I Guess The Honeymoon Is Over. 8-1-11
Deirdre was the last of four close friends to get married – she was twenty five when it came about – so naturally her ceremony had to be the biggest and most elaborate one and for her honeymoon she picked an island that was farther away and much more difficult to get to than any of theirs had been.
She’d only known her new husband for around a year before the wedding and circumstances saw to it that they’d gotten to make love through that time only when one or both of them positively had to and so they’d learned how to snatch at a chance to do it and their extreme need meant that it was always over in a few minutes but the intensity of the need, and the process of getting relief for it, made each session not only exciting but also not much short of amazing to them when they looked back on it a few hours later and marveled at how clever nature was when she’d designed their bodies and had produced and directed their urges.
What got him to propose marriage to her was the time that they lucked out and found that they could spend a wondrous weekend at her house when, almost unbelievably, every other member of her large family was away.
They didn’t bother with clothes from the Friday night until they had to go to work on Monday morning and through the whole time euphoria was there for the taking and they took and took. It seemed to them that there was a rosy glow permeating the whole house.
He decided the very next day that seeing that she could make love so tangible and so immediate he wanted her in his life so that she’d be able to do it for him forever.
Their honeymoon was as satisfying for them as the wicked weekend had been and when they came home, and moved straight into their new apartment, the quality of their get-togethers continued for months and she had every expectation that her love life would always be great and often splendid.
In those early months they made love every night of the week, of course, and on the weekends they experimented with different positions and space/time inter-connections. They spent a lot of the time lolling around the apartment naked and provoking each other and she came to think that she knew her new husband’s sexual proclivities pretty well.
They had long wanted to see a film by her favorite director and when it came back to a neighborhood movie-house the only seats available for them were for ten o’clock on an ordinary weeknight so they bought them and went to it and it turned out to be as interesting as all of his other films had been but it went on for three hours and so, when they got home, because they both had to go to work the next day, they went to bed and settled down for sleep after only a mumbled goodnight kiss.
At around four in the morning she was awakened by being pushed and pulled at until she was lying on her back and then she felt her nightgown getting lifted up and then her panties being pulled down until one of her feet could be freed up and then her knees were forced apart by her husband’s legs and a second after that she was penetrated brutally and then pounded away at unmercifully until she got injected.
She couldn’t believe what was happening to her while it was going on and it was only when he’d rolled off her – she’d felt him pulling some of the top sheet free on his side of the bed so as to be able wipe himself with it and had then moved away and was evidently about to go back to sleep without a word – that she made herself acknowledge the fact that instead of making love with her husband she had been fucked by him for the first time ever.
She wasn’t sure what she felt like most – a whore or a hole in the mattress – but she had to get out of bed because there was no hole in the mattress and the one that he’d used was demanding immediate attention and while she tended to it she reluctantly came to terms with the fact that what had happened to her was real and was not going to go away.
When she got back to bed he was snoring and what had been cute to her up until then became totally unacceptable and she shook him angrily both to get it stopped and to get him to wake up and do some apologizing.
He struggled to come up to the surface but then fell back into sleep at once and after another equally unsuccessful attempt at it she had to give up and, defeated, she just laid there and tried to understand what had happened.
She couldn’t go back to sleep until a half hour before the alarm went off and when it did she knew that she couldn’t get herself together enough for her exacting job without several more hours of sleep so she sat up and asked her husband to call her office and get her a sick day and then she pulled the covers up over her head and tried to keep nasty thoughts from flooding in.
When she woke up for the third time that morning, at around ten o’clock, it took less than a second for all of the details of being used brutally to come back to her and she knew that she needed advice badly and that looking for it from her mother was out of the question so when she’d made some coffee and toast she called her best friend, Laurie, at her workplace.
Laurie had been the first one of her close friends to get married and had also been the first one to get divorced and had recently gotten re-married.
Deirdre explained what had happened to her early that morning and she more than half expected to be told to leave the brute right there and then.
She didn’t for a second expect to get laughed at for being naïve.
“Deirdre, sweetie”, said Laurie when she’d steadied down a little, “the honeymoon is over, don’t you see? Say hello to reality, babe. They all do that all the time and when you remonstrate they say that they’re ‘Being spontaneous and what is the point of making love if it’s not spontaneous?’ Tell me, what can you say in answer to that? No, you’re going to have to learn to live with it dear and with a lot more besides – and some of it is will be even less pretty.”
