there was no sex in the Grosserhaun household.

And once again, Allen dreamed.

~ ~ ~

Jill wept.

These bursts of melancholy came at unexpected intervals, usually triggered by a sight or a sound or a smell. Anything that reminded her of Mike Penney, and the good times they had had together.

They had met on a blind date, of all things. And not any blind date, but on the TV show Blind Date. She had been the “adventurous” physical therapist and he the stolid but quietly fun-loving civil engineer. He had the sort of reserved demeanor that she delighted in drawing out, and he had enjoyed her drawing him out, almost as if that persona was just a façade designed to get out of her what he wanted, but in a playful, rather than manipulative way.

They had gone the usual dating format for that show – an activity, followed by dinner, followed by drinks and/or dancing. The producers had tried to talk them into a hot tub encounter, but while Jill would have been willing in ordinary circumstances, her adventurousness wasn’t exhibitionistic. Which suggested a hidden hint of demureness to Mike that added in his mind to an inner attractiveness that matched her outer beauty.

When asked if each wanted to see the other again, they both answered with an enthusiastic “yes.”

Periodically Jill would reflect on what made her pursue that relationship after all the previous times she’d been burned. The answer was obvious, of course – Mike was a lot like Allen Grosserhaun had been. Or at least he seemed that way. Of course, Mike was a mature man, in his mid-thirties, affluent, established in his field, as opposed to the callow, insecure youth that Allen had been when she’d taken his virginity. But he still had a boyishness about him that he displayed around her, almost as if she was the only person around whom he felt comfortable dropping his personal shields and exposing his vulnerabilities.

It went against her accustomed grain to take a relationship slowly, but Jill had resolved to do just that. And each step of the way, Mike didn’t disappoint. He was steady as a rock, patient, loving, and just very good and kind to her. Gradually she began to feel like maybe she could open up her heart, and her private parts, and take another chance on happiness.

She invited Mike on a weekend getaway to a quaint bed & breakfast out in the country. They enjoyed window-shopping in the quaint shops of the nearby little town, picking and eating fresh strawberries and cream, and a romantic candlelit dinner. And later that night, in the Jacuzzi in the outdoor gazebo, Jill took Mike’s cock into her mouth, he slathered her pussy with his tongue, and he buried himself in both her holes until they were sated with satisfaction, exhaustion, and a thin layer of his cum floating atop the still bubbling surface of the water.

They were wed three months later, culminating a level of joy that Jill had never dared to believe was possible. And in a sense, she was finally able to tie off the eight hundred pound loose end in her life that had been Allen Grosserhaun. She’d found her life’s mate, and together they looked forward to their lifetime together, and to starting a family. Jill couldn’t wait to get started.

That proved to be more difficult than initially anticipated, however. After fucking almost every night for six months without conceiving, Mike and Jill consulted her OBGYN. He gave her a full reproductive checkup, and checked Mike’ sperm count. He even did a “post-coital examination” (“Only time in my life I’ve ever looked forward to going to the doctor,” Mike joked) to see if there were any problems that he had missed. But he could find nothing wrong with either of them.

More months ensued, with more daily hammerings, and still no fertilization. They consulted another OBGYN for a second opinion. They underwent the same tests. They were given the same results: nothing was wrong with either of them.

Yet no matter how long and how hard they tried, they still couldn’t have a baby.

It got to the point that for the first time in her life, Jill no longer enjoyed sex. It wasn’t that she blamed Mike, necessarily; it just seemed that intimacy had become futile. As a consequence, their love life began to slacken. She began to find reasons to avoid coupling – reasons that Allen Grosserhaun would have found very familiar: “I’m tired, I don’t feel well, I had a tough day, I just want to go to sleep.” And Mike was beginning to develop a similar reaction.

Instead he came to the rescue with his customary voice of reason.

Slipping his arms beneath Jill’s breasts in the bathroom one morning, he said, “You know what we need, hon? We need to get away from it all. And I’ve got just the place.”

