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                                                                   ROY GARDE.

           Even when they were both truly committed to sharing their lives and had gotten formally engaged Gary Trainer knew very well that even a little friendly outside-the-blouse breast fondling – no matter about exploring warm, secret parts – wouldn’t be countenanced for a minute by his fiancé Janet Thompson. He’d known since just after he’d met her that she thought that even innocuous petting sessions, where only kissing took place, should be limited to maybe a minute or two every day and then only to acknowledge and mark the fact that two people felt compatible. She’d always answered his hints about wanting more by saying that anything beyond that was just “Indefensible behavior by immature couples seeking instant gratification without a thought about the possible consequences nor about dignity and responsibility and nothing at all about the efficacies that are found only within the legal protection and the firm commitment that marriage commands and entails.” After being hit with that he restrained himself and stuck to kissing and being kissed.

        On the morning of her marriage day she woke up early and as she was lying there, going over countless logistical and catering details in her mind yet again, she suddenly realized that, more importantly by far, she’d better not wait another minute before getting some answers from her mother else she might never get another chance to ask her, or anyone else, about some of the down to earth, have-to-be-followed rules of man/woman couplings.

       She had been told by friends, when she was about nine years old, what boys always wanted to look at and touch in the bushes, or in any private or semi-private place, and she saw to it that nothing of the kind ever got even close to happening to her and, a few years later when it got to be, unequivocally, time for her mother to give her the talk, she learned what her far-in-the-future husband would want to do to her to make a baby and it appalled her and she didn’t believe it was possible and, anyway, it was far too gross to even contemplate and she held on to that view until the unavoidable mass of evidence that had come at her from all sides, over time, forced her to reluctantly accept that it was indeed true. She wouldn’t allow herself to conjecture as to what her role would actually entail.

       Her mother got up from her bed reluctantly, after hearing what her daughter wanted, and she took her down to the kitchen and made tea. She told her that the best way for her to get through the coming ordeal was by forgetting about the phrases, ‘sharing our love,’ and even, ‘making love,’ and concentrate on the phrase, ‘giving yourself.’

       “That’s what you have to keep in the front of your mind from the minute that the door to your hotel room gets its, ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign put up and is then closed and locked and chained. Give yourself to him. Literally. Do whatever he wants you to do and accept it No Matter How Gross Or How Strange It May Seem. It’s a given that men are animals when it comes to sex but we’re the same species – right? – even though, of course, we’ve evolved way more than they have. He’ll necessarily be brutal and will hurt you the first few times but after a few nights that will ease off and then you’ll get some pleasure from it too so be brave about it in the beginning. Yes, I know, dear. It’s very difficult to accept that it has to be that way but every woman on earth has to go through the same thing and there is no way around it so it’s best to resign yourself to it.

“On every honeymoon that ever was and ever will be the poor bride always has to come to terms with the fact that in the bedroom, for as long as the honeymoon lasts, her gender is very much her destiny and that starting right then her role is to accept domination – along with penetration – times without number, alas. Our equal rights go out the window the moment that we take our clothes off and lie down willingly for a man.”

       “Oh, Mom! That’s just terrible! I just can’t believe it – uh, but you did say, didn’t you, that it’s only for the two weeks that the honeymoon lasts? Yes? Surely I don’t have to let him do that horrible thing to me whenever he wants to forever?”

       “My word! Of course not, dear. What a thing to ask! We women make the rules as soon as things get back to normal and we’ve moved into our own home. I can’t advise you on what your rules should be because all men are different and so only you will be able to decide what’s the minimum that will be accepted as fair, or rather, livable with, by your Gary. Twice a week is a good guideline to aim for I think. Say, Sunday morning when he can take his time and it will be drawn out and you’ll get some pleasure too and maybe again on Wednesday nights because he probably won’t be able to wait much longer than that. Also, you can let him do it at other times as a reward when he’s done something nice for you and on his and your birthdays and at Christmas, and like that. But, of course, all of that scheduling is possible only until the children start coming. After that you’ll just have to fit it in somehow when he gets insistent and adamant about ‘getting some’ as they call it so grossly.”

“Well, before we have babies can I just say, “No.” at other times outside of the established schedule and he’ll accept that? He’ll stop?”

“No, dear. You can never say, ‘No.’ Always try to say something that’s not too negative but that is still decisive. Like, ‘Not tonight dear. I’ve got a headache’ or, ‘I don’t feel like it right now and you don’t want to do it without my cooperation, do you?’ and if you say that then remember to turn away from him quickly because – although I know it’s hard to believe – if you give him time to think and answer he’ll say ‘Yes.’ You see?”

