Sweeter Than Roses (c) 2004 By the Author Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. Upon waking, I looked in the dictionary of dreams I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised. With a sigh of reticent satisfaction I allow my body to fall back onto my bed. My thoughts fall back as well, to the time barely a fortnight ago when no dark horse would have dared grace my nocturnal visions. It started a particularly dreary morning in late autumn. I sat with my cup of coffee by my parlor window, gazing outside at nothing in particular. In retrospect, I was merely watching the world go by, as I had for most of my life. I extended my fingers to put them against the cold glass of the window, only to remove them and watch as the pane quickly claimed the fuzzy grey imprints of warmth that I had left upon it. The bleakness of late autumn seemed to be trying to swallow my soul as surely as the glass had consumed my heat. I looked over the parlor of my modest, yet comfortable home. It was a nice house. My husband was a good provider. Our children were all married. Wasn't this what every woman was supposed to want? The Yuletide holidays were fast approaching. Wasn't this supposed to be the most joyous time of the year? Why was I so miserable? The recent scare over missiles in Cuba had given everyone reason to put their own existence in a new perspective, but I couldn't seem to find one. It was not the fear of nuclear annihilation that haunted me. It was the prospect of year upon year of endless tedium, until the day my descendants would finally plant my remains, utter a few customary phrases, and then forget I had ever lived at all. Half thinking and half hoping a walk might brighten my spirits, I donned my coat and ventured out into the cool, crisp air. During the summer I would certainly have stumbled upon someone doing a bit of gardening or the like, but the neighborhood was as chilly socially as it was meteorologically. I briefly considered going down to the beauty salon, to sit and chat with the other ladies. I quickly rejected the idea on the same grounds I always had; to me it still seemed more appealing to be the subject of the gossip than the recipient of it. I continued around the ubiquitous streets in an arbitrary pattern, finally returning to my own street in the same somber mood that I had departed. The day might have gone as any other, and my life with it, but for Mr. Stanley arriving home for what I then imagined to be lunch. The young man fairly leapt from his vehicle before it had even come to a complete stop. Not even glancing back at his car, he rushed into the home immediately adjacent to my own, not even bothering to close the door as he entered. Certain there was some emergency, I shifted my gaze through the Stanleys' picture window; this being no problem since their drapes were as open as their door. Mr. Stanley met his wife in the parlor where they fully embraced, using both their bodies and their mouths to caress one another. I expect my eyes must have widened considerably in the second that I first comprehended the nature of the crisis. I stared in some shock as the man lifted his wife just as if it had been their wedding night and began to carry her toward the stairs. As Mrs. Stanley swung in her husband's arms, her field of view happened to pass out of the window. Her eyes immediately locked upon my own. I am sure I must have paled when the young lady discovered my probing glare, yet she simply issued a friendly smile and a wave before the couple disappeared entirely. I looked about hastily. My anxiety was relieved as I found the street as deserted as it had been all morning. Scolding myself for being nosy, I hurried home. Upon arrival I looked at my tranquil parlor and wondered what passions, if any, would ever play out there. I glanced down at my own form, involuntarily comparing it to the younger woman's. She easily won the impromptu contest, but I scurried to my washroom for a second opinion. There, in the harsh glow of a hundred watts, I saw what I already knew; two decades of sedentary adulthood had taken their toll. The minor laugh lines had evolved into full creases. My chin sought to merge with my neck. My once proud breasts, though still ample, rested rather wearily over a paunch that sought to sag as well. I turned off the light and retreated to the rooms without a mirror. I spent the midday hours wondering what I should eat for lunch before deciding on nothing. As the afternoon wore on, the sun made an overdue appearance, brightening my spirits none, but my courage some. I put on what I considered to be a flattering dress, combed my hair, and added a touch of makeup. I strode from my house and crossed my yard and a portion of the next. Without giving my determination a chance to waver, I boldly rapped upon the Stanleys' door The pretty young blonde answered my knock promptly. