David W. Landrum
David W. Landrum's stories "Nemesis," "First Blood," and "Climax" appeared in Cliterature. He has published in numerous journals and anthologies, most recently in Non-Binary Review, Fantasia Divinity, Pilcrow and Dagger, and Odd Tales of Wonder. His most recent novellas, Sinfona: The First Notes on the Lute, and The Court of the Sovereign King, are available through Amazon.
Lennie woke, about 3 a.m., from his wife touching him. He knew when he reached for her that she had taken off the nightgown she always wore to bed. They usually made love on Wednesday night, but both were tired and had gone to sleep. Now, in the small hours of morning, she snuggled against him, and whispered in his ear, "Let's do something different tonight—something we haven't done in a while. I want you to eat me."
This surprised him. They had not done oral sex in years. When they dated and early in their marriage, they enjoyed that pleasure regularly, but with children, jobs, and social commitments, they had gone to Wednesday night and always to intercourse. They did "the main course," as Sumiko put it. She called other sexual practices "side dishes." They had not sampled this side dish in a long time.
He consented. She sat on the edge of the bed and spread her legs, revealing the wonderful scenery of her opening: the well-shaped protruding lips, the slit down the middle, the nest of black hair that framed and crowned her glory. He knelt and, after caressing with his fingers enough to feel she was wet, leaned down and licked.
The old pleasure came to him like a long-lost friend. He had almost forgotten the coppery taste of her cunt, the wetness, and the kinky smell; also, her moaning and writhing, the way she gently convulsed, how from time to time she kicked one of her feet on his upper back. She lay flat on the bed, purred and cooed as the slurping, licking sounds he made filled the silence of the bedroom. For several minutes she rolled about, immersed in delight, and then then stiffened, jerked, and shouted when she got her joy. He marveled at how much he had forgotten the pleasure and intimacy of what they were doing now.
After Sumiko's convulsions ended, Lennie wiped his wet face on her thighs. She lay in the afterglow of what they had done, but only for a minute.
"Trade places," she whispered.
He climbed up on the bed, she got on her knees, pulled his member down, fastened her mouth around it, and began to slowly, rhythmically move, sucking, caressing, and pleasuring him. He sat there, gasping at the velvety laving of her tongue, hearing the smacking, gulping, gagging sounds she made as she caressed him, hands on his thighs, occasionally going down all the way, choking, pulling back, and starting again, just like when they were dating and then first married.
She went still when he came.
When he stopped shaking and crying out, she let his member fall from her mouth with a loud slurp and swallowed. She had not always swallowed; in college she kept a paper cup by the bed and spit into it—a thing that became one of their private jokes. After a moment, she climbed up, snuggled against him.
They lay a long time in silence. He had always marveled how there are times when words and not necessary and almost seem blasphemous. When the sacred moment had passed, he said, "You haven't wanted to do that in a long time."
She gave him the sly smile he loved. "Didn't you like it?"
"I did. We just haven't done it in so long."
"Not something we should have stopped doing. Let's go get cleaned up."
Lennie drifted off to sleep wondering why she had wanted to do what they did.
After work the next day she called and said she would be late because she had stopped to see Keiko, a friend from college who worked now as a fashion model. Keiko was having problems and Sumiko had been talking with her.
He remembered Keiko from the days he and Sumiko dated in college. Now, years later, she had a perfect figure, despite giving birth to four children. "She cheated," Sumiko once quipped. "She has four kids but has only been pregnant three times; twins: cheating." She had told him Keiko was depressed. "I need to see her. She's pretty low. Talking seems to help."
He made supper that night. Lennie and Sumiko shared cooking duties. In fact, he cooked more than she did. Their kids came home from school.
"Where's Mom?" Brad asked.
"She went to see Keiko."
"Sarah said her Mom and Dad might get a divorce," Isamu, their only daughter commented. She was friends with Sarah, Keiko’s oldest child.
"Did she say why?" Lennie asked.