“Yes, I guess so. Oh, Mom! I know that I have to let it happen but I sure wish I didn’t. I’m petrified. Were you that way with Dad on your honeymoon?”

“Of course, but what I just told you got me through it. Were you listening? I did what my own mother told me to do – ‘Give yourself to him.’ She also said that it would be best for me if I made up my mind that because I had to go through with it I might as well go all the way while I was at it. I was to not only let him use me however he wanted I should also try to cooperate. She said, wisely, that once the honeymoon was over I would be able to decide what goes on, and if it goes on, at home but he has to get his own way those first days and nights because it’s so fundamental that it’s very important for him to not have any control problems at the beginning.

“Now then. What else, dear?”

“Mom! We haven’t even started with the hard things yet. Give me all the details from when the door closes behind us tonight and after that.”

“Well really! Everything? Well, all right, you’ve been so sheltered that I suppose I have to. So. The door closes. You turn to him and – “ . . . . . . . . .

 When she’d heard what being a wife to a man entails Janet went back to her room for a private crying session and to think about it all and she wished, fervently, that her mother could accompany her on the honeymoon or at least be standing-by on the phone.

 When they got into their hotel room that night she tried to keep the rules that she’d been given ready to mind and she started by not going into the bathroom to get undressed, like they did in the movies – “Because, God forbid, he might get impatient and go in there after you and try to get at you right there and then. Men are pigs when they’re in full-out rut and, besides that, they don’t have any patience with the niceties of hygiene” – so instead, after offering up her face for a reassuring kiss, she stepped back and, keeping her eyes on the carpet, she started undoing the buttons on her dress.

                Gary stood where he was and stared at her and his face got red and his eyes took on a strange, needy, glassy look. She remembered that it was advisable to turn to let him undo her bra and let him slip down her panties and that she was to then stand still for as long as it took to let him do all of the neck kissing and the reverential all-over caressing that he wanted to.

Also as advised, she didn’t ask that the light be switched off when she’d lowered herself onto the bed after he’d finally let go of her so as to be able to tear his own clothes off.

There had been no advice about not looking at him as he undressed and she wished that there had been when she saw the ominous bulge that was in his underpants. When he’d dropped those to the floor he turned and came towards her and his huge, ugly, penis was wavering back and fore and up and down but it never changed its general direction, which was towards her, nor its air of determined intent which seemed to increase in intensity with his every step.

She followed the rule about having to drop all modesty by not asking that the sheet be pulled over them when he had joined her on the bed although she longed to cover her breasts and loins from the light and, more especially, from his delighted but strange and lustful gaze. As she waited for him to close with her she felt weak and quivery inside and distressed too because she got the distinct feeling that she was now merely his property and was there solely to be exploited for pleasures of the flesh.

His pleasures and her flesh.

She lost count of the number of times that she’d had to accommodate him over the first week of their honeymoon and each time she’d hoped, in vain mostly, that this would be the one that would bring her some of the much advertised pleasure.

Overall it was all so new to her that everything and thus nothing that he did to her was overly surprising. She made herself accept the fact that they were a man and a woman in bed together and he was doing what all men do to women and she was having done to her what all women have done to them.

The last three days were extraordinarily earthy for both of them as her inhibitions had, perforce, mostly ebbed away by then and, consequently, she acquiesced fully every time that he wanted to set her up for one of the alarmingly contorted, erotic positions that they’d read about that afternoon at pool side, or on the beach, in the book that his eldest brother had loaned him.

Some of the positions were fun to do and a few of them gave her some pleasure but, even so, she’d begun to think that there had to be a limit on what a man and a woman can do and on their last night at the hotel she found that limit and it stifled any thoughts that she might have been beginning to harbor about continuing to get more of that fun by following the have-it-whenever-he-wants-it-and-in-anyway-that-he-wants-it life style when they got back home.

It was around three in the morning, they were scheduled for an early call to catch their plane home but, as always, sleeping wasn’t a part of the package as far as he was concerned, and he’d found a new way to get at her with his tongue while she was lying on her stomach

She liked it and when she’d recovered from the orgasm that it gave her she said, “Wow, Gary, what a lot of ways there are to do it, right?”

He answered in a strange voice, “True, but there is still one way that we haven’t tried. Are you game?”

“Of course. What is it?”


“What do you mean, ‘Here’?”

“Here.” With that he fingered her anus.

