"I don't know why this girl does this to you, Enrique, she must be just trying to make you suffer," said Zelia, as she sat down with him on the sofa and ran her fingers through his long curly locks. It was nearly midnight and Zelia and I were in bed asleep when he called. Again his girl, Lupita, would not give him the object of his desire, claiming that it was her time of the month. This in itself was no fault of hers, of course, but what was truly offensive to the boy was her refusal to assist him in any of the various other ways of relieving his normal and natural urges.
I came from the kitchen with a beer for the boy, and he accepted it gladly, and drank a good amount from the bottle. Zelia told him, "I didn't have time to prepare because you were coming very soon, but how about you have your beer and I'll go and get ready, alright?" She spoke softly to the boy, urging him to be calm and relaxed and to not be in the least concerned for the lateness of the hour. "Like I told you," Zelia said, standing up, fixing the strap of her camisole at her shoulder, "It's not an inconvenience. You can call me any time, any time, Enrique."
And with that she hurried down the hall towards the bathroom, where she gave herself first a quick shower and then stood at the vanity making her face up. There was no conversation between myself and Enrique. I busied myself in the kitchen and brought him an ash-tray when he lit a cigarette. In a few minutes, my wife appeared at the front of the hallway with a bright smile. She had changed from her fullcut white cotton underpants into small red satin bikini panties with a pretty white bow on the front, and instead of the cotton camisole she had a red sheer nylon bra which lifted her full breasts and pushed them together to form a respectable cleavage, and to make apparent the outsized areolae and button-nipples. She smelled of soap and perfume. Around her neck she wore a necklace he had bought for her birthday and on her wrist a silver bracelet I had given her for Christmas. Enrique got up from the couch with a will and Zelia led him by the hand into our bedroom, where they spent most of the next hour behind the closed door.
It was almost one am when my wife and her young cousin emerged from the bedroom. He wanted only to have another beer and cigarette before he returned home. I brought him the beer and put down the emptied ashtray on the coffee table. Zelia was luminescent, her dark skin radiant with the natural glow of a woman who has been made love to by a man to his satisfaction. She had initially come into the living room in the same bra and panties as before, but after a word or two from Enrique, she went to our room and returned in a few moments in striped cotton pyjamas that were very roomy and concealed her feminine attributes. Also her hair was in a long neat braid which nearly reached the bottom of the blouse.
When Enrique left, Zelia and I returned to bed. She informed me that in that just short of an hour behind the door he had relieved himself twice of his youthful passion. It had only been three weeks since my wife had finally convinced her younger cousin to have no qualms about taking her behind the bedroom door when the necessity arose. She was a mature woman, well-accustomed to being made love to by a man, and it was not an inconvenience to her nor a problem for me, her husband. She was happy to be able to afford him the opportunity of relieving himself of his natural urges, which his novia frequently refused him. Enrique was a handsome and vigorous youth, and it was no choice of his own that he was frequently in need of a woman. It was nature and there was nothing he could do about it. In a man like myself, of mild and bland temperment, she told him, the urge is weak, and rarely occurs, and when it does it is easily gratified with scarcely a few moments in the marriage bed. Once every two or three months was about the extent of my need for what was mine by the allowance of our legal contract.
The following morning, which was a Monday, while I was at work in my office I received an email from Zelia, which would soon become a routine for her. She told me that Enrique was going to stop by during his lunch hour from his construction job, and that she would have a meal ready for him. She didn't mention that they would be going to bed, but this was a given and didn't need to be mentioned, though she would frequently say as much in the future, sometimes quite flatly and plainly. I responded cordially to her email and thanked her for letting me know.
On Tuesday there was no such message. On Wednesday morning, however, I received another email from Zelia, saying that Enrique was again going to visit her on his lunch hour and that she was planning on fixing him a meal. This time, she also told me that he would be taking her to bed, since Lupita was still on her monthlies, though they were much lighter now. She told me how she had encouraged him on the telephone not to feel that he was putting her out or making an unwelcome imposition. She told him explicitly that she was happy to have him call on her, that she enjoyed fixing his noon meal, and that it was no trouble whatsoever for him to take her to the bedroom.