"Mrs. Park is depressed. Her Daddy is thinking of moving out. She cries when she talks about it."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Talk of divorce dampened the conversation for a few moments. The children were clearing the table and putting dishes into the dishwasher when Sumiko came home, a bag of groceries under one arm. They rushed to greet her with squeals and hugs. Lennie noticed she had put on her most fashionable (and shortest) dress to teach in that day; no doubt she had worn it more to look fashionable for Keiko, who was a professional model, than for her students.
Sumiko went upstairs, showered, dressed, and came downstairs in jeans and a sweatshirt. She and Lennie spent time with their children and tended to household tasks. When the children were asleep, they had drinks and went up to the bedroom.
"How is she?" he asked.
"She seems better—a little better—kind of breakthrough tonight. I'm going to meet her for coffee after school gets out tomorrow I wanted to call and tell you this afternoon, but I forgot. You don't mind cooking again, do you?"
"No. What's up with her? Isamu said she was depressed and Dale is thinking about moving out."
"He's moved out. You can imagine how she reacted to that.”
"You said she's depressed. Is she getting help—taking anything?"
"She's been to the doctor. He gave her Zoloft, and that's helping; she goes to counseling. But we don't talk about her depression. Mostly, we just chat when I see her."
"She probably talks a lot about being depressed. I know you guys have been friends since high school. I'm glad she has you to listen."
"Actually, I do most of the talking."
After she said that, Sumiko fell silent. Lennie saw she was tired; and probably worried about her friend. They finished their drinks and went to bed.
Seiko kept visiting her friend. Her kinkiness continued as well. The Saturday after the Wednesday when she had surprised him by wanting to do a side dish, she wanted to another one. The kids were gone to different events and would not get home until around 10:00. They had been sitting on the screened-in porch, drinking tea and talking. She snuggled against him and suggested they go up to the bedroom. "We need to use our time wisely," she said, smiling. Once there, she whispered, "I want you to bite my ass."
This was a term for a lovemaking routine they had done in the early days of their marriage and had not engaged in for some time. She had taken a shower just before, which was the way she got ready for this scenario. She lay face down. A moonlight filtered through the blinds on their bedroom windows. Lennie began to bite the soft mounds of her buttocks. As when they did it before, Sumiko cooed and murmured.
"Go on," she said after a while.
This was one of their codes. He sank his teeth into her soft flesh and bit hard, holding until she said "Okay." His bites left red circles. He had wondered if her liking for this part of it—he knew the bites caused her some pain—had faded. It had not. She had him bite down and hold for more time and would say "Okay." Soon her butt was covered with teeth marks. "Go on," she said—another signal. He ran his tongue along her crease and licked her lower opening, feeling the tiny draft of heat that came from it, and with his hand probed her pussy, which was sopping wet by now. After the initial test, he put three fingers in and began a steady, unhurried caressing motion, occasionally biting her.
Her vagina queefed. She gasped and sighed as he licked caressed, and bit. Finally, an earthquake of orgasm jolted her. When she was still, he rolled her over, kissed her breasts and lips, and started to mount her, thinking they would now do their regular missionary position screwing. She reached up and touched his chest with one hand.
"Lay back," she said.
He wondered if she meant to give him another blow job. But when he lay flat, she knelt in the fork of his legs, bent down, gathered her breasts in her hands and pushed them together to envelop his member. She began to rub their warm, soft, dry shapes back and forth on him.
Lennie had never had a tit fuck. Her rhythmic strokes, easy, not rushed, pushed him into a canyon of pleasure. He began to moan and cry out in pleasure as she evenly, steadily, moved her breasts back forth, holding them together, warming, delighting, pleasuring him until he came. She held them into place as he ejaculated a mass of jism on to her boobs. Some of it dripped onto his chest. When he was still, she slid down beside him.
"Did you like that?"
He nodded; too soon to speak.
"Go wash off. I'll be there in a minute."
He showered. She came in, ran a few inches of water in the tub, washed her lower parts, and splashed her upper body. He dried her off, put the towel away, and put his hands on her breasts.