“And where would that be,” Jill replied, interest beginning to perk.

“Our old bed & breakfast.”

“Oh, you mean the place we fucked for the first time.”

“Well…yeah…but we don’t have to make love, you know,” Mike cajoled. “We can just relax, go for long walks, and talk about anything in the world. No duties, no responsibilities, no deadlines…and no pressure.”

“And no fucking?” Jill queried with mock incredulity.

“There can be. Or not. We’ll just let that happen if it does, or not of it doesn’t. Like I said, no pressures.”

“Who are you kidding, kiddo? I can see the bulge in your drawers as we speak,” she teased.

“Oh, that? I’ve just got to take a leak.”

“Thought guys couldn’t take a leak when they have a monster boner,” Jill prodded.

“Never mind,” Mike sighed. “I’ll take my leak after breakfast.”

“Honey?”

“What?” Mike said.

“I’ll make the reservations.” Then Jill jumped up on her tiptoes and kissed Mike on the nose.

The weekend unfolded pretty much like Jill thought it would. Which, for her, was dismaying. And the fact that she found it dismaying only depressed her further.

They did all the same things they had done when they came here the first time. The shopping, the long walks, the strawberries, the candlelit dinner, the talking. She had, truth be told, enjoyed it all, but hanging over the good time she’d been having was the unspoken, unimposed, yet implicit obligation she felt that Mike expected to slide the bone home at some point during their stay.

Mike, for his part, hoped that they would rekindle their intimacy by separating it from their recent efforts to conceive a child. He subscribed to the notion that a couple can “try too hard,” and if they just relaxed and let nature take its course, Jill would be preggers before they knew it.

Returning to the B&B after dinner, Jill unhooked her arm from Mike’s and asked, “Do you want to retire to the hot tub now or later?”

He looked nonplussed. “Well, either is fine. Or we can go to our room and I can rub your feet – we did do a lot of walking today. Or we can read to each other. Or we can just go to bed and cuddle. Remember, sweetheart, no pressures.”

She smiled and embraced him, but inwardly she still felt unsettled.

Jill lay belly-down on the bed in her nightgown as Mike was massaging her ankles. Suddenly she asked him, “Honey, could you put lotion on your fingers?” He complied. A few minutes later she asked, “Could you please rub my calves? They’re awfully sore.” He complied again, without comment, not wanting to spoil the relaxed mood. Then she reached back and moved his slick hands onto her inner thighs, and began to squirm provocatively.

Ordinarily this would have turned Mike on instantly, but now it just flummoxed him. “Um, dear, I meant what I said before - you don’t have to feel like you have to do anything for me. We can do whatever you want.”

Again Jill grabbed Mike’s hands and directed them pussyward, only more forcefully.

“If those are your feet, your arches are in terrible shape,” he joked, trying to bleed off the tension he suddenly felt.

Silently rolling over, Jill took the bottom of her nightgown in each hand and pulled it over her head, revealing her full nakedness. And still without a word, she reached over and began pulling down Mike’s pajama bottoms.

“Whoa, she-biscuit,” he reacted, stepping back away from her. “What’s up here? I thought we wanted a break from, you know…”

“And I know what you want,” Jill replied. “And if I’m ‘she-biscuit,’ I know you’re no ‘Limp Bizket.’” A beat later, she was on the floor on her knees, with hubby’s dick disappearing into her mouth.

Mike had always loved Jill’s sexual aggressiveness, but there was something very different about this time. It was almost an angry aggressiveness, as if she didn’t believe his assurances about this trip, about no pressure, sexual or otherwise, as if she thought that he was some sort of insensitive prick who was just shining her on with a bunch of bullshit and really did expect her to perform like a bitch in heat.

The effect on him was instant and total flaccidity, even while the whole rest of his body seemed to tense up.

He tried to step back again, but she reached around and grabbed his asscheeks, forcing him toward her. Feeling absurdly like he was being raped, he reached down and firmly pushed her back, his linguini weenie exiting her lips with a deflating pop.

