Cathy

Three steps from the dark bathroom in the house's master bedroom, three long steps to her. The music from the floor below reverberated under my feet, filled the house.

My cock was rigid, slimy, from tip to balls with Vaseline, and there she was, her back to me, like I knew she'd be. My eyes, accustomed now after waiting more than fifteen minutes with the lights off, could see clearly her silhouette in the dark room. She was bending over, as if she was searching, trying to find her jacket among the pile of coats on the bed, but I knew better. I knew who she was.

As I took a step out of the bathroom, instinctively I looked to my right and left to make sure she was alone, and then I slowly lowered my zipper. Quietly, I walked to her as she continued to fumble with the coats, trying to hold my breath, trying not to make a sound. Somehow, she seemed smaller, shorter than I would have thought.

I stood directly above her.

Her muffled scream. It was swift, one hand smothering her face, the other on her hip, pulling her to me. She struggled, trying to twist free, but I held her firm.

Quickly, I pulled my cock out, my heart pounding in my ears, and jabbed it against her firm ass. Feeling it, she struggled harder, but I held her firm, and pushed against her, pushed her down, flat, on the pile of coats and jackets, her lovely warm thighs opening, her feet almost dangling on the side of the bed.

Falling on her, heavily, swiftly, I pulled her light, fluffy dress up and had to moan as my hand felt her full, firm ass. Fumbling, shaking, I pushed the crotch of her panties to the side.

She seemed to be crying. It was too good. I could not believe she was really crying, her tears streaking wet stains on my hand, and then, as if alarmed, with renewed vigor she tried to twist away.

I was there, where I wanted to be, at her opening, my cock head, drooling, as I felt her furry cunt lips spreading, opening to me.

And then I pushed, holding her tightly down, but I didn't seem to fit. I couldn't penetrate the seemingly tiny hole. I tried again, harder, felt her gasp against my hand, and then I held my breath, wanted to scream, as I slowly slid into her, Vaseline smooth, the tightness, almost strangeness, startling me, sliding and sliding into her and then nudging and then pushing and then painfully lodged, almost bending against what had to be her cervix.

For long seconds, I simply held my self still, tried to compose myself, almost unbelieving, fully imbedded in her trembling body.

It wouldn't be long, and it wasn't. I pulled back, felt her cunt sliding back, tugging against me, as if she was being pulled inside out, until, finally, my cock head alone remained. I held myself there, once more for brief seconds and then pushed, this time harder, faster into her.

And then she was swallowing me. Simply taking it, full, almost brutal. Again, and again, holding her in place, her struggle ended, as she lay underneath, trying not to move, but moving all the same, her hips meeting mine, faster and faster, her ass opening wider, and then after a minute, perhaps two, I could actually feel it, could actually feel her cunt loosening, opening, becoming moist beyond belief and then, without warning, becoming a burning swamp.

Overwhelmed, shocked, fumbling, I tried not to groan as I pushed into her one last time, deeper, harder, and simply erupted, losing everything, any semblance of reason, collapsing on top of her, thinking only how nice it would have been to kiss her.

How long I don't know, but after a time she seemed to be stirring underneath me, and I slowly rolled off her, my cock rudely flopping out of her, staining her ass and then streaking her lovely dress. As I lay at her side, my eyes closed, hands resting on my forehead, trying to catch my breath, I felt a sudden jerk, movement next to me and then I was blinded, light flooding to my eyes.

"Bruce!" a familiar voice screamed, but barely audible, strangled. "Bruce!"

It took a moment, but only a moment, to realize that I'd just fucked-fuck 'fuck'-raped my wife's sister. Things went blurry, as I sat up, and yet she kept moaning, "Bruce! How could you? Why?" and I remember very little after the initial shock except struggling to my feet, trying to stuff my dripping cock back into my pants.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I pleaded, my word rushing out of me. "I thought you were Ellen."

She was at the door, back plastered against the door, her hand on the door-knob, ready to crash through that door to get out of there, staring at me, her face wet, red, desperate.

"Please, Cathy. Please. Understand. I didn't . . . I mean, I thought you were Ellen."

