* This is a repost of an old romance story with a fresh edit. *
Chapter 6
Saturday dawned wonderfully dreary. The rain pelting the windows made a delightful sound. It signaled a rainout for the Deacon's painters. Chris was away all afternoon, on a play-date with cousins. Which meant she’d have lingering time alone with Sam, while he made the promised plumbing repairs. Her flesh heated just thinking about his plumbing prowess.
Sherry assessed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A satisfied smile grew. Her body was exceptional, and she’d be a desirable acquisition for Sam's long-term portfolio. Shapely legs flexed and twisted side to side, as she examined her braless peak dividends, available only to a certain preferred shareholder.
"I predict there will be a bare market today. Clothing will drop suddenly." With an impish smile, she said, "What happened to the prim Sunday school teacher that used to live here?"
She’d never desired a man’s company so much. ‘And I'll do anything to keep it... Oh God, forgive my covetousness.’ Time with Sam was like getting reacquainted with an old friend and finding out you still click, still complete each other's sentences. ‘And he's funny.’ Her smile began to hurt.
Those are the ingredients for love, and she'd told him so. The "L" word had jumped from her lips before she could rein it in-- the desire to say it overpowering. Declaring, "I love you", this early in their relationship was risky, possibly fatal. Sam hadn't echoed the sentiment. She hoped his hesitancy reaffirmed her belief that if he ever said, “I love you,” it would be the truth, and not just an impulsive outburst.
'I'm the impulsive one.'
Only a few days ago, she wanted to slow things down, afraid he wouldn't want to buy the cow if he got the milk for free. Now she wanted to bath him in it, prove her milk capable of quenching any thirst. There was no need for him to find another dairy.
"I’ve got all the milk he can handle." She boasted to the temptress in the mirror.
Thoughts drifted back to the night before. They’d made love under the full moon, then rode back to the barn on one horse. She sat backwards in the saddle to face him. His hands roamed over her as they kissed, and planned today's visit.
Now Sam was coming over, and she was ready, willing, and adorable.
'What more could a man want?' She asked herself, 'Brains? A Master's degree in education should cover it, any questions? I'm the total package... now to make Sam accept delivery.'
She moved into the living room, and paced in front of the window, watching for his truck. "I feel like I'm in an Old Spice commercial."
The wait made her nervous. After twenty minutes, her bolstered confidence waned. Inherent self-doubt produced fear of rejection. 'Bob loved me, and he left.' Sherry made comparisons to stem the flow of negative thoughts. ‘Bob isn't half the man Sam is. He’s evil. Sam is gentle and kind.’
A young, inexperienced Sherry had mistaken Bob's brusque and demeaning treatment as manly. His arrogance seemed like confidence to her naive soul. She’d thought, 'Here's a man I can depend on to take care of our family'.
In reality, his bravado proved to be a fragile shell. Underneath, there was a jealous, petty, self-centered monster that found joy in being a bully. She had no opinion worth hearing. Her job was to act the trophy wife and make him look important. When she grew a backbone, he tried to break it. The day he left had been one of her happiest.
‘Bob is weak. Sam is strong.’
Sam seemed to be the ideal husband, and she’d envied Jan. Watching them together was like watching newlyweds -- pecks on cheeks, hand holding. Sherry had even caught them playing footsie during a church cantata.
She’d watched Sam closely, and tried to find a crack in his fidelity. 'No man is that loyal,' she’d thought.
However, other than a fleeting glance, Sam never paid attention to other women. Unlike Bob, whom she'd have to elbow to stop him from ogling a firm backside in a short skirt, showing no respect for his wife’s sensibilities. She had wondered, 'Is it my fault,' and befriended Jan hoping to learn the secret of their happy marriage. Sadly, she discovered there was no magic secret.
Sherry blankly stared out the window, and descended into the dark hole of insecurity that living with Bob had dug. 'Seven years alone is a long time. Can I keep Sam interested? Will he ever love me the way he loved Jan? The way I love him?'
To lessen the anxiety, Sherry walked to her desk, retrieved the "Sam" notebook, and opened it to the dog-eared page entitled "Intimacy". Jan had written the most personal details of their physical couplings and opened Sherry's eyes to a joining of bodies and souls previously unknown. After the first read, a voyeuristic shame had filled her, like she'd watched them through the bedroom window. The adult videos Bob had made her watch were anonymous acts of lust that disgusted her. This journal, although specific in description, did not disgust. It excited. She knew these people. This was real love in action. She’d wondered why Jan wrote in such graphic detail.
After Sherry’s initial embarrassment cooled, the pages became worn from turning. She’d decided this is how married sex should be, unfettered by shame and modesty. The Bible says the marriage bed is undefiled. So, why not explore the scope of sexuality with your mate? Her comfort with these erotic vignettes increased, until she couldn't resist her pent-up arousal. She pictured herself with Sam, felt his caress through her own fingers and satisfied the ache of want created by Jan's narrative. Wasn't that what Jan expected? Wasn't that why she sent this diary, to create a desire for Sam?
One short commentary bothered Sherry.
Jan wrote:
Sam is the best lover. However, I have this dark need for something his kindness seems unable to satisfy. Maybe because he is so gentle, I found myself wanting rougher treatment. I wanted him to be demanding, forceful, craving my body to the point of forcing himself on me. Of course, I would willingly let him have his way with me, and I don't fantasize about rape. But I think I wanted to feel that his attraction to me was overpowering, in a primal, instinctive fashion. We experimented with role-playing, complete with rules of conduct, and an escape word that ended the act if I became uncomfortable. Sam just could not find it within himself to be forceful and aroused at the same time. I say this to his credit and my shame.
Sherry knew what violence felt like. That was Bob's nature. She didn’t think it was sexy, only demeaning. Her physical satisfaction had been an unnecessary byproduct.
The doorbell rang, and Sherry jumped. Time had stopped. She'd been lost in the tactile delight of sexual thoughts. Heart pounding, she quickly hid the notebook under a stack of magazines, rushed to the door, and swung it wide as her smile.
"Hi, Sam, you're late."
His smile broadened, "Sherry, you look lovely… as usual."
The deep brown eyes wandered down her body. She tingled.
"Do you have pencils in your shirt or are you just happy to see me?" he asked, with eyes fixed on her breasts.
Her nipples hardened some more. The blush, she so wanted to control, escaped up her neck and face. His nearness brought Jan's erotica closer to reality. Close enough to touch.
"Of course I'm happy to see you, Sam," she said, moving aside to let him enter. "It's also a little chilly. Don't let your head swell... or anything else."
Sam put his plumbing paraphernalia on the floor, and said, "Since you're a new customer I require partial payment up front before starting any work." Pulling Sherry into his arms, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. His mouth covered hers.
Her legs weakened as his muscled body pressed against her. His strength supported her weight. Suddenly, an old, trapped feeling made her push away. With only slight resistance, she broke free.
"Are you okay, Sherry?" Sam held her gingerly at arm’s length. "You look a little peaked."