"God, you've got nice tits," he said.
She looked over her shoulder. "Glad you like them. I've never used them like that before."
"First time I've done that." She paused and said, “Keiko used to do it a lot, she told me.”
“She said she did. She was wild in her college days—in high school too. Of course, I was no angel. But I never did that before.”
"Anytime you want to do it is fine with me."
They got dressed and were there to greet their children when they returned. Isamu, grumpy because her team had lost at basketball that night, asked why they looked so cheerful. Sumiko replied that it was a beautiful winter night and the snow falling outside had charmed them. Lennie and Sumiko's before-sleep talk lasted an hour or more. Lennie said he liked her "kinkiness." Sumiko said she would try to keep it up.
Driving to work that morning, the sun on the snow blinding him, he remembered Sumiko talking about Keiko and saying, one night, when she was drunk and less defensive, commenting that Keiko had been "promiscuous" in high school. "More than we should have been," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't want to say."
She trailed off and that and they dropped the subject. From their first time together, he could tell Sumiko had been around the block a few times. He liked that and never asked about her sexual exploits before she met him, just as she had never asked about his. He wondered about the cryptic remark she had made about Keiko's but didn't ask because he could tell she did not want to elaborate.
The next Wednesday night she said, "I want you bugger me."
"What?" Lennie asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what 'bugger' means. Fuck my asshole."
"Wait, wait," he protested. "As I recall, we did that one time, the first year we were married. You didn't like it, said it hurt, said it didn't give you much pleasure, and we haven't done it since. That was twelve years ago."
"I know. Let's just say I think it's time to try it again."
He knew from her tone—long-married couples learn each other's verbal nuances—that she expected him to consent.
"I looked in a couple of our books." Our books refereed to the small library of books on sex they had acquired over the years. “The most frequent advice, and the advice common to all of them, was use lots of lubrication, go easy, and don't stick it in more than two inches." She paused. "And wear a condom."
He got one out of the dresser.
When he returned to their bed, she was on her back. A bottle of lotion with a pump cap lay next to her. The wonderful white mounds of her butt rose above the sheets and caught the dim light coming through the windows, making the dark crease between them, the anteroom where he would enter her, mysterious and inviting. He sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sure, damn it. Let's get going."
He lubricated her, slathering the cream generously, forcing a little of it into her anus, positioned himself, found the place, and slowly pushed into her. She gave a little cry of pain. He stopped.
She was determined. He pushed into her. She gave out another tense gasp of pain but then quieted. When he thought he had the two inches in, he stopped.
After a long moment, she said, "Well, come on. Fuck me!"
He moved as gently as he could. After a moment she began to move her bottom in a tiny circle, synchronizing her movement with his.
He planned to maintain a gentle, easy motion, but the erotic mystique of what they were doing, its forbidden aura, her movement, and what seemed the just plain nastiness of it excited him. He liked her bare back, liked feeling her breasts underneath her, liked the back of her head, burying his face in her hair, and kissing her neck. He liked the sounds she made, like someone feeling discomfort but also feeling pleasure. After a short while, he ejaculated violently, shaking her body, getting another cry of pain from her. When he was still, he started to withdraw.
"Hold on to the condom," she said. "I don't want it getting stuck in my ass."
He held on to it, removed it, and wrapped it in a tissue from the box they kept by the side of their bed. They lay on their sides, next to each other, faces touching, her breasts light against his chest.
After a long silence, he asked, "Well?"
A tentative expression came to her faced. "It was okay—kind of nice, I think. I even felt a surge of pleasure now and then. We'll have to do it again—and not after twelve more years." Another silence and she said, more in her normal bedroom-on-sex-nights voice, "Let's sit up."
They sat up. She put her legs over his bent thighs, straddling him. She put her arms around him.
"Finger me," she instructed.
