Virtual Slavery

6

Winston

Heavy snow fell the Saturday after Lynn returned from Saint Louis.

I awakened early, as I usually do and got up, even though there was as usual no place I had to go and nothing I had to do.

After making coffee, I opened the drapes and saw the snow.

The Charles River is my favorite part of Boston, though like everything else, I like it better when the weather is warm and joggers and cyclists fill the path beside Memorial Drive and rowers fill the river, darting across the surface like water spiders, eights from MIT and Harvard and Boston College and Boston University, fours, doubles, singles; and small sailboats from the university sailing teams and Community Sailing. It is a remarkable display to find in the middle of a city, framed by the downtown skyline, the old brownstones of the Back Bay and the cupolas and domes of the university buildings.

Naturally in retrospect I have looked for signs of what was happening, and, in retrospect, they are there; but I did not see them at the time; I don't think anyone would have. And I was not looking for them.

Lynn had returned from the Atkinson award dinner exhausted and rundown. Although she said she thought she was coming down with something, pressing issues at work necessitated her continuing to go to the office; but she collapsed into bed even earlier than usual when she came home.

Knowing she would sleep late this morning, after I finished my coffee I pulled on my winter parka and went down for a walk.

I had seen snow before Boston. Often I drove with Julie, and for that matter with others before her, up to Lake Tahoe for the novelty of being in the snow, though I was not in the least tempted to take up skiing. In Boston snow soon became something less novel. My first winter saw over 100" fall, which admittedly set a record, but about 40" is average. So it is walk in the snow or not at all.

Crossing Memorial Drive I turned upstream toward Harvard Square.

The air was still and fat flakes drifted slowly past my eyes. The temperature was not far below freezing, but snow was starting to accumulate, and as the river narrowed it began to skin over with ice. A few disgusted ducks stamped across ice to open water, and a dozen or so seagulls stood stoically, apparently waiting for spring. They couldn't want it more than I did. The forecast was for three to five inches of snow.. That early on a Saturday, my Timberlands left the first prints in the pristine surface.

As I walked I suddenly remembered being awakened during the night. My cock was in someone's mouth. The room was dark and at first I was uncertain if I were awake or dreaming. I didn't know where I was or whose warm lips were sucking on me. I must confess that my first thought was Julie. She often did that: woke up in the middle of the night and wordlessly sucked me off. She said she loved taking my cock in her mouth when it was still soft and feeling it swell and fill her.. And she said she loved the taste of come in her mouth when she drifted back to sleep. I had told that to Lynn--not specifically about Julie, but as something I like. That first month in California, when she could not get enough sex, she did it often; but in Boston I was only roused from sleep by anonymous wet lips a few times during the first month or so. And then not at all. But it was Lynn now, sucking me intensely, taking me deeper than she ever had. When I came, she took it all, licked my cock clean, and rolled away from me onto her side.

I think now that she had made the decision to forgive me, that she wanted our marriage to last and was trying to reaffirm our bond, even as other bonds were being tightened around her.

At her suggestion the following weekend we drove down to Hyannis, which is peacefully deserted at that time of year, and had a wonderful time together.

A few days later, she surprised me again by shaving off all her public hair and starting to use polish on her finger and toenails. I was pleased, thinking she was doing it for me.

To Be Continued...