“But it was as near to rape as you can get!” cried Deirdre. “I think I should call the police. Y’know, the worst thing about it was that he did it as if it wasn’t me who was there but only a vagina support system. Really, Laurie, he hurt me and humiliated me and he’s definitely not the same man I married because I know that that man wouldn’t have so much as thought of touching me unless he knew that I wanted him to.”
“Smell the coffee, dear. Believe me, they all do that kind of thing as soon as the novelty of having us there and available wears off. It usually takes around six months so you’re ahead of the pattern somewhat but it always happens, either sooner or later. They’re outright pigs, all of them. You know what will be next? I’ll give you a list. He’ll start telling crude jokes to his friends even though you’re right there; you’ll catch him checking out other women in restaurants and on the streets; he’ll start in with ‘I’m not coming home until around midnight because the guys are getting together for a card game’; he’ll start letting off farts in front of you and a few weeks after that he’ll stop apologizing for doing it; he’ll start coming to the table in his undershirt; he’ll stop bothering to shave on the weekends; – well, it goes on and on.
“Oh, let me say this too – if he hasn’t started already, sooner or later he’ll want to get kinky in bed and they’re all insidious about it – ‘But babe, everybody does this these days. We have to at least try it. Don’t we?’ – and no matter how far you go for them believe me there’ll be more stuff that they’ll want to try and – the thing of it is – most of the time all that we get out of it is pain and suffering and humiliation but they always get a harder dick which is good for their motivation and gives them extra intensity when they come which, of course, is their real reason for experimenting in the first place.”
“I can hardly believe what I’m hearing – are you serious?”
“Deadly serious, I’m afraid.”
“Well! I don’t like what I’m hearing a bit . . . . but tell me, what kind of kinky stuff are you talking about here, Laurie? We’re already doing sixty-nine and it can’t get much more kinky than that, can it? And I have to tell you right now that I don’t much mind doing that at all because I get a lot out of it for myself.”
“Well sure you do, but blowing him in the sixty-nine position is one thing and blowing him in the front seat of a car while he’s driving or blowing him when you’re at a party, when the other women there have made him feel horny and he’s searched out somewhere with a little privacy, and blowing him with the overhead lights on in the bedroom, with you kneeling on the floor, because he wants to see your face as he comes into your mouth are different kettles of fish entirely. And then he’ll find a way to get you to ‘accidentally’ see some of the Karma Sutra positions in a book and when you agree to try an innocuous one for him he’ll find a whole lot more that he’d like to try – like the ‘wheel barrow’ or the ‘butterfly’ – and just about the only pleasure that you’ll get out of any of them is – except for knowing that you were brave enough and lithe enough and fit enough to hold the next to impossible position until he got off in you, or onto you – is the consolation of knowing that when his outrageous behavior ends this time he’ll be so depleted that it will be days before he can get it up again.”
“Oh, dear. I don’t want to believe any of this.”
“Of course you don’t. No woman does, but unfortunately it’s the harsh truth and, even more unfortunately, there’s much more of it in store for you. The epitome of dis-illusionment will come to you, as it did for us all, when he wants to experiment with anal sex and when you’re suffering through that for him you’ll finally realize – as you’re lying there with all of your nice parts untouched because they’re unneeded and knowing that your only contribution to the act is to keep still so that it can get it done – that he is not a man at all he is only a penis and when he’s a hard penis he’s a demanding penis and the only thing that matters for him is to make it soft and livable with in peace again in as little a time as possible.
“I’m sorry honey but all men are, first and foremost, penises and all of what I just told you is what penises do so try to get over it.”
Deirdre hung up the phone so that Laurie wouldn’t be able to hear her crying.
She couldn’t stop the tears from falling for close to an hour and she felt miserable for another hour and then a thought came to her that made her ponder for a while and then call Laurie again.
“When you said, ‘as it did for all of us,’ do you mean you and Meg and Karen all went through what you described? Was it exactly the same for all of you?”
“Yes, dear. I’m afraid so. All of us, and two times for me. We didn’t tell you what was coming because we wanted you to enjoy the first few months. Sorry.”
“It’s hard to believe but I guess that I’ll have to if it was the same for all of you . . . . All right! I have to believe you but that doesn’t mean that I have to accept it, does it? So this is what I want to do. Let’s all have lunch at Karen’s mother’s restaurant, one day this week when that private room there isn’t booked, and let’s talk about what my options are. OK?”
“Well, alright, but don’t count on getting much resolved. Remember what I told you and since then I’ve come up with a truism that sums it all up – ‘a benign penis is simply a rampant penis that is resting up.”