“Hold on here, Jill. I never in my life ever imagined that I would ever interrupt one of your blowjobs, but something about this isn’t right…”

“Oh?” quipped Mrs. Penney. “Since when have you developed a prudish streak?”

“You know what I mean. I TOLD you there were no expectations for this trip beyond simply you and me spending quality time together. What we did wasn’t the point; simply being together was. Now not five minutes ago I was massaging your feet, and all of a sudden you’re all but hurling yourself at me like a three-dollar whore. What gives?”

Eyes narrowing, Jill answered his challenge. “What do you mean, ‘What gives’? Are you telling me that you DON’T want to fuck me silly?”

“Yes—no—I mean…” Mike stammered to a stop before drawing a deep breath and trying again. “Jill, you’re my wife and I love you, and I will always want to make love to you. All I’m saying is that the one and only point of this getaway is just that – to get away. To get away from the pressure we’ve been putting on ourselves to have a child, and the damage it’s doing to our marriage. A husband and wife’s first priority is to each other, even after they have kids. How can we expect to ever be good parents if we don’t have that priority nailed down first? And how can we expect our marriage to thrive in the event that we end up childless?”

Mike’s words, meant to soothe and encourage, had the opposite effect. It was as if it had been like the dog listening to its master in the old Far Side cartoon: “blah blah blah blah have a child blah blah blah blah damage to our marriage blah blah blah blah end up childless.” The last phrase was the trigger – Jill burst into tears.

Mike knelt down beside her and attempted to draw her into a tender embrace, but she jerked away from him and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, leaving him to sit on the floor in a haze of estranged bewilderment.

That had been the beginning of the end, though neither knew it at the time. Their sex life, which had been diminishing anyway, vanished almost altogether. It wasn’t that they fought much or even at all; they just found reasons not to be around one another. She had to work late, he had to work late, he was going to the ballgame with the guys, she was going shopping with her friends. It took a while for the reality of this de facto separation to dawn on Jill, as well as the fact that she had been the catalyst of it. Realizing that Mike had tried to salvage the situation, she knew it was up to her to make the next try. And she had an idea: she would show up at his office, unannounced, wearing nothing but an overcoat and high heels. She would then saunter into his office, close and lock the door, and “let nature take its course.”

Looking back on it now, as she packed her overnight bag for the trip to her twenty year high school class reunion, Jill was amazed, even embarrassed, that she didn’t see it coming. She showed up at Mike’s office, alright – only to find him with his pants around his ankles and the long legs of that busty brunette co-worker of his, Janelle, wrapped around his waist and her ass bouncing up and down on his lap.

He had at least had the decency to be so startled and mortified that he not only stopped before shooting his load but actually stood up so quickly that he pitched the goddamn bimbo right onto the floor. He also had the decency not to start spluttering any horseshit excuses, either. Instead, his eyes remained as big as dinner plates, his mouth hung open in shock, and all the blood drained out of his ashen face. Indeed, Jill recollected, given the size of his cock at that moment, it’s a wonder he had any blood in his face to drain at all.

At this moment of a nightmare come true, Jill became inhumanly calm. Slowly and deliberately removing her overcoat, she walked slowly toward him, as though Janelle didn’t exist. Pushing him back into his chair, she knelt between his legs and took his cock into her mouth, and began giving him the best blowjob he’d ever had. Slow, long, luxurious strokes of her lips up and down his shaft, pausing lingeringly to lazily lick around the head, then slowly swallowing it until her nose was buried in his pubic hair.

For Mike, it was the most surreal experience he’d ever had. The only thing he could compare it to was something out of a porno movie, where a guy gets caught cheating by his significant other and then joins them in a threesome or something. Only for him, as for Jill, Janelle really had ceased to exist. Truth be told, neither of them even noticed her leaving the room. The only thing that existed in Mike’s universe was the hot mouth of his hot wife who had caught him red-cocked with his hot mistress, and the huge fusillade of cum that was boiling up from his innards.