She knew he worked hard and that he was a man with certain needs that had to be met, and she was glad to be able to assist him in that regard, that he was her cousin and she loved him, and that it was for his health and well-being. It was the same on Friday, and I read my wife's email at nine am while enjoying my coffee at work. She said that it would be fine with her if Enrique would make as part of his normal routine to call on her at home on his lunch hour every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. This would spare him from having to call her everytime to let her know, and it would give her the proper amount of time to prepare for him. She assured him that no, three times weekly was by no means too excessive, that she was quite happy that it be routine and expected, that it was all around better for her, since she could arrange her domestic duties and errands around his regular visits.
During the next few weeks my wife of course became a much busier person, but she insisted that at thirty years of age and with no children to mind she had plenty of energy to carry out her business. Cab fare became more expensive, since she needed to visit the stores more often in order to buy the ingredients she used to cook Enrique his tri-weekly meals. Also, she said, it gave her more exercise, which was a benefit not only to her but to Enrique, since she had slimmed down and once again had the figure of the nineteen year old bride I had married eleven years ago. Of course, she made sure to tell me, she was discouraged by Enrique to lose any more weight, because he liked her well-rounded figure, particularly her full, well-rounded behind, which he did not want to become flaccid. In fact, Zelia began to buy sweetbreads, after the last visit on Friday, to make sure that she did not become skinny.
This new relationship with Enrique opened up many avenues of self-improvement for my wife. Not only did she take more care for her diet, but she began to be highly conscious of personal hygiene. Mostly this concern centered on her vagina and perineal area in general. She began a regimented routine and carried it out each and every day, and not only on the three days when Enrique would be calling on her. Up until then Zelia had given little attention to her private hair, and it had gotten to quite a thick and large growth around the whole area from her pubic mound, where it grew in entangled clumps of coarse, black follicles, and all down the fleshy outer labia of her vulva, and down behind to the anus, where it grew in a faint dark circle around that opening's circumference. This was of particular concern to Enrique, she made a point of telling me, and naturally of supreme concern to Zelia.
I was obliged to help my wife on the evening she made ready to groom that area. She stood in the bathtub, her upper parts covered with a thick cotton T-shirt, while she ran a plastic razor delicately over her pubic mound, which she had first clipped liberally with scissors. For the first time, I must confess, I was able to appreciate the pronounced hill of flesh just atop the area where her labia began. It was plump and brown and shapely. She took great care with the blade while removing the hair that blossomed on each side of the vulva, first stroking in a downwards motion, then coming upwards along the fat, tissuey cloves to scrape and pluck the hairs at the very surface of her skin. While she groomed herself, her left foot on the side of the bathtub, I took some time to look at the softer, pinker lips that made a pleasant hub of petal-like folds in between the larger labia, and at certain points, when she opened her vulva with the fingers of her left hand, I could clearly see the small round, ruffled, paler-pink hole of her vagina, the very place where our frequent guest was given free and plentiful access in order to alleviate himself of his prolific and regularly-produced seed, without any of the usual obligations or worries to which a husband was by matrimonial duty accustomed.
Where I became useful was when she turned and asked me to remove the faint little trace of hairs that formed a line and then a circle around the anus. She used both hands to keep the skin around the aperture accessible to the razor as I carefully swept its acute edge across the delicate follicles and made sure that this usually discreet area was perfectly smooth before I was finished. I could only hope that Enrique would be pleased when next he took Zelia for his regular and necessary purge of masculine vigor and regenerative power.
And so the weeks went on, for a month, in the same fashion. Enrique came on his lunch hour on his three days of the week. In the week after, however, I received an email from Zelia at my office on Tuesday morning. She told me that Enrique had telephoned her and explained to her that he had an unusually strong desire to pay her a visit. It couldn't possibly wait until Wednesday, his usual day. She told me in no uncertain terms that he was physically sore and feeling a great deal of anxiety. Zelia once again was extremely open to this variance of their regular schedule, and assured him that he ought not to feel uncomfortable or forward by any means, and that he should definitely call on her that day. All she need do was get ready for him, and it was no imposition at all. She made a point of telling me that, in order to dissuade his sense of making an imposition, she had asked him what he would like her to wear for that day, how he would like her to fix her hair, and certain other details. She even asked him if he felt in the mood for any particular meal for this new occasion, and that whatever he suggested would be no trouble for her at all. The only thing he seemed to feel was important, Zelia told me, was that she be sure to make herself clean. She didn't ask the boy if there had been an issue in that area at some prior time, but she felt, due to his persistence in reminding her, that there was something on his mind about which he was irritated or troubled.