They only had an hour to spend together over lunch because they all had jobs and so Karen took their lunch orders to the kitchen herself and when she came back she brought their favorite drinks on a tray.
Meg took a sip from hers and then said to Deirdre, “So, rebel. You want to change the world I hear. Tell us your ideas and let’s all have a good laugh, but before you do let me say that just as that old saying, ‘The only cure for love is marriage,’ is true it is no more true than mine – ‘The only way to take lust out of marriage is for the woman to get filled up with a baby.’ Believe me – after living with you through a seemingly interminable pregnancy and then seeing a baby getting pulled out of you the guy loses a whole lot of interest in the hole that it came out of. As you know, I’ve had two babies and my husband, who was into ‘togetherness’ big time back then, insisted on being there when the first one was born and I guess he figured that he’d better be there for the second one too and both times, but especially the first, I saw him mentally sag his shoulders even while he was holding our son as he accepted the fact that the grim, bloody, ruthless utilization of my – uh – central charms that he’d just witnessed had totally usurped their allure. The second time was even more poignant in that he had long given up on playing with my breasts after having seen them regularly put to use as a milk bar and he knew that this new baby would do the same thing and so he was forced to come to terms with the fact that they’d probably never be his playthings again.
“Since then, the only way that I can get him to go down on me is to take him somewhere for an hour or two where there are a whole lot of attractive but untouchable and unavailable women and get him to have a few double whiskeys and even then, when we go to bed at home, I still have to hover for minutes on end before nature prompts him to do the right thing by me.”
Karen said, “Wow, Meg! That’s a desert you’re living in, darling. All of that proceeduring! When I get desperate for some nice downtown action I just cut off access to him by closing my legs and I tell him that my copy of the Manufacturers Instructions Bulletin has it that after every ten times no further penetration by Mr. Penis is possible until Mr. Tongue has sweet talked permission for him to proceed.”
Laurie said, “That’s a great idea but it wouldn’t work with this second husband of mine because, as it is, I only get some action once or twice a week and even that’s because nature makes him get hard in spite of himself and it wakes him up from even a deep sleep.
“I’m afraid that if I refused him, when he’s woken me up and is making the moves, and I resorted to using the kind of blackmail that Karen just told us about he’d just shrug and turn away and go back to sleep because he’s a trial lawyer, and I guess that none of them respond well to coercion, and I shudder to think what he might come up with in the morning. No, what I’m resigned to doing is to always find ways to help him along so that I then have a good chance of getting off with a woman’s little helper after he’s come and gone, as you might say, and has fallen asleep again.
“I do that because I’m afraid that if I don’t reward myself every time I’ll soon fall into the, ‘When you’ve finished, dear, check to see if I’m asleep and if I am pull my nightgown down will you?’ frame of mind ”
Deirdre was near to tears again as she said, “Well! None of this is in any of the manuals that I’ve ever read but I guess that I’ve got to believe all of you. Anyway, even so, I’m going to give you my proposal even though you all seem to be far too gone in compliance to your men already.
“Well, what I’m thinking of is a modified Aristophanes . . . uh, Karen you’re into ancient history, right? Who was that Greek guy who wrote the play about the women who wouldn’t let their men have any until they agreed to stop going away to war?
“It was ‘Aristophanes,’ as you said, and the play was, ‘Lysistrata.’ ”
“That’s it. Thank you. Anyway, what I’m talking about here is ‘Limited availability.’ D’you see? Before we got married the sex was red-hot everytime. Right? At least it was that way for me because there was no way we could spend all night together except for that one weekend that I’ve told you about.”
“Yeah, you have but only about a hundred times!”
“Well yes, all right. I guess that’s true. Y’know, just thinking about it . . . . Well, let’s let that go shall we? . . . Well now, my plan is – I hope it’s not too late already – I’m going to suggest to my Paul that he should start sleeping in the spare bedroom and that we can meet up in mine whenever he’s certain sure that he’ll settle for some gentle, proper, extended loving.
“I’ll miss having him there for the cuddling and the rest but I tell you – I never again want to be used just to let him lose his hard-on so that he can go back to sleep.”
Karen said that she couldn’t see how Deidre’s idea could be made to work in her own home because after five years of being married she was still under orders to never wear panties in the house so that her husband could feel her up whenever the whim took him. Besides that, she went on, she doubted if he could ever get to go to sleep again if his left hand wasn’t cupping her left breast and, come to think on it, maybe she, herself, wouldn’t be able to go to sleep either without it being there.