She had no idea what he meant because it had never ever occurred to her that particular ‘Here’ could be anything other than an exit so she said, dubiously and gamely and defeatedly, “Well, all right I suppose. If you want to. ”

She’d said it because she was confused and didn’t want to be thought to be naïve anymore seeing that two whole weeks of lovemaking should have made her into being a competent practitioner and a knowing wife already but, as soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt his penis take on several more degrees of hardness and he then he got off her and said that she wasn’t to move and he went to the bathroom for a finger full of face cream which he applied to himself and then he went back to her and he climbed onto her and he lifted himself up to establish position and line of fire and then he pushed himself into her.

She had made no attempt to clench her buttocks to stop him because even after feeling something cold down there she didn’t for a second entertain the idea that it was even remotely possible that any man in his right mind would want to penetrate her there but he was confident that her compliance up to then meant that he had the go ahead and so he gathered his forces and then gave her a sustained, savage thrust and when the head of it was fairly in he drove on in and continued through her protests, and her screams, until he was done.

He tried hard to explain to her afterwards that he hadn’t been able to stop once started because of the intense pleasure that he got that had totally swamped his control but he might just as well have explained his position to the wall because she’d have none of it nor of him.

The rest of that night and the packing in the morning and their ride in the taxi and the plane ride home passed in stony silence and, in the plane, she commandeered his pillow and added it to own and she sat on both to try to ease her discomfort and to show her anger with him in yet another way.

Back home, her number one advisor had to admit that what had happened to her on the last night in the hotel was vile, “But surely dear, it shouldn’t be allowed to become marriage ending, right? If he promises to never do it again you should seriously think about forgiving him.”

She advised slow thawing and then moving on to allowing conjugal relationships to recommence after perhaps a week’s detente and to never mention what had happened ever again or, at least, not until really big guns were needed for use against him for some reason in the future.

She saw that her words clearly didn’t have their intended effect because her daughter simply looked at her blankly and in disbelief. Because of that she decided that it was serious enough to warrant a drastic confession.

“Well dear, seeing that we are both women now I can tell you things that I couldn’t before. Doing it that way has become an acceptable alternative just about every- where these days. Your father and I used to do it often. Oh, now, don’t look at me like that. Do you think that we weren’t young and libido driven at one time too?

“Sure, it wasn’t on our honeymoon like it was for you and I’m surprised that Gary wanted to experiment so drastically this early.

“Well, what happened was your Uncle Fred loaned your father a book called – uh – something like, ‘Experiments Between The Sheets.’ when we’d been married for about a year. Well, when we’d tried most of the other positions that were in it we saw that there was a chapter on ‘Anal Sex’ and we decided that we should at least try it.

“We’d both drunk a lot of Martinis for a reason that I forget now and we were both giggling as we followed the instructions in the book and by carrying out the preliminary details it took some of my apprehension away and made it seem to be mainly a bit of an adventure. I remember that it said, comfortingly, that it was common practice everywhere in the world and that a high percentage of the women who try it like doing it that way.

“Well, I did what the book said about relaxing and pushing back at the right time but he still had to use a whole lot of force to get inside me and when he’d done so I thought that I was going to be split in two! I told him to stop just like you did and, just like Gary, he didn’t and he told me afterwards that he couldn’t have stopped to save his life.

“Afterwards he could barely get up enough strength to get off me and I had to go and get soap and water and a towel to clean him up. Ugh! I’ll never forget having to do that. Anyway, he was so exhausted that I got tired of waiting to get to protest about it to him so I simply went and slept in the guest room but in the morning I told him that that had been the first and the last time that we were going to do it that way and he said that he agreed because although it had been mindblowingly exciting for him his penis had shrunk to the size of a strawberry and he didn’t think that he’d want to have any sex of any kind at all for about a month and that that was far too high a price to pay!

“Well, since then we only do it that way when we want to exploit the satiating aspect of it when, for instance, he has to go away on a business trip. You see?”

Janet couldn’t say a word through shock. She had never thought of her parents actually having sex, except to procreate, no matter about ‘already having tried nearly everything’ that was listed in a sex manual. A kinky sex manual, at that.

Her mother took the chance to opine that in Janet’s case because it had happened without her pre-knowledge of what the act entailed, and thus not being able to give informed consent, Gary had to accept all of the blame and so this might well be a good time to inaugurate ground rules as to her availability to him from then on.

Janet stopped taking the pill, again on the advice of the all knowing one, because by doing so it would force Gary to use condoms and that, in itself, would be a frequent reminder to him of his transgression and would also, incidentally, make things considerably less messy for her.

Poor Gary tried to live within the list of restrictions and controls that he’d been handed but through it all he couldn’t stop from frequently recalling that the act that had caused him to go through all of this turmoil had been easily the most exciting, and the most satisfying, single act of his entire life.

