 |    |  |
keyword search:
 ~: FICTION / HUMOUR :~  Foursome Parachute by Maggie Veness I'm just an ordinary person. My husband Paul's the smart one -- educated, you know -- the one with all the clever ideas. We were in bed one night talking when he said something that took me completely by surprise. 'Listen Susan, I've had a fabulous idea. I've given this a great deal of thought, and, I'd like us to try swinging.' 'Oh my God Paul! You're kidding! I could never! I'd hate it!' 'How could you possibly know you'd hate it if you've never tried it, Susan?' 'I just know.' 'That makes no sense. You do realize that makes absolutely no sense, don't you?' I thought...Paul does know much more about just about everything than me. Most people do. He'd gotten that flash Uni degree and landed a highly paid job, and he'd read all those fancy books -- literary classics I think he calls them. All this while I was wagging school, working as a check-out-chick and cutting up Dolly mag's for my Decoupage, although Paul says I did have a smashing figure back when we met, before the kids. 'Here's what I'm suggesting. We would simply try it once, and if you didn't happen to enjoy it, I would never raise the subject again. And you have my word on that.' I was stunned and very hurt by Paul's suggestion. I've never believed in sleeping with anyone else while you're married. Marriage is special. There are vows. I lay there silently fretting. It was easy to picture Paul gasping in the presence of some nude big-breasted nymph -- rushing to shed his Pierre Cardon tie, tailored slacks and Julius Marlow loafers. I was feeling unwanted and un-chic. 'How could anything be fairer than that, Susan?' 'But what about our marriage? It wouldn't be, well, special any more.' 'I believe you mean exclusive. That's an extremely out-dated concept.' 'What if I did agree, but I hated it and you loved it?' 'That wouldn't be a problem. I'd accept that.' 'But then you'd be disappointed in me.' 'No. Wrong again, Susan. I'd respect you immensely for at least trying.' We lay there in silence. I tried to read his thoughts -- in case they were reassuring ones -- but I couldn't. I could only keep laying there feeling sad and unattractive. I knew what he was doing. He was giving me time to think about foursomes hoping I'd get so horny I'd jump on top of him screaming, yes, yes, yes, Paul, let's do it, and then be desperate to hear him come before I could possibly get to sleep. I tried to recall the last time he'd gasped in my nude presence, but surprise and delight hadn't visited our bedroom for years, let alone any gasping. There were only polite requests these days, like, could you give me a hand over here, or, have I got time to just shove a pillow under my back? 'Well, Susan? What do you think?' 'It makes me feel sick, but I can tell you really want to.' 'It'd be extremely good for our sex-life.' 'What do you mean?' 'I imagine we could talk about it later and become very aroused.' As I tried to remember the concept of getting really horny, Paul turned toward me and pushed himself against my thigh. I realized that talking about how we'd talk about it later had already started working for him, so we did what we always do only he finished even sooner than usual, and I waited a minute until he was asleep again... Over the following months Paul raised the foursome topic repeatedly and I went over and over my fears and concerns, until eventually I came to realize Paul's idea wasn't going to go away until I agreed to give it a try. So I agreed. What followed was a period of real togetherness as we sat side-by-side scanning ad's and making short-lists. Sharing a project was heaps of fun, and we were having more conversation than we'd had in years. Paul's excitement was building. He almost gasped once or twice, although it was probably more like grunting. Being the handy object of his new desire was nice for me too. He was my husband. I wanted to please him. And although my heart was still filled with concern it made me feel good to see him so happy. Once the date of our experimental foursome was finally set I began to close my eyes to the same dream every night. I'd be falling between two massive sky-scrapers with my white broderie-anglaise-nightie flapping up around my neck. Just in the nick of time the rushing wind would inflate my vagina to unexpected proportions, and like a rippled pink parachute, it would slow my rapid decent -- just in time for a safe touchdown. The dream always ended with me inspecting myself for damage, finding my vagina cold and stretched but remarkably intact. * * * 'Come along then Susan for goodness sake.' 