Meg said that she entirely agreed with Karen and, besides that, Deirdre should consider the well known fact that men get married in the first place mainly so as to have access to all the sex that they want whenever they want it. And so, given that, if wives were to start putting limitations on it then they’ll look around for a woman who is more obliging or, whether for better or worse than that, they’ll just find a woman who is agreeable, or who will take payment, to let him visit when he can’t get it at home.
It was then Laurie’s turn to comment on the proposal and she said that she thought that what both Karen and Meg had said was true and that having had two husbands herself she was the most qualified one there to speak on the subject.
She looked very grave as she took one of Deirdre’s hands, to hold her attention, and then she said, “Deirdre, dear. I was a bit flippant with you the other day when you asked me for help and I’m sorry about that and I’m going to be brutally frank now because what you are about to decide is enormously important for you.”
She told them that for her the bloom had gone off it all after about a year of having to be ready to accept her first husband at all times but she had said nothing and had put up with it for around another year after that.
Then there came a night when she’d just gotten to sleep after a hard day at work, and after, of course, having done the usual chores at home, when he woke her up by squeezing her breast while at the same time prodding at her ass with his dick. She said that she was so mad, when she’d woken up enough to take in the situation, that she pushed his hand away and moved her body away from him and she shouted at him that he was an uncaring, selfish brute and that he’d get no action from her that night and maybe not for the rest of that week either!
She told them that if he’d said something, anything, or had made a conciliatory gesture it all might have been smoothed out right then but he didn’t. He got out of bed and took down a blanket from the shelf in the closet and he went away to sleep on the couch in the living room.
Her anger subsided slowly, she told them, but, even though she was tired out, she didn’t get much sleep that night. She lay there and wondered how serious it was and whether or not he’d be gone forever when she woke up in the morning or would she just get the silent treatment and being the woman – the receptor – have to beg for forgiveness and then have to be troublingly over-nice to him for months? As the night wore on she got to feel very low and she did some crying as she thought about what her life would be like if he did leave her.
“Well, it turned out to be the ‘silent treatment’ and it was a full week before he was civil to me again and he came back to my bed that same night which proves something, I guess, but whatever it is I’m pretty sure that it’s not in the favor of us women.
“When he got on top of me, I hurried with reaching my hand down to guide him and he started moving but I soon realized that something was terribly wrong and after a few seconds I figured out what it was. His whole body was being held away from mine by his taking its upper weight on his elbows and his lower body’s weight with his knees and so the result was that the only contact we had was his penis!”
She told them that she’d hated the feeling and she’d put her ankles up onto his hips as if she wanted to help him to penetrate her further, as usual, but what she really wanted to get to feel his body against hers but he then reached back with one hand at a time and pulled her ankles away. She reached her arms up and grabbed his shoulders to try to pull him down against her breasts but he immediately stopped moving and didn’t start again until she’d dropped her arms back down.
She said, to an audience that was hardly breathing so as to keep from interrupting her because this was good stuff and Laurie had never given them any details about the reason for her divorce before, that it had felt to her as if they were two robots and one of them hadn’t yet mastered the reproduction chapter in the manual that they’d been issued.
She said that because of the strangeness of his action there was zero indication for her that he was close to finishing and she was astounded when she felt his ejaculate hit her diaphragm like a stream of bullets. By hovering over her like that he’d concealed the signs that she’d come to know so well and, also, she didn’t get a chance to wiggle her ass for him nor to do lots of other intimate, sharing things that he’d always loved her to do and that had made him shout out loud with pleasure as how she was the best lover in the world and the volume of his approbation had always been directly proportional to her efforts. She couldn’t remember not having done those things for him since well before they’d gotten married and consequently she didn’t get the consolation of knowing that she’d played a small but vital part in the proceedings.
Nor was it just a one time thing, she told them, and every time that it happened she couldn’t quite believe that it was over, even when it had become obvious that it was, because she hadn’t gotten to induce nor to engineer his shouts of approbation which had often been the only guaranteed pleasure that she got from the entire act.
Every time that he lifted off her, he said, chillingly, “Thank you.” and then he turned away and went to sleep.
She said that that, “Thank you” of his, as if to a servant, had always hit her like a blow from a baseball bat and she began to get to know from it that in future he’d only make love (“Hah! Love!”) to her when he had to do it and that while he might learn to converse civilly with her again she doubted if he would ever let himself re-learn how to enjoy having thrashing, all in all out, pounding sex with her again. From that, remembering how much he’d always loved to get to lose himself, to positively wallow in her, she gave her chances of staying married to him as slim indeed.