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Kramer," she said with a genuine smile. "What brings you here this pleasant day?" "It's Delores," I insisted, "I came to apologize for snooping earlier. You see, the way your husband ran into your home I thought there must have been some trouble." "Good trouble," Mrs. Stanley added with a smile. "And I'm Elaine." She shifted slightly to one side. "Do you care to come in?" I didn't really want to. I had only intended to make amends for any imagined affront, yet I did not wish to appear rude. I nodded modestly, "Thank you." "Can I get you anything?" Elaine offered as I passed. "Tea? Water? Sandwich?" "No, thanks," I replied. "I just ate." "Oh," Elaine said, apparently somewhat taken aback. "Well perhaps we could just chat a bit. I'm afraid I haven't been a very good member of the block. Donald and I have been so busy with things we haven't had much chance to come by and see all our new neighbors." "Not to worry," I assured her, taking a seat on her second-hand sofa. "I was the one that was being the bad neighbor, remember?" Elaine smiled and flipped her open palm downward as if to dismiss the notion. "Oh, nonsense." She took her seat in a cushioned chair that did not match the couch. "If we were worried about people looking through our window we ought to have closed the curtains. Besides, it's not as if we were doing anything wrong." I nodded. "I suppose not." An awkward silence ensued, made more awkward by the question that ended it. "Does your husband ever come home at lunch for sex?" My entire body stiffened as I absorbed the inquiry. My initial instinct was to indignantly depart, but I quickly decided that would, at the very least, make it appear as though I was ashamed of the answer. "No," I replied honestly. "I can't say that he ever did." Elaine tilted her head and twisted her features. "Why not? Do you have young ones at home?" I grinned. "Heavens no! Our children all have families of their own." Elaine returned my smile. "Well, you should have plenty of time for each other then." I think my expression must have said what my mouth did not. Elaine sat upright. "I'm sorry," she offered. "Did I say something wrong?" "No," I replied, nevertheless convinced that the entire topic was somehow inappropriate. Still, I had never spoken with anyone about sex. Some part of me begged to make Elaine the first. "Why'd you marry Mr. Kramer?" "Because I thought he might have to go to the war," I replied. "And my mother said he was a good man." Elaine smiled. "Your mother? Did you always do what your mother said?" "I tried." "Do you love Mr. Kramer?" Elaine asked. "Of course," I replied quickly. "And his name is Russell." "How many men did you date before Russell?" "Five." "How many did you fuck?" My mouth dropped. "What?" "How many men have you had sex with besides Russell?" Elaine pressed in a surprisingly casual tone. I suppressed for the second time the urge to make a hasty and altogether appropriate exit. "None," I replied. "Why?" "Because it isn't proper." "You mean it wasn't proper?" "What?" "Times are changing," Elaine said. "Most brides these days aren't virgins. Quite a few have had sex with someone besides the groom too." "Really?" "Yes," Elaine answered. "Isn't that wonderful? In another generation, two at the most, no one will think a thing about an unmarried girl having sex." "How do you know?" "Reading mostly," Elaine related. "Like what?" "Sexual Behavior in the Human Female." "Never heard of it." Elaine tilted her head. "The Kama Sutra?" "What's that?" I asked. "An Asian sexual manual," Elaine explained. "It's hundreds of years old." "What?" I stammered. "Hundreds of years?" "Yes," Elaine said, grinning. "People did have sex back then too." I smirked at the lady's subtly condescending tone, but decided to make no additional issue of it. "I'm not sure I would put much stock in something that old," I announced. "Where does one get a book like that?" "Lots of places," Elaine related. "Do you ever get out?" "No." I glanced around the room. "Where do you keep these books?" "Why upstairs, of course," Elaine related. I nodded. "I suppose you would want to keep them out of sight." "Not at all!" Elaine said, hopping from her seat. "Upstairs is just where they are most handy. Come on, I'll show you." She practically bounded up the steps without awaiting reply. I reluctantly followed at what I considered a dignified pace. My hostess waited for me at the top of the staircase. "Should I take it you do not have any similar books?" she asked before continuing down the corridor. "Certainly not." "Well," Elaine began as she entered