Ron's Wife's Beautiful Breasts

“One human being, when you think of it, means nothing more to another than a string of similes.”

Robert Musil

Ron works at the Wilbur Mills Dogfood Company. He is a lifer. It is good work, solid work, the kind of occupation that at the end of the day, you might not feel as if you had finished a novel, or painted a chapel ceiling, but you know you put food on the family table. Ron is assistant to the assistant sub-section supervisor.

Ron’s wife is a woman too beautiful for him. When they married this wasn’t as true as it is today. Ron has not aged well—he’s not a troll, by any means, but he has a potbelly and his hair is receding from his forehead like the ebbing of the last tide. And, Rosa, Ron’s wife, has aged remarkably well. She is one of those women who actually are prettier in middle age than when they were young. Rosa has grown into her skin, her skin as white as birchbark.

And, this doesn’t help: Rosa has large breasts that attract the attention of other men. They’re not just large, they are perfectly shaped, orbicular as a grindstone. Not that she flaunts them, or is flirtatious, but one can’t help but remark upon the bold protuberances that almost define Rosa as a public figure.

When Ron and Rosa have sex—it doesn’t happen as often these days and Ron tries to tell himself that it’s not because of his potbelly—Rosa always sits astride her husband of 14 years. Rosa is always on top. So, Ron has a wonderful idea just how delicious Rosa’s breasts are. And, they are great goads to his sluggish sexuality—they are mounds of pure desire. Ron holds them as Rosa, after finishing herself, bucks against him, squeezing his balls and exhorting him on, talking the slightly dirty but not too dirty talk Ron desires, trying to coax that explosion from him. Normally, Ron only has to open his eyes—once he’s close—and see those breasts, and nature takes its course.

“Whew,” he says.

“You come hard?” Rosa asks.

“Yes, dear. Yes, I did.”

“Me, too, Tiger.”

“Good, then.”

“Yes.”

“Your breasts…”Ron says, trailing away.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” Ron says, because the moment has already passed. Ron has already entered the place where Rosa’s breasts are a problem instead of a luxury. Instead of a desert.

Ron imagines that Rosa is unfaithful to him. One day he just begins doing this, not for any reason other than the fact that Rosa’s breasts are so damn beautiful and Ron feels undeserving. Ron is a poor mooncalf. The truth is this: Rosa has never been unfaithful to Ron; she loves him like thunder’s winged force.

Enter now, Ellen Holland, the secretary of Ron’s immediate supervisor at Wilbur Mills. Ellen is plain, slight, unkempt and she dresses in slightly mannish clothing. But, Ellen has something that kindles desire in the most recalcitrant and true-hearted man: Ellen has a crush on Ron.

So it happens, one afternoon late, when they are both preparing to leave, they touch hands accidentally as they are simultaneously climbing into their coats. One thing leads to another and suddenly Ron is on the phone, leaving a message on his home recorder, “Hon, gotta stay a little late tonight and clean up some paperwork. Go ahead and eat.” Ron didn’t even know what “clean up some paperwork” might mean. It isn’t part of his job.

Ellen smiles sweetly.

They park their cars at the Palomino Motel out on the highway, right next to each other as if they have nothing to hide. For some reason, Ron feels as if he doesn’t. Ron is deluded, perhaps.

Once on the bed and unclothed Ron looks at Ellen’s body, thin as the shell of a sound. Her girlish hips flare slightly out, like tiny wings, and her pubic patch is a thick tangle of hair, dark as a forest; it has depth; it is her best part. Ron puts his mouth on Ellen’s forest patch and Ellen screams as Ron’s tongue works with a young man’s fervor. Then, as if agreed upon ahead of time, Ellen puts her mouth over Ron’s half-inflated johnny. It becomes fully inflated. Ellen knows how to give a blow-job.

Then, suddenly, Ellen is sitting atop Ron, riding him like a mechanical bull. Ron is surprised at this position, one he had in mind to avoid, determining that it is something exclusive between himself and his wife. But Ellen is already swaying and gurgling before Ron can switch positions.

What else can Ron do? He slowly raises his hands and places them on the chest of Ellen Holland, her tiny breasts barely peaking between his fingers, her nipples hard as acorns, standing out like a place in a painting where too much paint has been applied. Ellen opens her eyes and discerns Ron’s look of astonishment and she puts her hands over his and her orgasm is as wild as primeval chaos.

And right after that Ron, too, lets it all go.

“Whoopee,” Ellen says, after a few moments of exhausted silence.

“Uh huh,” Ron says, his mind a mile away.

“I haven’t come that hard in years,” Ellen says, and her face is a young girl’s and it is full of love and it frightens Ron half to death.

“I love your breasts,” Ron says.

Ellen looks at her small boy’s chest. Her face squinches up into a mask of perplexity.

“Really?” she says.

“Yes, really,” Ron says, and suddenly his attention snaps back. He re-enters his body and when he does his cock begins to swell again. He grabs small Ellen Holland and begins sucking on her nipples, hard, as if he means to find milk there. He is holding her so forcefully and sucking so hard, Ellen becomes frantic.

She grabs Ron by the balls and squeezes for all she is worth. Ron groans. Ellen digs in her nails and shakes; Ron pulls Ellen’s nut-brown hair. This rough-and-tumble goes on for several minutes with the end result being that Ron enters Ellen again, this time from behind, as Ellen bends over the room’s cheap dresser, above which stands a mirror. Ron watches Ellen’s face, an agony of pleasure, and Ellen opens her eyes to look into Ron’s where she sees terror and fury and rage and something very close to love.

This is the beginning of the affair.

This affair has lasted now for over a year and Rosa found out about it when it was still in its infancy, a month or so old. She says nothing. All she wants is for Ron to come home most nights, fuck her occasionally, kiss her like he kissed her on their first date these 16 years past, in the front seat of his Toyota Corolla, in front of her parents’ house, back when Ron was sleek and cool and scared to touch her, even on her inviting breasts. Back then he was so timid and Rosa loved that about Ron. He was her husband, her only love.

And as the years wear on Ron keeps screwing Ellen regularly and Ellen is hopelessly in love with Ron. Things settle into a monotony that most people accept and some even relish. Ron is unhappy, unaware that he has the best of everything. Life moves inexorably forward, precious and untenable and full of wild starlight and change.