The fact that it had drawn so much out of him that his libido hadn’t recovered for days was the only thing that helped him through his cut-off period, which lasted for five long, cold, nights and days.

Gary held a regular nine-to-five job at an engineering consulting firm while Janet worked at home as a freelance. She covered and serviced a niche that she had discovered, and had subsequently opened up, in medical billing systems and consequentially she could arrange her schedule to be able to do household chores whenever it suited her and could do her grocery shopping in the relatively uncrowded midweek.

Six months after they’d moved into their new home she was waiting in the cashier’s line of her local supermarket, skimming through a gossip magazine, when she heard, “Mommy. Mommy,” extraordinarily close by and so she looked down and saw the face of an adorable two-or-three-year-old child who was pulling at her mother’s skirt and calling for attention. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy can we go home soon? My legs don’t want to stand up anymore.”

Janet’s heart stopped and then flipped and then began to thump instead of just beat.

She found it difficult to control herself enough to get through the mundane routine of unloading her groceries out of her cart and then paying for them and then getting the bags to her car and driving home and carrying them inside but the minute that she’d done all of that she got on the phone to Gary and told him that he was not to even think of staying at work late that night and was to come home the second that he could get away.

And then she called her mother.

Gary had heard that certain tone in her voice before, but not lately, and so as soon as he’d put the phone down he stood up and he made up a feeble excuse for the receptionist and he gave no thought at all about the lameness of it as he passed her on his way to the door.

When he’d let himself into his house he found Janet waiting for him in the hallway and she was dressed in a long, flimsy robe and he knew that she had nothing on underneath it because he could see her breasts and belly move around freely with no control. He moved to kiss her cheek but she’d have none of that and she turned her face quickly so that his kiss landed full on her lips which were warm and wet and after the first contact she parted them nicely for him. All of which was very far from being her normal greeting.

She asked him to sit on the living room sofa and then she brought him a half dozen oysters on the half shell and a glass of Chablis and she waited until he’d finished them and then she told him that there would be T-bone steaks for dinner, “but that will be later so look at what I’ve got for you right now.”

She then helped her robe to fall open.

He followed her up the stairs and a half way up she provocatively lifted the rear half of her robe up as an invitation to him to do some ass-grabbing which was so unexpected that it made him gasp and nearly miss a step and on hearing that she dropped it again at once because she certainly didn’t want him to get injured right then.

She wasn’t looking for loving she was looking for semen and semen she got. It was delivered fresh from the source of its manufacture and was full of the requisite ‘darling wiggling sperm’ that her mother, delighted with the news, had mentioned on the phone. She’d cheered her on and had advised her that while quality was the thing to strive for she should go for quantity too, to be sure, and so she, Janet, brought back to mind the many things that they’d tried on their honeymoon and she was sure that, by doing so, she’d get to be positively swamped with the stuff again only this time it would be welcomed and cherished and wouldn’t be a distressingly messy, smelly substance that had to be dealt with by repeated douching or by gargling.

They had to modify their techniques considerably because her number one advisor had told her that while all of his emissions had to be transferred when they were in the conventional position every one of them had to be followed by at least ten minutes of stillness with a pillow under her hips and with her ankles up on his hips through all of that time. Also, “The ‘plug’ is to be allowed o slip out only after a thorough and vigorous milking by you has drained it completely.”

Her mother had also said that she knew that that was the way to succeed from what she’d had to do to get pregnant – she didn’t have to point out that it had been successful for her – but she had read another article since then with facts in it that she didn’t agree with but she thought that her daughter should be able to make her own mind up about and for that reason she’d saved it. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her about it directly so she was going to take it to her husband’s office and then fax it to her from there.

The article said that success in getting the maximum number of spermatozoa to complete their journey depends, in large part, on the woman in that the quantity of sperm that is delivered to the cervix, and thus able to begin to fight its way through the not-at-all-accommodating mucus in there on the way to the uterus, has been demonstrated to be directly related to how much enthusiasm she’d employed, hopefully in the pursuit of getting more pleasure for herself, in the time that led up to receiving the ejaculate and that the reason for it was that if the woman has an orgasm closely linked in time to her husband’s then the beginning of her cervix responds by actually dipping into the pool of sperm that’s in her vagina and by doing so greatly aids each spermatozoa to get a better start on its journey.