her room. "Perhaps you can help me then." I pivoted my head so as to view the young lady with but one of my eyes. "What do you mean?" "If you don't need any reference material," Elaine started. "Then you must have vast knowledge on the subject." I was bewildered for several seconds, unable to decide if Mrs. Stanley was deriding me or if she was simply seriously daft. I eventually decided it was likely the former. "Hardly," I declared. Elaine tilted her head. "No?" "No." Elaine nodded shallowly for several seconds. "How many times per day do you have sex?" My mouth fell open and I cycled a single deep breath. "Where are you from?" "Connecticut," Elaine replied. "Well," I began, "Here in Wisconsin it's not considered proper to discuss such things in public." Elaine shrugged. "It's probably not in Connecticut either. But we aren't in public, are we? Who else am I supposed to discuss things with?" "Your husband?" I suggested. "We do!" Elaine replied with a smile. "But sometimes it's nice to have another woman's perspective. Don't you agree?" I paused to swallow before admitting, "Yes, sometimes that is nice." "Well, then," Elaine said. "Donald and I usually only make love once per day during the week, and twice on weekends. Of course, I'm counting all forms of sex, not just coitus. How about you?" I pursed my lips and exhaled an extended breath as I tried to both interpret her statement and consider her question. "Maybe a couple times a week," I finally replied, though it was a definite exaggeration. "That's probably about average," Elaine noted. "Kind of sad, huh? Did you used to get more?" I shrugged as I recalled some of the thrill of youth. "I guess." "That's normal too," Elaine said. "And it's ok; unless you want more?" I looked into her pale blue eyes. The innocence of her piercing gaze overwhelmed my reservations. "I guess I'd like a little romance too. Russell never brings me roses anymore." "Did you ever bring him roses?" Elaine asked. I creased my brow. "I don't think he ever wanted flowers." "Are you sure?" "Fairly." "Then what did he want?" My eyes fell to the floor as I began to see her point. "I don't know that he ever really said." "Maybe you should ask," Elaine suggested. "But we came here to look at books, did we not?" She motioned to the small bookcase that stood between the door and the closet. I politely perused the titles, most of which were not overtly sexual. The number of titles that were related to copulation, however, still surprised me. "And you've read all these?" I inquired. "Yes," Elaine replied. "Except the ones that are more or less reference works, like this one on dream interpretation." She moved an extended index finger to the center shelf and drew a thick volume a half-inch out of line. "Dreams, eh?" I twisted my lips and my nose as I pondered the tome and its owner, concluding the latter was not playing with the proverbial full deck. "One thing Russell does like is dinner ready when he gets home," I noted, glancing at a convenient clock. "I should probably go." Elaine nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you can stop by again sometime when you don't need to cook all afternoon?" "Perhaps," I responded civilly, deliberately not suggesting that she might do the same. I returned home to make one of my usual suppers, after which my husband and I spent one of our usual evenings- the sort that are gone before you know it even though you can't remember having done a thing. I awoke mid-morning the next day feeling no more refreshed than when I had retired. I had dreamt that I was a pig. Scratching my head, I spun to sit on the edge of my mattress. I went to the washroom and once again examined my flabby frame, nodding as I did so. I took my morning coffee, but felt no more alert. Though my abdomen protested, I decided to skip breakfast. Soon I was napping on the couch, blissfully slipping in and out of complete consciousness. Swiftly, a tusked intruder invaded my dream, my bliss, and my afternoon. I awoke hours later nearly dripping in my own sweat, in spite of the coolness of the room. Forgetting both dinner and my attire, I hurried next door. "Why Delores!" Elaine held the door wide and smiled even wider. "Please, do come in." "Thank you," I said as I passed through her threshold. "Can I get you anything," Elaine asked as she closed the door. "Coffee, Tea?" "A book perhaps," I announced. "A book?" Elaine queried, her eyes genuinely shining. "Which one?" "The one on dreams," I replied. "I keep having dreams about a pig; a very hungry pig. I want to know if it's because I'm getting fat." "I don't know," Elaine shrugged. "I've never dreamed about a pig before. But I can tell you that you aren't anywhere near fat. Let's go see what it really means." Elaine