She told them that sure enough, after a few months of that behavior, he came at her with, “I’m sorry but I’ve found someone else and I want a divorce.”
She told them that she’d learned her lesson and now, when her second husband wakes her up for sex, she always whoops as if with pleasure and she accepts him at once without complaining and then she works hard to please him even while guessing that all he wants her to do is to lie still for him.
Meg asked her what did she do to avoid soreness seeing that she’d said that she opened up for him at once after being woken up and she answered that she always keeps a small tube of cream in her nightgown pocket and when he wakes her up she clamps her mouth shut and turns onto her back for him and pulls her nightgown up and, because he always insists on taking her panties down, while he’s doing that she has just enough time to be able locate the tube and take its cap off and then squeeze out some cream onto her right hand. Then, when he’s in position, she reaches down with her left hand to guide him, as always, but she diverts it slightly off line until she’s been able to lubricate herself. “My deceitfulness does nothing for my wounded Id, of course,” she said, “but at least it keeps me from getting sore which would probably mean that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep when he’s finished without going to the bathroom to try to ease the pain and doing that always ends any hope of my going back to sleep for at least an hour.”
She said that as she patiently lies there and endures the battering, and encourages him to go at it even harder by whispering encouragement in his ear, she always tells herself to remember to not to let the words, “Thank you.” come out of her mouth after he’s delivered and has deigned to get off her – she didn’t have to explain to any of them that a woman can say, “Thank you,” with impunity because when she’s been lying under the man, and maybe having done some writhing to increase his pleasure, she is very clearly being subjected to his will and the irony present always negates the sting – because she couldn’t risk it knowing that there is no way she can sound sincere about offering any thanks at all, except maybe, for his not having taken a minute longer than he did!
Soon it got to be time for them all to go back to work and when Deirdre was in her office with the door closed, after she’d told her assistant, “No calls,” she examined her options as she had promised herself she would when they were all portioning up the lunch bill.
The very thought of divorce made her cringe because every day, when they were vertical and for a while after they got to be horizontal, she saw in her husband the nice attributes that had made her fall in love with him in the first place and, also on a daily basis, he said and did a dozen little things for her regularly that showed that he still loved her too.
So what to do?
Clearly all the bad, bordering on cruel, things that he did were at the direct behest of, ‘La Bestia de la Noche,’ as she’d once heard a Puerto Rican fellow student call the male member, and so she told herself to try to come up with some method to weaken its power over him.
Limiting his access to her was out of the question – in fact it was counter-productive – as was refusing to go along with his special whims because she liked most of what he’d come up with already and was looking forward to being introduced to more of the same. Also, not co-operating with him by just lying there and refusing to writhe her hips and wriggle her ass and manipulate her internal muscles, as called for, would be cruel and unnatural behavior on her part and, besides which, as Laurie had discovered the hard way, no man could be expected to put up with that treatment for long even if he loved his wife to distraction.
She kept pondering and eventually mused on the central idea that if she could lessen the allure of, ‘The Gateway To The world,’ or rather, her, ‘Gateway To The world,’ that would do the trick admirably and it was by repeating that word, ‘Gateway,’ that she cottoned on to what proved out to be what she’d been searching for.
Clearly, up to then he’d been thinking of her vagina as being only, ‘The Entrance To The World Of Pleasure,’ but all gateways – speaking analogously – are there to allow traffic in both directions and if the gateway in question – her gateway, speaking personally – was used to allow the exit of something that was monumentally more significant than a myriad entrances on the pursuit of transient pleasure then – !
Purely coincidentally – and how much of a favorable omen was that, she wondered? – she had a note on her ‘Things To Do’ I-Pad App that had worked its way to the top by attrition and it was a reminder to purchase more B C Pills before a date that was by then only two days away. She deleted that and breathed a deep sigh of relief as she, knowing that it was time to get back to business, programmed her brain to tuck her admiral solution away for later consideration and self-congratulation, but then, after another ‘run through’ of all that she’d heard at lunchtime, she typed in two new questions to be directed at Laurie and then she put the instrument away and walked over to open her office door and she happily called to her assistant that she should, “Bring it all on, Jennie dear. I’m rarin’ to go.”
Her two questions were – “Where can I buy a nightgown that comes with a pocket in it?” and, “What is a ‘woman’s little helper.’ ”