Janet was so convinced by what she read in the article, along with being sure that her mother knew what she was talking about as to the logistics, that over the next few months she didn’t bother with keeping tabs on her menstrual cycles nor with taking her temperature to find out what were the optimum times for fluid transfer nor any other of the tricks that women employ who are having difficulty with becoming pregnant. Instead of that she concentrated on arranging to receive injections as often as was humanly possible and, whenever possible, when she was having an orgasm of her own.  She’d also reasoned, with absolutely no scientific back up, that by getting sperm delivered regularly it would, maybe, ensure that there would be, ahead of each succeeding wave, pioneer pathfinders who would have made tracks and thus left markers.

Gary soon learned that all that he had to do to be allowed to try anything at all with her – before they got into the conventional position for the handing over of custody of the couple of million animalitoes that he had hurriedly assembled – was to do a few of her favorite things that always brought her to the edge – and kept her there – so that then she’d know that his final conventional  penetration would almost assuredly tip her over it. That allowed him to justify anything that he did by saying, and showing, that it had made him extra hard and thus able to deliver his offering further in to her and thus more effectively and, sure enough, she would cheer him on the next time that he wanted to do it or something similar.

From the beginning of her new found need he’d had to learn to hold still for her, after jetting into her, to give her time to use a whole lot of energy to get to be sure that he wasn’t holding a few hundred thousand spermatozoon back for his own use. Of course, all that he wanted to do at that moment was to loll on top of her and melt down in contentment and what she did to him, actively milking him dry, hurt a little because it felt unnatural, but the wonder of what he’d been allowed to do to her earlier would still be with him and for that, and for knowing that she was going to let him do it again soon, and also let him keep experimenting, she could have demanded, and got, just about anything from him.

At first she had trepidations about doing energetic sixty-nine with him because she couldn’t be sure that he’d be wary enough and adroit enough to not let his precious seed become merely a protein snack for her but after a few highly tentative tries she learned the signs and she got to know before he did when it was time for him to change his position a hundred and eighty degrees.

Up until then he’d only had anal sex with her that one time on their honeymoon when he’d tricked her into letting him do it – he’d shudder whenever he thought about what would have happened to their marriage and to his life if he’d tried it earlier than the last night of their honeymoon – but nowadays she encouraged him to do it that way after he’d told her that partial entry made him so excited that, after withdrawing and getting rid of the condom, he would deliver semen both further in and under a lot more pressure.

There remained only one thing that bothered him at that idyllic time and he was able to think up a clever way to deal with it. She’d get naked for him every night without protest and she’d respond enthusiastically to all of his approaches but afterwards she’d insist on pulling on her panties and her pajamas and that really bothered him because he liked to do spontaneous cupping and cuddling through the night.

           Well, one day he read an ad in an interior design magazine that promoted special sheets. It showed – what else? – a beautiful woman lolling in a bed and the text ranted on about, ‘600 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets whose natural fibers feel cool in the summer and cozy in the winter.’ He saw its potential at once and he so scanned it into his computer at work and then he activated it and because he couldn’t find an exact font match he jazzed up what he’d written out earlier and then he inserted it in italics . . . ‘Everyone who uses them should do so while naked and especially women because their skin is more sensitive and so the effects are multiplied for them which enhances and intensifies their responses and, by extension, that of their partners too.’ He then printed it out in black and white.

When he showed it to her she was sold on the sheets instantly and she went into town and bought some the next day and ever since then he’d been able to get a whole of high quality cuddling time in.

Being allowed to indulge himself at will, and to wallow in sensuality, was all that was needed to keep him as contented as a squirrel in September who had the only nest in an oak tree but she couldn’t afford to join him in his carefree state because she had to stay aware to police him and she could only totally let herself go, and get into the moment, when what he was doing to her couldn’t possibly result in the waste of his precious fluids.

Because of what she’d read in the fax from her mother, which called for her being put in a state of bliss early on, it was much easier for her to endure whatever came at her but she was mostly aided by the fact that always in the front of her mind was her goal of having her own child pulling at her skirt and looking vertically upwards and crying for attention with, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.”

The day after she realized that she was one day late she hurried to her doctor and after getting his corroboration she called her mother in triumph and later she called Gary and gave him the good news too.

He didn’t fully understand why he felt a sense of trepidation after putting the telephone down but he soon found out why his feeling had been prescient.

The minute that he kissed his wife when he got home that night he was pretty sure that he was effectively cut off. Not just cut off from the intricate maneuvers that he delighted in and had gotten accustomed to having but from all contact with her body except for maybe being allowed to stroke her belly while crooning something silly.

Later that night, in bed, he got confirmation of his fears when he reached over to cup her right breast, to call her to her duty, only to have his hand pushed away brusquely and then hear her say, “Don’t you understand the implications of what I told you earlier? I’m pregnant already so there’s no need for us to have more sex.”