scaled the stairs in the same haste she had previously. By the time I caught up, she already had the book open across the foot of her bed. "Let's see," Elaine muttered as she thumbed through the back of the book "Ah. Was it a boar or a sow?" I creased my brow as I searched my admittedly fuzzy recollection. "I'm not sure." "It's your dream," Elaine pressed. "Try and remember." "Is there a difference?" I asked. "Why not just look them both up?" "Because I said so," Elaine declared. "Now which is it?" I'm sure I must have scowled at least a bit. "A boar," I insisted. "It definitely had tusks, at least in one dream." "Ok," Elaine continued. "Let's go have a look at boars." She thumbed through the book. "Yes, here we are." She paused a moment before muttering, "Oh my, what did the boar do in your dreams?" "He ate all the food and didn't leave any for the other pigs," I related. "Then he chased the cows and horses away and ate their food too. That's why I thought it was about overeating." Elaine shook her head. "See how easily you can go wrong. A vision of the boar represents selfishness. Notice how that fits your dream even better?" I nodded my agreement. "But who is selfish? Me?" "Could be," Elaine said. "You said you didn't give Russell flowers, but you did give him dinner. Is that all you ever do for him?" "I clean the house." I noted. "And he pays for it," Elaine countered. "What do you do for him?" "What do you mean?" "When's the last time you gave him a really good blowjob?" "A what?" I asked. "A blowjob," Elaine repeated. "You know, sucked his cock." My mouth fell wide. "What?" "Cock," Elaine repeated. "Cock. Dick. Penis. All the same thing." "I know what one is!" I declared indignantly. "And I've never put my mouth on one!" Elaine shrugged. "Well, doesn't get much more selfish than that." My jaw fully succumbed to gravity. "That's revolting!" I stammered. "Who does that sort of thing? He's never asked for that! He's never even mentioned that!" "I do that sort of thing," Elaine replied calmly. "A couple times per week, when Donald comes home from work. He's always so happy to find me waiting on my knees at the front door, ready to unzip him. And he's never asked either." I pressed my lips together, unable to imagine myself doing such a thing. "I've never even heard of anyone doing that? Is this a new fad?" Elaine smiled and shook her head. "It was very popular with the Greeks and Romans a couple thousand years ago, however I'm sure it's much older than that." "Really?" I half-gasped. "Who would have thought? "Doesn't it, you know, taste like pee?" Elaine shook her head slowly. "It's just skin. Sometimes there's a bit of briny flavor at first, but it wears off quickly. And I'm sure I taste the same way now and then." My eyes fell involuntarily to the young lady's hips. "You?" I asked. "He puts his mouth down there?" "Nothing's better than a mouth down there," Elaine purred. "Russell never does that for you?" "Of course not!" "Why?" "I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't know anyone did it until five seconds ago." "Suck your husband next chance you get," Elaine suggested. "Do it and see what happens." "I'm not sure I can," I protested. "You have a mouth. Does Russell have a dick?" "Yes!" "Then you can," Elaine concluded. I sighed. "I wouldn't know what to do." Elaine smiled in an almost patronizing fashion. "Why don't you come over tomorrow? I'll show you." I creased my brow. "Show me?" Elaine's smile broadened as she nodded. "Yes, show you. But it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Can I call you when I'm ready?" "Sure," I replied. "You take the book of dreams," Elaine insisted, handing me the tome. "I have a feeling you may need it more than I will." Several hours later I ate with Russell as we began our evening routine. Throughout the meal my eyes kept wandering to his manhood. I tried to picture it in my mouth, but concluded quickly that perhaps dinner was the wrong time for imagining such things. Still, I could think of little else for the remainder of the evening and all of the next morning as well, until the phone finally rang. "Hello?" I answered. "This is Elaine. You need to come over immediately." I paused for a single deep breath. "Now?" "Now," Elaine insisted. "Ok," I replied. I felt incredibly naughty, and even more excited as I made the brief trip across the lawn. "Come on," Elaine instructed as she opened the door. I sensed there was some urgency and hurried inside, following my hostess once again to her bedroom. She walked to her open closet door. "In here," she said. "What?" I queried. "In the closet?" "Yes," Elaine said calmly. "I've got a chair for you, behind the dresses. I tested it myself. If I'm kneeling here," she pointed at the floor, "and