My wife was bored.
Since we began our stay at home under quarantine three weeks ago, Beatrice has gotten so bored it's pretty much affecting me too. We have watched too many movies on Netflix, TV re-runs, listened to music over and over, corresponded daily with family members and friends on the phone, inquiring how they were handling the quarantine debacle and such. Beatrice often passed the time with yoga exercises, something she had nearly given up on months ago when she discovered sex with Byron, and still, it wasn't enough to sate her spirit.
I, too, was having a tough time going about being camped all day indoors. But unlike her, I knew how to be sedentary when I wanted. I had begun taking up painting for a hobby. I had converted a part of the garage into my studio, and several weeks ago went out and purchased additional oil paint canisters, canvases, and helpful books on painting to prepare me for the long haul. We weren't too concerned about food, except for the usual snacks or dairy products. Our fridge was stacked with soda and liquor, vegetables and snack meals. We were hibernating until whenever the government decided it was okay to come outside and enjoy the sunshine once again. We were both retirees, so neither of us had any jobs to return to once this was over.
What weighed on my mind was what to do calm Beatrice.
I knew what was raging on her mind, what was making her all angsty. Beatrice wanted sex—she craved it like someone demanding a glass of water after a long walk under the sun. She was trying her best to hold it in, but I knew it was only a matter of time before her dam burst. Four weeks have passed since Byron showed up. Like much of the country, we assumed then that this nationwide quarantine was nothing but some political stunt. Even Byron hadn't believed it, but a lot has changed since then. Byron left to spend time with his ailing mom, though we did keep in touch when we could. It was hard-hitting for Beatrice that he was miles away. Each day her despair seemed to expand. "I can't take it anymore, Don," she complained to me one morning during breakfast. She had a pallid outlook about her that told me she was on edge. "I feel like I'm going out of my mind here. I've got an itch that needs scratching."
"How much of an itch are we talking about, dear?" My attempt at jest failed the instant the words left my mouth.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about here," she screwed her eyes at me.
I tried my best to ease her plight somewhat. I ate her pussy before bedtime; I fucked her with her dildo, sometimes two at a time, even set up her Symbian contraption for her to ride while I stood beside her, masturbating. Since hooking up with Byron, I have been forbidden from having sex with Beatrice. Besides, my pecker could hardly keep up with the sort of stamina she found in her lover.
Beatrice had an assortment of dildos, all in varying sizes and colours. Since our lockdown began, she kept them in numerous places about the house, so whenever her itch grew drastic, she didn't need to rush to the bedroom to grab one. She kept one under a coffee table; there was one on the dining table; she had two of them stuck to the bathroom wall, which she would fuck while on her arms and knees.
The sex toys were a relief, but for Beatrice, nothing beats having a handsome cock to fuck. My dilemma was what was I going to do about her situation. I had to think of something and fast before things became unbearable for both of us.
As it turned out, a day came when I needed to head to Costco to pick up a few boxes of cereal, preferably Wheaties. Beatrice couldn't do without morning cereal, and neither could I; that was one important meal we both shared. It had been days since I got in my car and drove beyond my driveway except to warm the engine. I took my time preparing: wearing a pair of white surgical gloves and a face mask. Beatrice told me to hurry back. Did she think this was going to be fun shopping for me?
The roads were devoid of traffic. There were so few cars at each traffic stop; it was almost a crime waiting for the lights to turn green. But I did make it to Costco and wasn't surprised to see a horde of shoppers milling about the forecourt, many of them wearing face masks like me, all trying their best not to make conversation, including maintaining some measure of distance from each other. Many of them appeared nervous and dour.
I went into the shop and set about picking my items. Many of the aisles and stalls were empty. I moved about and tried not to bump into any of the shoppers around, eventually making it to the cereal section. There was a man there about to grab the last box of Wheaties on the shelf; for some reason, I couldn't let that happen.
"Hey," I called out to him, "I wanted that."
"Same here," he shot back.
I pushed my trolley toward him. He didn't make like leaving. He wore a leather jacket, black hand gloves, and a white handkerchief; he didn't look intimidated by my approach, not like I intended him any harm.
"I sorry, but I really wanted to have that Wheaties," I said in as much a pleading voice I could summon.
He looked at me, then at the box of Wheaties, then to my surprise, he gave it to me, then continued down the aisle. I was so dumbfounded and lost for words by his kindness that by the time I could summon the strength to thank him, he had already walked away from view. My shopping concluded, it became another gruelling task to wait my turn at the payment counter. Eventually, I completed my purchase and carted my items.
I happened to sight the leather-clad gentleman out in the parking lot. I got into my car and drove toward him. He turned his head and saw me coasting beside him.
"I never got to thank you for that kind gesture," I said to him.
"Looked like you needed it more than me, so think nothing of it, sir."
I was reluctant to let it be. I figured I owed the gentleman, especially in this troubling situation the world was currently battling. One kind gesture certainly deserves another.
"Do you have a ride?" I inquired. "I can give you a lift if you want."
He looked at me and smiled, "That won't be wise, would it? Safe distancing."
It occurred to me then that I wasn't wearing my face mask, but I thought to hell with it. He looked like a decent fellow. Who said that life wasn't worth taking risks. Another thought that came to me was how similar he looked to Beatrice's lover. Beatrice certainly would find him attractive.
"I for sure won't mind," I countered. "If you're not in too much of a hurry, perhaps you and I can share a drink. A drink and a friendly chat. A lot better than being cooped up indoors alone."
That got him to stop. I decided to throw in a caveat.
"Also, I'm sure my wife would love to thank you for me."
He thought for a second, then came around and got in the passenger seat. His name was Russ, formerly worked as an intern for an online gaming company but was currently unemployed. Like everyone else, he was equally paranoid and upset about the roaming virus responsible for the nationwide lockdown.