He got up and put the light on and then went around to her side and sat on the bed there. He pulled at her shoulders to bring her face into view and asked, with incredulity in his voice, “You can’t be serious! No more sex? For nine whole months? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

She’d known that he was going to be difficult about accepting what, to her, was quite obviously the only course to take and so she and her advisor had made up a statement for her to use to attempt to knock some sense into him.

“Mother said, and I agree with her, that putting more of your fluid into the tiny baby’s space will crowd it and confuse it and, besides that, pounding away on me might jolt it out of place. So, yes. I’m sorry but there can be no more sexual activity between us until after the baby is born. Oh, while we’re on the subject, you should know that the ban will continue for at least three months after the birth to give me a chance to recover properly.”

He felt helpless in the face of such monumentally ill-conceived logic but when he’d recovered enough to be able to plead his case he knew, at the same time, that it was hopeless in that she had made up her mind and that was that.

When he’d done whining she said, “I know I’m right in this but please tell me why do you want to risk harming our baby just to have sex? Anyway, it’s not for ever is it? It’s just for one short year.”

After that he had to give up and he went back around to his side of the bed.

His erection had gone away from shock but it soon came back because it had gotten used to being given lots of lovely action and wanted more of it right then.

He got very little sleep until he determined that obviously this huge injustice had to be rectified – he loved her ‘It’s just for one short year’ – and if facts and logic couldn’t manage it then master planning – employing a little trickery maybe as in the successful 300-thread-count-sheet scam – would have to be employed.

All that he could come up with right then was to decide to get onto the internet and download relevant medical advisory pamphlets and, on top of that, he figured that for back up he’d get her family doctor and her gynecologist to call her with reassurances.

The next morning, after contacting her medical advisors and being told that they’d speak to her “but . . .” he got started on a whole lot of Google searches at work and he continued with them at home on the weekends.

He’d never bothered to get to be adept at using the internet to search out non-technical items and so every time that he thought up another general heading, like, “fertility” he’d get told that there were 38,743 addresses for him. He’d fight to whittle that number down but there’d still be around 300 of them that he had to plough through one at a time.

His computer at work was a recent model and so when he used it and had looked at ten or so of the addresses that were ‘pertinent’ a window would drop that said that because he’d rejected the last ten it had eliminated two hundred odd more for him as not being what he needed and he welcomed that but it still left him a hundred or so to read.

He had once rescued an old belt-driven vacuum cleaner from a neighbor’s trash pile and he’d used Google to search for information on it as a possible collector’s item. He’d gone through the same procedure and had almost given up when at the tail end of what had been maybe the hundredth offering of totally useless facts and information he came on the sentence, “One and a half million units of this model were shipped from the factories in the 1930’s so if the one that you have is not in its original unopened factory box then its only value is for replacement parts.” He’d been disappointed, and relieved, when he read that and on the night before the next garbage collection, when it had gotten dark, he’d put the vacuum cleaner out on the curb again for pick up.

Because of that experience he read nearly every word of all of the addresses that were available to him in his new, more urgent, search. His diligence paid off when he came upon, “ . . little research has been done on the subject of whether or not added injections of semen are detrimental or beneficial to the fetus of either gender of any species in the matter of hormone balance or enhancement. Since the females of most species of mammals, other than Homo sapiens, effectively shut off all possibility of being given supernumerary injections of semen after conception has been achieved the research in this field is necessarily limited due to its being almost certainly compromised by necessarily having to use artificial insemination to supply subsequent injections of sperm at specifically predetermined intervals.”

He down loaded the article’s otherwise useless five closely written pages for further studying but he knew that that paragraph was pure gold on its own.

Surely, his thinking went, it was legitimate to postulate that putting more, hopefully a whole lot more, semen into his wife’s system would be beneficial to the child-to-be forming inside her because having all of those extra minerals and hormones and enzymes, and whatever, at hand as it were, in her blood stream would mean that the fetus couldn’t possibly be deprived of any of the essentials that it might well need. Seeing that she’d put vaginal insertion of said fluids firmly out of the question, because of possible physical damage to the fetus, he would, after having educated her into its importance, volunteer to donate those essential and extra ingredients using various other methods.

He doctored the cogent paragraph, as he’d done with the thread-count article, and then inserted it back into the article so that it kept its all important sources and references and then he printed it out. He didn’t think that what he’d done was unfair because in his research he’d discovered absolutely zero evidence to the contrary of his added premise and indeed one snippet that he’d noted somewhere else said that, ‘. . while eating heart and liver and other animal organs couldn’t be proven to be beneficial to the consumer’s own heart and liver, etc. their consumption clearly guaranteed that the essential elements were now in the consumer’s system.’