Donald is facing there," she turned to the corner, "then you should be able to see everything." My meager mental faculties took several seconds to assimilate what the other lady had in mind. "You want me to watch?!" "Yes," Elaine nodded matter-of-factly. "I did say I was going to show you?" My jaw dropped, but I was unable to compose a sentence before the front door opened on the ground floor. "Honey!" Donald Stanley called. "Hurry!" Elaine whispered. "Get in the closet!" Without awaiting reply, my hostess departed, leaving me alone with a stomach that wanted to be somewhere else as badly as I did. Unable to find another viable option, I followed her instructions. Pulling the door until but a sliver of light remained, I determined to huddle behind the dresses and not watch, but my resolve wavered as the first shadow crossed the fissure. "Not today," Elaine announced in a giddy voice as she took her position on the floor in front of the closet. "You've been a good little worshipper lately and you get a special treat." Donald's form entered my narrow field of view as he moved to stand before his wife. I inhaled sharply as I saw the bulge in his trousers, realizing I would soon see much more. I had never seen any man other than my Russell. As Elaine reached for his belt, I saw her decadently licking her lips. With a start, I caught my own tongue doing the same thing! Elaine cut her eyes directly toward the closet as she boldly freed her husband, grasping his rod with her right fist. Turning her view away from me, she unabashedly steered the rigid shaft horizontal and plunged her lips over it. My jaw fell as I watched the other woman wantonly suckle her husband. Her cheeks shrank, then puffed, in a steady rhythm. I involuntarily clenched my thighs together, sandwiching my palms. Glancing down, I realized that I found the lurid display far more refreshing rather than revolting. "Oh," Mr. Stanley moaned. "That's so good." Elaine paused briefly. "You feel so good in my mouth," she purred. "I just love sucking your cock." I squeezed my thighs tighter as the lady resumed her oral nurturing, proceeding even more vigorously and noisily than before. She moved her free hand to her loins. My eyes were glued to the scene. Soon the moans from the man and slurping from the woman increased to compose a bawdy, seductive symphony. I looked down with a start as I felt an unexpected warmth against the edge of my hand. I relaxed my legs and allowed my fingers access to the moistness therein. Slowly, I brought my slightly bent hand to my nose and inhaled deeply. Closing my eyes, I sampled the scent of my own excitement. How long had it been since I had savored that aroma? Too long, I am sure; yet the fragrance seemed fresh in my mind. I felt young again. Mr. Stanley issued a long, low moan, almost a whimper. I opened my eyes. His fingers quivered and his body shuddered. I realized he was climaxing before my very eyes. Elaine did not miss a beat, continuing to suckle as his thick rod pulsed within her mouth. "Ok, ok," Mr. Stanley suddenly gasped. "Stop. That's enough." Elaine plunged her mouth almost completely over his spent shaft, her cheeks flexing rapidly as she increased her sucking. "Stop!" Donald cried, gently pushing his wife's head. "You know it gets ticklish!" Elaine removed her mouth and flashed a sinful smile. "I know." Mr. Stanley sighed and shook his head. "You are so naughty." Elaine stood. Wrinkling her own nose, she rubbed the tip against her husband's. "And you love it." A shiver of pleasure traversed Mr. Stanley's body. "I do," he affirmed. "I do too," Elaine purred. She put her forefinger to the bridge of his nose and slowly drew the digit along the length. "The sooner you get back to work, the sooner you can be home again." Mr. Stanley retrieved his shorts and trousers in a motion, fastening the buckle as his wife gave him an affectionate peck. "See you soon," Elaine whispered. "Love you." Mr. Stanley planted a gentle kiss on his wife's cheek and headed out of the room. "Love you too," Elaine called after him. She waited alertly until she heard the front door close before venturing to my hiding place. She opened the closet door and leaned upon the edge, smiling as broadly as ever. "That's all there is to it," she announced proudly. I was quite certain that it could not be as simple as my mentor had made it appear. I emerged from my hiding place and stood. My lips twitched as I tried to sort through my list of questions. "You really enjoy that?" I finally asked. Elaine removed her weight from the door. "Of course." I nodded slowly as I breathed. "And you kept going until he, uh, shot?" "Certainly," Elaine said solemnly. "So will you." "Does it taste bad?" I asked innocently. Elaine moved a little