Before my last promotion, about five years ago, we were still living in that rented house we'd moved into when she was pregnant with Piper. It was supposed to be temporary but ended up serving as home for a lot longer than anticipated. Now, the kids are gone and it's just us in this new house, too big for two but pretty perfect if you like to entertain as much as we. Besides, now that the kids visit, they seem to take up more of our space than when we were all under one roof. Maybe it's because the time they spend is temporary so we notice each encroachment more. I don't know, maybe not. This house may be too big for just Wendy and me but I kind of like going into rooms we never use – makes me feel almost like I'm trespassing. A sense of secrets, hiding, furtiveness, you know... then I realize I own it and I find myself pretty content with how life's turned out.
But back to the old house since that's where this story lives.
Though I'm glad we own and no longer rent, you can't help but put down roots in a place where your children spend their first days out of the hospital. Where you remember your wife walking around with that huge swollen belly full of a living, growing representation of your love for each other. Where your kids learned to walk, talk, fall, read... Where you fought, made love, watched movies, waited up for kids out on first dates. Where you become more than a couple: a family. I have good memories of our time there... very good memories.
We only had the one bathroom between the four of us. If that wasn't bad enough, my daughter and wife love to be beautiful – you can imagine the schedules that revolved around bathroom time. I was never entirely happy when my showers ran cold or I was hurried out by the banging on the door but, looking back, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
I remember walking down the hall from our bedroom one evening and seeing the bathroom door closed with a strip of light beneath. None too happy, with a very full bladder, I waited a few feet away. Two minutes turned into five, five into seven and I was getting annoyed. We were typically pretty courteous as a family, especially about the bathroom. While the women always wanted to primp in the mornings, they weren't ever really rude about it, just insistent. And primping in the evenings wasn't the norm unless Wendy and I were going out or Piper had a date and I knew neither of those was the case this particular eve.
Almost twitching around ten minutes in, I moved closer to the door, intending to make my presence known in case the culprit was just unaware – a cleared throat, a light cough... something like that. Closeness brought sounds though, and I realized it was Wendy. The noises were soft and had nothing to do with going to the bathroom. Amused into (almost) forgetting my reason for waiting, I planted my feet, leaned into the wall and listened with a shit-eating grin on my face.
I knew my wife masturbated, hell, sometimes she'd let me watch and most of the time I'd take part. The bathroom, though, was usually where I went to rub one off. In fact, I couldn't recall the last time she'd done this anywhere but our bed.
Arms crossed, I looked down the hall to see if the kids' doors were closed, just in case. All was quiet on the western front. Thinking about it made me realize that, if Wendy'd wanted me to participate, she'd be in bed and, while it hurt my ego to think she'd rather be alone, I was kind of turned on at the thought that she might have a fantasy she wanted to keep quiet. So I didn't disturb her time alone but I'd be damned if I wasn't going to at least listen.
Wendy's voice has always been an intangible but undeniably erotic part of our intimacy. If it weren't for everyday life and needing to earn a buck, socialize, behave like a normal human and raise a family, I could be all too happy just closing my eyes and listening to her talk. Ok, I'll be honest, the talking voice has always been fantastic and such a turn on – primarily because she has no clue – but it's not just talking. When she's aroused her voice is infinitely more erotic. She plays the scales and hums and sighs and squeals and squeaks and moans and speaks in French. Essentially, she lets go. She just lets herself feel and every sensation seems to be embodied by that voice of hers. It never fails to turn me on and keep me running. So, I knew listening would put me in a mood and that was part of why I stood there.
Enjoyment had my eyes closed, trusting that I'd hear the kids' doors open before they'd have a view of my face looking a bit too euphoric for someone just waiting to pee. Standing against the wall, images swirled behind my eyes and I was most definitely hard. Wendy had always been a little shy when it came to her body but she knew I loved everything about it so she was never restrained with me. Pictures of her flew through my head and were all variations of this: on her back, feet planted apart on the bed with knees together; one hand between her thighs, dipping gently to moisten her clit and play; the other arm thrown up above her head, fingers sporadically twisting a lock of her long hair; eyes closed, slight smile, head to the side, neck straining just a little; her chest rising rapidly, nipples firm, areola puckered in an aroused state; hips moving gently, rhythmically; shoulders pressing into the bed; and, of course, the voice. My hand had travelled under the waist of my pants and underwear and I was slowly stroking as I listened, pictured and smiled.
Waiting in the hall had never been so fun. I did, though, have an intense need to kiss that little concave space where her collarbone and throat met, to take each ankle in a hand and gently move them to better frame parts of her I loved to see... and I really had to pee. The noises in the bathroom hadn't subsided, if anything, they'd gotten a smidge more intense. Lips licked, jaw tensed against wonderful thoughts of my wife, an attempt was made by a few cells in my brain and body to relax, soften what had become hard and think about Wendy's grandmother, Fern, and her atrocious hat collection. Wasn't really working... nothing ever really worked when it came to Wendy's voice... but I had to try.
As my bladder threatened to burst, I decided I had to be rude and she'd just have to forgive me. Anxiety. Knuckles rapping gently but insistently on the surface of this little blockade.
"I really have to go, honey, can you hurry it up?"
Nothing, utter silence. Damnit, I hadn't thought she'd be embarrassed, I mean how long had we been married, anyway? She'd really just have to forgive me on this one, I had to go!
"Sweetie, I'm so sorry but I really have to go. I've been waiting out here for almost twenty minutes..."
Sure she'd come out laughing, embarrassed a bit but ready to make fun of me for whining and not knocking sooner, I stood with my palm spread on the surface of the door and waited to feel it moving as she opened it with a blush and let me in. Nothing like that happened. In fact, nothing happened at all.
"Ok, come on, it's not like I haven't heard you doing that before," trying to joke. I lowered my voice to let her know I was very aroused and coaxed, "you know all you need to do is get on the bed and wait for me... I'd be more than happy to finish this."
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Now, I was getting annoyed. She couldn't be this embarrassed, come on. I waited... Bladder still full.
"Hun, really, just open up. If you don't want me to help that's fine but I really have to go!" Stress on the last four words should have done the trick. The door didn't open, she didn't make a peep.
"Wendy."