That night, after dinner, he read the relevant paragraph to her – “ . . research on the subject has shown that added, extra-numerary, injections of semen into the female’s blood stream are clearly beneficial to the male/female fetus of any species in the matter of hormone balance and enhancement and in enzyme availability too. However, welcome as that result undoubtedly is, it should be noted that because only Homo sapien females willingly remain receptive to supernumerary injections of semen once impregnated the research had to be carried out on other species using artificial insemination injections and was therefore possibly compromised.”

When he’d finished reading it out to her he saw that she was exhilarated and eager to read it for herself and after doing so she accepted it at once as so patently and obviously correct that it didn’t enter her mind to even check it out with her main advisor and so, starting right then, she willingly accepted donations of semen from him into any and all of her orifices with the one proviso that whatever he was at, in his efforts to get it done, didn’t entail any thumping of her belly.

After he’d brought his wife and son home from the hospital her mother stayed at their house to help out but after three days she both had to and wanted to return to her own home. She well knew that her husband couldn’t look after himself properly even though she’d left him clearly labeled and dated prepared dishes and, besides that, she badly needed to get some sleep. It also turned out that there was another, even more pressing reason that made her want to go home but he didn’t find out about it until the day before her planned departure.

It was a Sunday and he heard her get on the phone to her husband twice in the afternoon and three times in the evening and the gist of each call was that he was to be sure that he didn’t eat any solid food from noon on because they were going for their quarterly ‘Upper Colon Irrigation’ treatment the next day when she got home.

          Their appointment was for two o’clock ‘your time’ and her husband was to meet her at the airport – they’d already arranged for him, Gary, to come home at around noon ‘our time’ to drive her to La Guardia – and they’d go to their appointment directly from there.

Gary had heard his mother-in-law go on about the merits of that kind of therapy several times over the previous months and he’d read a glossy brochure that she’d given him but he’d dismissed it out of hand – the fact is that, as any one who’s suffered through a colonoscopy knows, there are many freely available, and cheap, liquids and pills that can be bought OTC that thoroughly clean our systems out like new from top to bottom – but then, after her last call home just before she went up to bed, he felt something click in his brain and a splendid solution to his problem came to him.

           He went looking for the brochure and when he opened it he was delighted to find that it had a loose promotional sheet in it that proclaimed, “This month only – our popular IMAE (Initial Mild Anesthetic Enema) will be FREE to new members.” It went on to explain about it being their usual practice to administer an innocuous preliminary enema that, ‘after a five-minute détente, calms any unnecessary but understandable nervousness that our clients might have.’

          He took the insert to work with him and scanned it into his computer and then he activated it and deleted a quarter page ad about toiletries and then he typed in a spiel about the ‘recently discovered efficacy of using the extraordinary ability that our colons have for hydrating us after having water introduced into it as an enema when, for some reason, that water can’t be administered orally. ‘ALSO,’ it went on, ‘by obvious extension, it is getting to be an increasingly popular non-invasive method of passing on to our blood, and our body’s systems and tissues, beneficial fluids as required.”

           He printed it out and put it back inside the brochure and took it with him when he left the office in time to get his chauffeuring job done – he couldn’t keep from humming happily the whole time because it was easily the most welcome chore that he was ever asked to do – and when he was waiting in his living room for his passenger to come down he saw that Janet was getting things together before settling down to feed the baby – she kept records of his weight before and after; and times at each breast; and, well, lots of statistics in that vein – and so he craftily moved the magazines that she liked to read, while the baby was getting on with it, just out of arms reach and he put the brochure with the insert that he’d ‘doctored’ – if you will – close to her chair.

          He waited until her mother had kissed her goodbye and then, before following her out to the driveway, he mentioned, as casually as pie to Janet, how interesting he’d found the details about High Colonic Irrigation were and that she really should try to read it for herself, “when you get the chance.”

 Like all first time mothers Janet lavished attention on her baby, who’s crib was alongside her bed, and it only had to sniff or cough and she’d be there, crowding it, to check for a reason.

Gary slept in the spare room because it didn’t make sense for both of them to get woken up on what seemed to be every other hour through the night and, besides that, she was the one who had breasts. They both kept their doors open just in case she’d need his help with something.

 Even before he’d taken her to the hospital to give birth he’d had a plan worked out to get to avoid being cut off from access to his wife’s body, as she’d threatened, for an unconscionable three whole months after it. By then he was so content with having all of the various kinds of sex that he could possibly want that the very thought of going without for that length of time made him cringe internally.