'Sure you've bought enough bubbly?' 'Their house looks like it cost a packet, thankfully.' 'I feel sick.' 'Don't be ridiculous.' Graham and Rianne greeted us wearing matching red kimono-style dressing gowns. Rianne -- wearing an obvious blonde wig -- was less gorgeous in real life than in her 'glamour' photo, which helped me relax, slightly. And Graham was horribly thin and seemed almost as nervous as me, so shy in fact that he kept staring down at my feet. Poor little bloke, I thought. While Paul impressed Graham and Rianne with his vast general knowledge and brilliant wit I wandered around the living area sipping bubbly as fast as I could without being too obvious about needing to be pissed. I studied their photo's, books, ornaments and paintings, hoping I might feel I knew these people just a little, before I climbed into bed with them. One photo of Graham with an older couple -- I presume his parents -- caught my eye. Graham looked ordinary, kind of dowdy and son-like, and I warmed to him more than I had initially in his red kimono. In another photo Rianne was pictured on a beach somewhere wearing a teensy-weensy black bikini. After seeing her thin mousey hair and problem thigh area I felt I knew her better too. Paul kept filling our glasses with his 'Champers'. By the end of the third bottle we were all laughing and crawling under the king doona in an upstairs boudoir. Here, the Asian theme had run way, way off the tracks. Above our heads, several oriental umbrellas hung upside-down from the pink ceiling, and along the crimson walls, over-sized paper fans were spread wide in pairs like elaborate butterfly wings -- perhaps hoping to flap across and land on the life-size fake apple-blossom trees whose gangly branches stretched out from every corner. Paul got into the action quickly, and began making weird throaty sounds as he nuzzled eagerly around Rianne's dark-nippled breasts. Neither of them seemed to care that Rianne's wig had shifted and now sat askew, partially hiding her left eye. And her tongue was darting in and out, making a repetitive slurping noise. I pictured her drinking her morning coffee from a saucer down on her hands and knees, and stifled a giggle. Then I felt dowdy-Graham's hands massaging my ankles and realized his sinewy white feet were on the pillow right beside my cheek. The real trouble began when Graham suddenly unleashed a frenzy of passionate kisses upon my ticklish feet which he quickly followed with an enthusiastic slippery tonguing between my toes. It was too hilarious. I began to laugh and could not stop. I was still laughing as we drove off. 'That was unamusing, and quite frankly, Susan, extremely embarrassing.' 'I did try for you Paul. I'm so sorry. I truly am.' Paul didn't say another word during the long drive home. Of course I was feeling guilty about spoiling his special night, but I badly needed to get home so I could wash the remainder of dowdy-Graham's sticky saliva from my feet. I do have to give Paul credit here. He stayed true to his word and never mentioned the foursome topic with me again. Of course, I knew he was having threesomes, but for the time being I'd decided to leave things just as they were, well, at least until I'd gotten to know my hunky new Decoupage instructor a whole lot better. |
|
| ||
|  Adventure Book Reviews Crime Drama Experimental Fantasy Horror Humour Modern Period Romance Sci-fi Scripts Thriller Younger Readers | |
| ||
 | ||
 | ||
| Maggie Veness | |
| ||
| A passionate reader and writer of short fiction, Maggie has had several of her quirky short stories ...>> | |
| ||
| ||
| ||
| ||
| More Humour: Battle of the Bath Tub! by Victor Camp I married an Aussie girl in 1966 and when my mother died later that year I decided to become a 'Ten Pound Pom' and seek a new life in Australia. But with my mother's house sold and paperwork taking time to process my immigration sailing date, I needed a place to live.... >> Right, Said Fred by Victor Camp Kingston is a very pleasant town a few miles out of London and it sits on the River Thames and was known as Kingston-On-Thames but it is now Kingston-Upon-Thames. If you should ever go there you will notice that the town is dominated by a company called Bentalls.... >> | |