"Why would you think I was Ellen?" she asked, and I couldn't help noticing her dress askew, her hair a mess, everything about her awful to see.

"Ellen and I . . . sit down, Cathy, please sit down," I motioned to a couch in the corner of the room. She stared at me, unsure, shook her head and then seemed to swallow. She slowly, gingerly, never taking her eyes off me, walked to the couch. She sat down, grimacing, and then slowly shook her head again and asked, "What the hell just happened here, Bruce?"

"Cathy," I tried again. "Listen. Please listen. Ellen and I sometimes play stupid games, okay? Dumb games. Little fantasy nonsense. She was supposed to meet me up here, and . . . obviously, she didn't come. I thought you were Ellen. I'm so sorry. If I had known . . . I'm so sorry, Cathy."

"Oh, my God. You cannot be serious. You thought . . . this cannot have happened," Cathy started and then her face turned pale. "Oh, my God," she moaned. "Oh, my God," she said again, standing and then rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Running water. Moans, what seemed like cries and whimpers and I did nothing, simply stood there waiting.

Three, four minutes and then she reappeared, not looking at me, her face still streaked from her tears. "Please leave," she said softly. "Just go. I don't know if . . . no, I know you Bruce. I know you. This was a mistake. God, help us. Just go. Please."

I wanted to walk to her, hold her, try to comfort her, but I knew one wrong step and she would scream. And this time she would be heard. "Are you alright?" I asked. "Cathy, are you alright?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm not alright. I just need to be alone right now. I need to think."

"Okay . . . I mean, can I do something, anything . . . I mean . . ."

She raised her head and stared at me again, her face sad, quiet. "No," she said. "Just go. Please. I can't . . . I don't want to look at you now. I can't talk to you."

* * *

"Why are you so quiet?" Ellen asked me.

My wife changed her mind. None of this would have happened, but she'd changed her mind. Her period was starting any minute, she said, and she changed her mind. That was it. She laughed, when I told her I'd waited for her for half an hour, and we left the party ten minutes later, but I remembered nothing, said nothing to anyone, saw no one, nothing. My mind was with the woman upstairs in the bedroom, doing what I didn't know, but she never appeared. Ellen said, returning with our jackets, spring dress floating down the stairs, Cathy wasn't feeling well and was lying down in one of the kids' rooms.

"Bruce."

I stopped at the red light and turned to my wife, the wipers gently cleaning the light rain off the wind-shield. "Just tired, I guess. A little tired."

"A little upset, too, right? I'm sorry baby, but I just didn't feel like it tonight, okay? Some other time. Besides, I mean, I don't know, I think I'd feel a little odd doing that at my sister's house."

I tried to paste a grin on my face and turned up the music as the light turned green, wishing more than anything that I could get out of my sticky boxers.

* * *

I called Cathy the next day. Exhausted, unable to sleep the night before, I called her three times that morning within an hour. One of her children answered the first time, her husband the second. I hung up on both of them.

"Cathy," I said.

"Oh . . . Bruce . . . Hi," she said.

"I'm sorry to call. I'm really sorry, you know, I just-"

"No, that's okay. That's fine. You didn't . . . don't call and hang up again, please."

"I'm sorry . . . I just-"

"It's okay. Just don't do that."

"You can't talk now?"

"No, not really."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"I'll be fine . . . just . . . I'll be fine."

"Alright. Please let me know again whether I can help. Please."

"Thank you. I will. I've got to go now."

"Alright. Bye," I said, but she'd hung up the phone.

* * *

Two weeks passed, two miserable weeks, during which I heard nothing from Cathy, but could think of nothing else. I had to fake a cold, a hoarse cough with Ellen to explain my distance, my peculiar behavior, but she suspected nothing. She was too busy with the remodeling of our kitchen.

Of course, the initial terror of being arrested, of Ellen finding out, of all of the horrible things that could happen to me if anyone found out, that all passed relatively quickly. We live in a rational world. What benefit would Cathy get by making this public? And she knew me well enough to know I wouldn't . . . none of it made sense.