He spread cream on his index and middle finger and began to caress her. After only a second, he could tell the lubricating cream would have not been necessary. The buggery had excited her. They kissed and nuzzled as he pleasured her. She purred and moaned, warm against him, her breasts hot, noises rising from her opening as his fingers moved. After only a minute she stiffened, convulsed, and shook. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" she exclaimed ecstatically as her body jerked. The spasm passed and she sank into satiety, relaxing in his arms.
They cleaned up and went downstairs for tea and pie left over from supper.
"How's Keiko?" he asked as they ate.
"Better. I really think so. She seems to be kicking her depression. I feel like she's encouraged when we talk. It seems to make her stronger."
They learned from Isamu that Dale, Keiko’s husband, had returned home. The next day, Sumiko called Keiko and found that this was in fact the case.
“They’ve had some long discussions,” she said. “Things are getting better. She’s getting over her depression. I think it’s going to be okay.”
And it was.
Dale stayed. Keiko beat her depression.
Lennie was walking down the street on a cold February day when he saw her.
She had on a very short skirt, boots, and a flouncy purple blouse. She wore a leather jacket and gloves. Keiko was one of those women who was so pretty she didn’t look real. She smiled, leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi. Lennie.” She pointed to a coffee shop two doors down from where they stood. “Can we have coffee. Damn it, I’m freezing in this skirt. I had a fashion shoot today.”
They made their way into the coffee shop and found a table. She insisted on ordering and paying.
When she came back with their order, he complimented her on her looks.
“I think I’m getting too old to dress like this, but they keep calling me back, so I’ll keep the wearing clothes that belong on a much younger woman as long as they’ll have me.”
She did fashion shoots for Korean Style, Nylon, and Grazia.
“Sumiko told me you had a couple of new American contracts.”
“I have a couple of catalogue contracts—and Cosmopolitan called me. I’m going to be a cover girl. Vogue too.”
“You’re a superstar model! Probably you won’t want to associate with commoners like Sumiko and me.”
“Never,” she said, a little edge of emotion to her voice. “Your wife pulled me through one of the worst time of my life. I owe you guys so much. Thank you.”
“I’m glad Sumi could help you out a little.”
“Talking to her changed everything, though I don’t quite know why. She probably told you that we really didn’t talk about my problems. We didn’t talk about children, marriage, sex, love, or anything like that. We talked about the weather, vacations we had taken, church, our favorite foods—the most common everyday things you could think of. At first, it didn’t help much, but I liked having an old friend near-by. Then we really started to connect. I started to feel better. Talking to her reminded me of when we were in college together and right after.”
She had married a few months before he and Sumiko wed.
Lennie and Keiko had a good time talking. She left for another photo shoot. As Lennie walked to his car, he thought he knew a little more of what she meant.
Sumiko had told him that she and Keiko had been promiscuous. He wondered if the connection that had helped Keiko kick her depression began when Sumiko decided to explore some of the old sexual territory she and he had known early in their marriage—territory probably familiar to Keiko in those past days Sumiko had so mysteriously referenced. Sumiko had been able to once more forge the bond she and Keiko had shared in those days. Talking to her reminded me of when we were in college together and right after—the early years we were both first married. They had shared wild behavior in those days. Lots of kinky sex. Many of the things Sumiko had suddenly and inexplicably wanted to do the past couple of months. Those things had faded from her life. Then she had revived the practices. Her friend and surrogate sister (neither of them had birth sisters) sensed the spirit Sumiko brought, the spirit imbrued with what she and Lennie had been doing in bed, and it had brought healing. Even though they had not talked about the specifics of Keiko’s problems, she had felt Sumiko’s empathy. She had felt her spirit. She had remembered her love. She had remembered the bond of their deep friendship.
Sumiko had known that to connect to her old friend, she had to revive a part of her own spirit—a part of her that had quieted down a bit—a part of her that had gone dormant.
Obviously, renewing it had worked. And Lennie had been the fortunate recipient of his wife’s revival.
Breathing the bracing February air, he got to the lot where his car was parked, climbed in, started it, put it in gear, and started driving home.