closer. "I don't think so." "What does it taste like?" "You tell me." As I saw where her mouth was bound, my own fell slightly open; in surprise, and in acceptance. As our lips embraced, my mind churned. Was I cheating on my husband? Was this worse than cheating with a man? Did I care? "I feel weird," I whispered as soon as my lips were free. "I know," Elaine said. "I feel the same way about you." I gulped. That's not what I had meant, but after searching my feelings for mere moments, I realized Elaine was essentially correct; I did find her attractive; enticing; even more. That was what felt so weird. I shook my head slowly. "I'm just not sure this is ok." "What?" "You. Me. Two women. You know." Elaine shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be ok?" "The Bible?" I suggested. Elaine smiled. "I have that book too. It's really fairly vague on the matter, if you bother to read it. Not that I truly care. I don't put much stock in books that old." I shook my head. "It still doesn't seem right." "Why?" Elaine asked cheerfully. "Too many people close their minds way before the priest closes their coffin. If you live by other people's rules, you miss a lot. This, for instance." As our lips met a second time, I relaxed my inhibitions and returned the tender caress. Elaine became more aggressive as she sensed my willingness. She shot her tongue into my mouth, running it slowly along my lower lip. Then I tasted it; or more appropriately, him. The flavor was extremely subtle, just a hint of a somewhat sour salinity, yet it was so unique I knew instantly what it must be. I recoiled at once, putting my hand to my mouth. "What is it?" Elaine asked. "Did I hurt you?" "No," I muttered, looking into her anxious eyes. "I tasted it." "I thought you wanted to know?" "I did," I affirmed. "I should have tasted my husband first, not yours!" "I guess I wasn't thinking," Elaine said. "I got caught up in the passion of the moment. But you did ask." "I need to do some thinking now," I said somberly. "I should go." I returned home sure I had committed some sin. I made supper in a daze. Excusing myself immediately after our eating, I headed upstairs for bed, unsure if I was truly tired or simply did not want to face my husband. Regardless, I was soon asleep. Hours later I awoke with a start. I vividly recalled having chased a possum throughout my mother's chicken coop until I had trapped it in one of the nests. Then the cornered creature hissed at me menacingly. But this was not a memory from my childhood. "Possum," I mumbled to myself. "What does that dream mean?" I turned on my lamp and reached for the book that Elaine had given me. My fingers shook as I turned the pages. "Possum," I repeated as I read the text aloud. "These and other generally nocturnal and/or burrowing creatures represent reticence. Those experiencing such a dream are typically being too timid in their affairs." I closed the book and put it back in my nightstand. I stayed in bed, waiting patiently for my husband, determined to be timid no longer. When Russell arrived, I allowed him to join me beneath the covers. Then, without a word, I made my move. I kissed my husband's neck in the same manner that he had often kissed mine prior to our routine sexual sessions. This evening, I determined, was going to be different, and the rest of our lives with it. Russell stirred, ever so slightly as my lips left him. I draped my arm loosely over his torso as if I meant for him to lie still. Smiling as he relaxed, I moved my head to his chest and rested it there, listening to the steady thump of his heart as I looked into his dark eyes. Even in the shadows, I could see the perplexity written clearly in his features. But there was something else written there as well; hope. Neither of us spoke. I turned my head and faced my target. I knew his gaze was fixed firmly on the back of my head as I crept my way slowly down his abdomen. I must have taken half an hour, cautiously moving inch by inch. My hands preceded my face to his boxers. As I firmly grasped the waistline, I felt him arch his form. I inhaled, keeping the breath for a second as I wondered if he knew what I had in mind. If he did know, he gave no overt indications, remaining silent as I gently moved his shorts onto his thighs. I paused to pet his exposed manhood, affectionately stroking the already firm shaft as its single eye looked into my pair. I moved closer, inching my way down, cautious, yet determined. Somewhere around his navel I became certain he must know what I intended. That was when I knew, absolutely knew, there was no turning back. "Then what?" Elaine asked excitedly. I shrugged. "I did it." "I know that," Elaine smirked. "What was it like?" I nodded and twisted my cheek. "It wasn't anywhere