Above all, I felt guilt. Ellen's older sister was one of the sweetest, most decent people I knew; normal mother of two, upstanding member of her Methodist Church, housewife, good neighbor, all-American apple pie, and I'd raped her.

This idea, the concept of raping her, made me sick. I couldn't get out of my mind the details of that night-her gasping, trying to breath, and my hand cruelly suffocating her, her warm, full ass spreading out under me, thrusting violently into her, her tears. These images I went to bed with nightly. But more than that, regardless of how many games Ellen and I had played out before, nothing had excited me more while it was happening than what I'd done to Cathy that terrible night. It had all seemed so real, and that was the horror-it was real. I had been raping someone. It wasn't a game. I'd raped her, and the sex was better than anything had ever been.

She called me while I was reviewing a prospective contract with a new customer my company had been soliciting for more than six months. I owned a small laboratory that supplied base reagents and other base cultures to larger pharmaceuticals. Business was outstanding, and I had several offers from larger competitors to sell the business for more money than I'd ever thought possible when I started the business twelve years ago in my basement. The contract I held in my hand was the culmination of so much work, five, six business trips to miserable St. Louis, and pathetic exhibitions of humiliating ass-kissing. I should have felt euphoria, total focus and exhilaration that it was successful, but when my secretary told me "Mrs. Cathy Talmadge" was on the phone, nothing else existed.

I grabbed at the phone. "Cathy. Thank you for calling. Thank you."

"No, no," she said and she actually laughed, and the relief and joy I felt that moment was almost overwhelming. The contract dropped from my hands and I wanted to scream. That's what I remembered, more than anything: Cathy loved to laugh. She was usually one of the happiest people you could meet. And now she was laughing.

"Look," she was saying. "I'm sorry I haven't called you or anything, you know. It's been a rough couple of days, and I just needed to straighten a couple of things out, okay?"

"No, no. I understand. I'm just so happy . . . I mean, it sounds like you're better."

"I am, thank you. I'm okay."

"That's so good to hear. You can't believe how worried . . . I mean, I'm just so happy you're okay."

She was silent and I waited, unable to stand still. I stood and looked out my window, seeing for the first time in two weeks the blue sky and the green of the trees.

"Bruce," she said.

"Yes."

"You said if . . . I mean, I don't want to be melodramatic, but is it possible for us to meet for lunch today."

"Of course. Of course."

"I mean, I want to just talk, you know. We haven't talk, and I think it would help us both, you know."

"No, no, I understand. I think that's a good idea."

* * *

When I saw her walking to my table, I'd never seen anything more beautiful, more comforting in my life. She had on a light summer dress, not too tight, not too loose, and her brown hair was simply bouncing off her delicate shoulders. She looked years younger than her thirty-six. Her face was bright, smiling, and her deep blue eyes sparkled. I stood and waited. She came to the table, and I hesitated only a moment before I kissed her offered cheek. She smelled wonderful and then she took a seat.

We waited a bit after the waiter had asked her what she wanted to drink and then she stared at me and then she smiled again.

"This is pretty weird," she said.

I nodded.

"I found out only a couple of days ago, and it's like I received a whole new lease on life."

I looked at her, confused.

She stared at me, for a moment, and then laughed, covering her mouth. "Oh, my God," she said. "You . . . well, what the hell were you so worried about, then? Good grief! Did you think I'd call the police or something?"

"No, I mean. I don't understand. What did you find out a couple of days ago?"

"That I'm not pregnant," she whispered, leaning forward, and then laughed again at the shocked look on my face.

She backed away, and the waiter arrived with our drinks.

"It never crossed your mind, did it?" she asked.

"Well, no. I'm sorry. I didn't, you know, think of that."

"Boy, what would you men do without us sometimes?"

I shrugged, and my mind screamed at me for being so dense. Of course. Her rush to the bathroom. The running water. Everything made sense.

"I mean, I know Ellen had her tubes tied after the twins, so I doubted, you know, you had yourself fixed or anything, so . . ."

"Arnold's had a vasectomy?"

"Sure. I mean, not that it really-"

"God, Cathy. You mean, all this time . . . and . . . God, I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't be. There's no reason you should've thought of that. It's just that . . . well, whatever."