He’d intended to let a whole week pass before testing his plan but on the very first night after his mother-in-law had gone home he got woken up at about three in the morning by an erection that was so hard that it made him whimper. He knew that he could hardly wake Janet up to put his plan to the test but a few minutes later he heard the baby start crying and then get comforted and then fall silent due to having a nipple shoved into its mouth.

He gave her time to finish with that and to put the baby back in his crib and then, as he was telling himself that now would be the time to go to her before she went back to sleep, he heard her start to sob.

“Poor thing,” he said to himself, and he thought, “she’s totally exhausted.”

With that he got close to changing his mind but then his penis gave an extra hard throb that made him capitulate but he admonished it – as it forced him to get up and follow it on its way to his wife’s bed – “We shouldn’t be doing this. You know that don’t you, chief?”

He well knew that she’d be wearing a maternity bra that had flaps that gave easy access to her nipples, and that had pads built in to cope with leaking, and over it she’d have a gown that opened all the way down the front and also she’d be wearing formidable, passion-killing panties that would have, when combined with the rest of it, lived up to their descriptive and limiting title if he hadn’t been needy beyond all understanding.

When he’d calmed her down a little, she’d been whining about not feeling adequate for the awesome responsibility and that she desperately wanted to sleep and couldn’t because of her need to be constantly checking on the baby’s breathing although she well knew that she didn’t have to and . . . and on and on and more and more.

He held her and smoothed her hair and her back and shoulders and he waited until she was quiet and then before – ‘God forbid’, interposed his dick – she could go to sleep he said, ”You know what, Janet? Do you want to know what I think the problem is? On top of all of the responsibility of caring for a new born, and along with the stress of giving birth and the lack of sleep, besides all of that your poor body has to put up with having to cope with the sudden withdrawal of all of the extra hormones and enzymes and metabolites – the slick words came to his lips unbidden due to all the research that he’d done – that it’s been getting from me regularly and in large quantities for months and months. It stands to reason, doesn’t it? Your body is being deprived of what it’s come to rely on. No one can be expected to cope with all of those things at the same time. Right? You should remember that it’s not the baby that needs it now. Your own body needs it.”

“My word! Of course! Yes! You’re right, dear. I should have thought of that myself. But what can we do about it do you think? I’m still really sore inside and my breasts hurt all the time and, besides all that, I’m aching all over so there’s no way I can do that fellatio thing for you. What else is there?”

‘Thank the good Lord,’ growled his dick as he reminded her, gently, about what she’d read in the brochure that afternoon.

She recalled the relevant part at once and exclaimed “Oh yes! What a good idea. I forgot about that. Well now, isn’t that clever of you and you know what, there’s an added bonus because that’s just about the only place of my entire body that doesn’t hurt. Thank you dear. You’re so good to me. Let’s do it right now, please.”

 When the transfer of remedial fluids had taken place and he’d washed himself and was ministering to her with wet and dry hand towels she said, “Thank you, dear. I don’t deserve you. You’re so kind. I feel better already and I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

He helped her with pulling up her panties and then he arranged her gown and then he kissed her cheek and told her to sleep well and then he closed her bedroom door quietly but firmly and he did the same thing to his own and as he did so he congratulated himself on knowing that he’d be able to get some quality sleeping time in for at least three nights.

As he was composing himself for sleep he took stock of his situation and he reasoned that seeing that he had successfully finagled his way into being allowed to have total access to her when they were trying to get her pregnant; and again when she was pregnant; and yet again, as he’d just proven decisively, after the delivery, he should probably persuade her to decide on having five kids instead of the three that she’d always said that she wanted and that if he was careful about spacing them he could just about guarantee being allowed to indulge himself in his favorite methods of having sex through the foreseeable future.

He was almost asleep when it came to him that there was still one possible circumstance left that might allow a fly to get into the ointment. His wife might well balk – three, four or five months or so after the birth of each baby and before they could reasonably get started on making another one – at having to keep on accepting health-giving injections unconventionally seeing that she’d be completely healed by then and could receive his fluids in the normal way and thus get some pleasure out of it for herself. That made him wake up completely because it followed from that that, logically in her mind, she’d cut him off completely from having full access to her body and from doing all the things that were once banned completely but that had gotten to be regular routines for them and were now essential to his wellbeing and peace of mind.

But then, after a little more reflection, he turned onto his side and went to sleep contentedly because he’d reasoned that, using a popular line from TV and movie scripts, “We can hope that medical researchers will have come up with a cure by then.” or, failing that, some extensive Googling, and/or some judicial editing by him, would let him find a cure by and for himself.