near as gross as I thought it would be." "Did you like it?" Elaine pressed with a sly grin. I smiled back. "Yes." "What did he taste like?" "Like you said," I related. "Its just skin. I didn't taste anything else." Elaine winked at me. "You know that's not the taste I meant." "Oh," I muttered, inhaling a sharp breath and holding it. "I don't know. I didn't go that far." Elaine's smile vanished. "Why?" "Well," I began. "Russell said, 'I'm ready.' I thought he wanted regular sex, so I stopped. Since he was already lying there, I climbed aboard and rode him. I can't remember the last time we did that. That was really wonderful." "No wonder you dream of boars," Elaine responded. "Did he last long?" I shook my head. "No." Elaine nodded. "When he said, 'I'm ready,' he was really warning you he was close. That was fairly polite of him, but he didn't really want you to stop." "Oh," I mused, examining my recollection of the event. "How was I supposed to know?" Elaine scowled. "I showed you how to do it right. That's how you're supposed to know. I am most disappointed." I dropped my brow and my jaw. "What?" "From now on," Elaine began. "When I tell you to suck a cock, you will do so to its natural conclusion. Do you understand?" I was visited by a strange, distant anxiety, the sort I used to feel when my mother reprimanded me. I nodded shallowly. "Are you sure you understand?" Elaine pressed. "Yes." "In the future," Elaine continued, "when I tell you to do something, anything, you will do it, exactly as I say to do it. You will not embarrass me like this again. Are we clear!" I gulped. "Yes." Elaine snorted. "Let us see. Unbutton my blouse." I tensed, but did not move. "Do it," Elaine whispered. "You know where the buttons are and you know where the door is. Pick one; now!" My fingers shaking, I tentatively reached for the seam of her blouse, clumsily, but resolutely unfastening each of the couplings. Her head high, Elaine unfolded her arms and allowed the garment to slide seductively from her form. "Now my bra," she demanded. I walked behind the woman and unhooked the clasps. The second article of clothing fell to lie with the first. Elaine glanced over her shoulder. "Back around front." She raised her nose even more haughtily than before as I returned to face her. "Kiss them," she commanded simply. My eyes fell to her bosom. Her breasts were so lovely, so full, so round, so inviting. I inhaled sharply as I worshipped them with my eyes. "Now!" Elaine barked. "You must obey immediately." Shaken from my trance, I dropped to my knees. A feeling of immense calm settled over me as my lips met her soft flesh. Elaine squirmed immediately. "That's right. Suck them. Lick them. Learn to love my body with your mouth." I did so, shameful, yet joyful of my own willingness. My mistress allowed me to suckle her for a handful of minutes before abruptly interrupting my devotions, "While you're on your knees, there's something else you need to do." Elaine adeptly pivoted her frame, nimbly resting her toes on the footboard of her bed. She smiled as she looked down at me and raised her skirt. My mistress wore no panties. My eyes bulged as I saw her sparsely furred womanhood presented to me. I inhaled in shock, accidentally sampling her succulent aroma. I simply sat, mesmerized by her beauty, paralyzed by my inhibitions. "What are you waiting for?" Elaine snapped. "You know what I want. I shouldn't have to tell you." I ducked dutifully between her legs and began kissing my way along her thigh. With a sigh of satisfaction, my mistress dropped her skirt over me. I then felt her hands grasp my head through the fabric, urging my face deeper into her flesh. That was but ten days ago. It seems so much longer. I close my eyes and breathe. Do I merely imagine the scent of my husband's seed or does some still linger somewhere? It is such a subtle flavor, yet so permeating; so much sweeter than the roses that I once so coveted. I love it as I love him, more than I did yesterday, but probably not as much as I will tomorrow. Although the book of dreams does not distinguish between filly and stallion, I doubt not my dark horse's gender- or her name. She has taught me so much, yet I know this is just the beginning. The phone rings. I rush downstairs to answer, civilly saying, "Hello?" though I know in my heart what soul must be at the other end of the line. "I want you," Elaine says simply, succinctly, sincerely. "I'll be right over," I assure her. "What are we going to do?" "Whatever I want." "Ok," I start to reply, but the click in my earpiece indicates my mistress is already waiting. I hurry upstairs to dress. I don't know what she wants, but whatever it is, I am sure I want it too.
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