We grinned at each other for a moment and then the waiter took our orders, or rather I ordered for Cathy as she took another sip from her wine.

"Boy, I usually don't drink anything this early."

"Well, you should celebrate, you know."

"Celebrate. Right."

"You know what I mean."

"I know."

I waited for her to say something else, and just as she was about to, a friend at the accounting firm I'd used a few times stopped by for one of those miserable lunch encounters that all businessmen dread. This encounter was made a little more entertaining than usual as he kept eyeing Cathy, trying to place her, and then he grinned at me before he left.

"He thinks you're my girlfriend," I said.

"What?"

"Oh, he's met Ellen at some gathering, and because you don't have on some business suit, he thinks, you know, I'm fooling around," I said, taking a long swig from my scotch.

Cathy smiled. "Is that because he's seen you with other strange women before?"

"Of course, not," I said, coughing on the drink.

"I know. I know. I'm just teasing."

The food arrived and we exchanged small pleasantries about the rack of lamb salad I'd ordered for her.

"I want to ask you something," she said after she finished chewing.

I looked at her, my fork poised over my veal.

"You don't, you know . . . I mean, you don't have any, well, you know, any deceases or anything."

It was my turn to laugh. I took a big mouthful of the veal.

"I'm sorry, but I had to ask."

I waived her off. "No. I understand. I mean, if nothing else you're married and Arnold. I understand."

She returned to her salad and after a minute or two looked up at me. "You don't have to worry about Arnold, you know."

I shook my head, confused.

"God, you're not as bright as all of that money you make would make you out to be. Arnold and I . . . I mean, we haven't been intimate in months. It's just something we don't do anymore. I mean--"

"Why," I blurted out and then stopped myself. Cathy was a knockout. Different than her fitness-freak sister, perhaps not as perfect here and there, but much more natural, larger breasts, wider hips-simply lovely.

"Why?" she said shrugging. "I don't know why. I mean, I know he doesn't fool around, if that's what you're thinking. I know that. He's always home, when he's not at the law firm, and I know . . . well, I know that's not it."

I nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. He's . . . " and I stopped myself again before I said something insane, like, 'He doesn't know what he's been missing lately.'

She took another sip of her wine and I caught the waiter's attention for another glass. She resisted, just for a moment, but the warm glow of her face told me it would be just what she wanted, or, at least, just what she needed. Besides, I hate drinking alone.

We talked about the kids and the waiter returned with her wine, my third scotch. Then we talked about Ellen and the remodeling and the company, and how careful Arnold hated it when I presented him with terms of a deal I'd worked out without his involvement from the start, and then after I'd been talking for more than five minutes uninterrupted about the new contract, the new customer, I could see she'd lost interest.

"What is it Cathy?"

She looked up from her glass, somewhat surprised and then grinned. "What?"

"Are you okay? I mean, everything, are you okay?"

"Of course. I'm not pregnant, I'm having a delightful lunch . . . and well, I don't know" she said, her eyes wandering, "a couple of weeks ago I had the shagging of my life. What do I have to complaint about?"

I shook my head smiling.

"Bruce," she said, leaning forward. "Was it . . . I mean . . . how couldn't you tell . . . I mean, it was dark and all, I know, and . . ."

I took a deep breath, careful. "I was a little buzzed, and, you know, it was supposed to be this game and I was . . . I don't know a little over the top. In any event, I mean, when I recall it now, I can tell you distinctly that it was very different, there were a million clues, but while it was happening, nothing registered. That's all I can tell you."

"You mean, it was a lot worse with me than-"

"God, no! Not at all. I mean, I don't know . . . I don't know if we want to talk about this . . ."

"No, I'd like to."

"Believe me, it was . . . well, it was incredible . . . the best."

She was blushing . . . not looking at me and I smiled. I wanted very much to take her hand, hold it, but I knew that would be stupid.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"I'm not kidding. It was . . . one of a kind."

"Do you and Ellen play games like that a lot?"

