Getting involved in other people's business is usually not a very good idea, I've learned, but sometimes you just can't help it. It can get you into all kinds of shit, there's no arguing that, but every once in a while, every once in a great rare while, it can turn out really good.
A week ago last Friday night, I dropped in on my friends, Gene and Torrie Parker to give Torrie a couple of Power Ball tickets for Saturday's drawing. She loves to play the lottery and I buy her tickets occasionally with the understanding that we split any winnings. Torrie's an old family friend whom I've known my whole life–Gene and I are merely friends by association. Torrie and I are close–always have been–even though she's twenty years older than me. She's one of those women who's really sexy looking, although not particularly pretty, like Rosanna Arquette, plus she has great tits and a killer body. She's hot. I've had a crush on her and secretly lusted after her for as long as I can remember.
Torrie answered the door with an empty wine glass in her hand. She was a little tipsy and I could tell she'd been crying. She gave me a hug, pressing her big tits against my chest, then took my hand and led me to the kitchen.
"Are you okay?' I asked.
"Yeah, me and Gene just had an argument, that's all. It's nothing. Nothing to worry about."
"If you say so. Want me to leave?"
"Hell no! Don't even think about it. I'm glad you're here. Maybe I won't have to listen to his shit for a while." She got me a Bud out of the fridge and poured herself a glass of Shiraz which she practically chugged, then poured herself another, leaving the bottle about half full. I figured she was on her second bottle.
Gene and Torrie have only been married a year and change, the second marriage for each. She married her first husband when she was very young, fifteen or so. They seemed really happy for about twenty-five years, then a couple of years ago he suddenly left her and moved out of town, apparently without warning, surprising everybody. Even more surprising to everyone, just a couple of weeks later she met Gene and started dating him. I know it shocked me. Nobody, not even me, knows what happened to her first marriage and she won't talk about it. Only thing I know for certain is that she didn't know Gene before the split and he didn't have anything to do with her marriage ending.
As we entered the den, I said, "Say, Gene."
"Sup?" he answered from his Barcalounger, seemingly engrossed in NCIS on TV. He had an almost empty fifth of Old Charter and a pitcher of water on the table next to him.
Torrie and I sat beside each other on the sofa. I rested my arm along the top of the back cushions and let my hand dangle down to touch her shoulder. I always loved touching her–she has the softest skin imaginable.
"NCIS got their man, yet?" I asked Gene.
"Not yet, but that funky gal on there with the tattoos could sure as hell get me, if you know what I mean," Gene said, slurring his words and cutting his eyes over at Torrie.
"Yeah, she's pretty hot," I answered.
"If I ever got her by the fucking ears I'd see just how fucking hot she is. Hell, I bet she'd love it. She wouldn't be telling me to cut it out or leave her alone or some shit like that," he said cutting Torrie another look, "she'd be on her fucking knees."
"Yeah, all us women like for you to grab us by the ears and fuck our face, Gene. It's what we live for, you're such a fucking stud," Torrie said, tears welling up.
"Women who aren't frigid like it."
"Well I don't. And I really don't like you expecting me to drop to my knees and suck your dick the minute you walk into the house or snap your fingers. I don't like being treated like that. It's all you ever want, you asshole and I don't like it at all."
"If you wasn't such a fucking frigid ice berg, you'd like it."
"I'm not frigid, Gene. Don't call me that. Don't call me that in front of Jimmy. I'm anything but frigid so don't you fucking call me that." Torrie was fighting back tears and beginning to shake. I slid over and hugged her, gently caressing her arm and shoulder. She snuggled up to me and I could feel her quivering slightly.
Gene pissed me off and I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I knew that he wasn't gonna like me butting in, but I didn't give a shit. He was being mean, hurting Torrie on purpose, and it made me mad enough to kick his skinny ass. "Gene, maybe some of how she acts just might be your fault. Ever think of that?"
"Bullshit! She's getting 'old and cold.' She don't never want sex no more. Hell, she can't get hot no more. Trust me. She turned forty and got fucking 'old and cold.'"
I pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek, then caressed her shoulder with one hand. "I don't believe that, Gene. She's beautiful and loving and besides, forty is young." She put her hand on my thigh and squeezed it, a silent 'thank you.'
"Yeah, she's a real firecracker," Gene said sarcastically. "Only trouble is her fuse don't work no more. She's a fucking dud. And she's forty-two. She's a fucking forty-two year old dud."
"Don't pay any attention to him," I whispered into her ear so that he couldn't hear, then kissed her on the side of the neck and turned her sideways on the sofa so that I could rub her back. I ran my hands up to her shoulders and gave them a little squeeze in close to her neck, causing her to scrunch her shoulders, then with my thumbs on each side of her spine and my fingers spreading out to the sides, I massaged her back.
I began at her shoulders and was slowly working my way down when she began to breathe harder and quiver a little, occasionally tensing up with a tiny jerk, like a mini spasm. Then I noticed she had her fists balled up, unobtrusively pressing them down against her crotch as she squeezed her legs together. It was barely noticeable, but I caught it and wondered about it for a second or two. Then it hit me–she was getting hot!
The thought of her becoming aroused so easily stunned me at first, then in an instant everything became crystal clear–everything. The proverbial light bulb flashed on like an LED flood lamp. It was like an epiphany or something–like what I imagine happens when a savant instantly knows the number of jelly beans in a big jar. Torrie is a sex addict who can't say no! She's one of those rare female sex addicts who gets so aroused when a man touches her that she loses control and will fuck him on the spot no matter who he is or where they are–like those women you hear about who've fucked strangers standing up on the subway or on a park bench in the daytime.
It all made sense. Torrie's first husband was probably the first man ever to put his hands on her in a sexual way and she immediately fell in love with him. They subsequently stayed together for twenty some years. Then, one day something happened–another man got to her or her psychosis was discovered, or whatever–her husband found out, couldn't deal with it, was afraid to deal with it, or didn't want to deal with it, so he left. A couple of weeks later, she met Gene who went after her sexually, she couldn't resist his advances, then fell for him, maybe on the rebound, but nevertheless she fell for him and they married a year later.
And Gene doesn't really like sex, only a small part of it. He likes to come and he likes to come from blow jobs, but that's about it. Blow jobs satisfy his ego. He likes having a woman on her knees sucking his dick–it gives him a feeling of power. He's always performed whatever foreplay was necessary to get a woman to blow him, including fucking her, but he never really enjoyed it and he never cared if she enjoyed it or got satisfied.
Torrie's responsiveness and submissiveness inflated his ego to the point he thought she found him irresistible. He stupidly thought he didn't need to indulge in any foreplay with her to get his blow jobs. His ego couldn't resist walking into the house and ordering her to suck his dick which she usually complied with. He apparently never understood her at all and finally pushed his luck too far, hence tonight's fight.