"No," I started and then stopped as our plates were cleared, I asked her if she wanted another drink, she shook her head and the waiter left. She looked at me expectantly and then I realized she was waiting for me to finish. "Just once in a while. We play these games once a month, if that. We'd sort of planned that night out of the blue, on the drive to your house. It was, I don't know, pretty stupid."

"No. No. Married people don't do enough of stuff like that. That's why they cheat because the excitement in their lives is gone. I mean, if it takes a little kinkiness to keep your spouse happy, why not, I say."

I smiled.

"I mean," and then she stopped when the check arrived. I handed the waiter a card and then smiled at her. "Go on," I said.

"No. Now, well, you're making fun of me . . . you think I'm some sort of goody two shoes."

I shook my head. "Believe me, Cathy, you're . . . I'm not making fun of you . . . I just enjoy talking to you. What were you going to say?"
She was silent and then finished her wine. "I was going to say . . . I was going to say, I could hardly walk for the next few days."

"Oh, Cathy-"

"No. No," she said, waving her head firmly. "It was fine. I mean, I was terrified I was pregnant and for the next couple of days, you were just, like, leaking out of me in globs. I mean, the next morning, it just came out in these long strings. Every time I went to the bathroom. It just wouldn't end . . . and, well, I'd never had that happen to me. That's all. And it was nice. My only regret was that I was so worried about being pregnant-I thought for sure I was, and I kept worrying about what I would do, what would happen. I mean, I couldn't think about an abortion and . . .but my only regret is that I didn't get a chance to enjoy it the way I wanted, the way I should have, the way I do, you know, now."

I kept quiet, could see she was thinking to herself, trying to continue, praying not to make a fool of herself.

"I mean, you were a lot different than I've ever known."

"Cathy-"

"No, you were. Let me finish." She leaned forward again, but the waiter arrived with the card, I signed the print-out and then he left. Cathy smiled, took another deep breath and then leaned forward again. "I mean . . . God, this is so weird. Well, look, Ellen's hinted a couple of times and I never paid attention to her, but you're much larger than Arnold, than anyone I've been with and . . . well, it was really different."

"Cathy, that doesn't mean anything. You know that."

"No, it wasn't just that . . . it was . . .I don't know, like you wanted to possess me, like you were totally focused on me and nothing else . . . and I think that's remarkable, because in your mind you thought you were with your wife. It's just blown me away. It's never happened before where a man was that overwhelming. That's all."

What was I going to say? 'Of course, it was overwhelming. Cathy, you've never been raped before, have you? You haven't had sex in six months and Pee-Wee Herman would seem like a real man to you at this time.' I said nothing, but the excitement I felt, the rush I felt in my thighs, the tightening of my throat . . . I tried to keep still.

"Have you ever cheated on, Ellen?" she asked. "I mean, consciously."

I shook my head, lying. I had, of course, a few times, nothing serious, but my sister-in-law was not the person to whom I'd offer a confession. Life was too short.

She studied my face and then couldn't help from grinning. "You have. I know you have. Ellen knows, too."

I opened my mouth, but she put her hand up.

"What did I tell you before? A woman knows these things. You have to be a real idiot to not know you're husband's been cheating. Something always gives you away."

"Cathy, I swear--"

"Don't be silly. Ellen was hurt at first, and she doesn't know, you know, to a mathematical certainty-there's no video tape or private investigator lurking or anything like that--but she's gone on. She's perfectly fine."

"What do you mean? You mean she's cheated on me?"

Cathy laughed, genuinely amused. "Of course, not. Why would she? She knows you love her. She knows you'll never leave her. Why would she do something ridiculous like that? Bruce, understand something, all things being equal, I mean, if a man works, and provides and takes care of things, a woman will never cheat on him unless he's cut her off from sex, or sex is impossibly bad. Women aren't the poor dears you men think they are, always open to seduction at every turn. The only women that do dumb things like that are extremely damaged goods, women with a loose screw. Okay?"

I nodded, grinning.

"What do you say?" she asked.

"Yeah, we'd better get out of here." I said starting to stand until she grabbed my forearm.

"No, Bruce," she said, staring at me, determined. "What do you say?"

Sequel Possible, Depending on Response.