A “For Better Or Worse” excerpt in sequence: “A Mother & Retro 1 & 2”

A Mother?

Seagate, New York –

June 21, 1956: 6:17 P.M.

Exhausted after this long day. Wanting to be alone with her thoughts for the first time ever Marsha was glad Mitchell had duty and she would be alone.

...Spitting foam into the sink, rinsing her mouth with a palm-full of water and wiping her hands and face, Marsha stood back looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Yes, she did look as she’d looked yesterday and the day before yesterday.

But yet she knew ‘something’ was different! Oh, there wasn’t a hint or even the hint of a hint, but be it wishful thinking she was sure she’d actually felt the force of Mitchell’s ejaculation last night and Marsha ‘knew’! After last night she ‘knew’!

Unhooking her bra and stepping out of her panties, she carried them to the clothes hamper in the closet.

Passing the large mirror atop the dresser, stopping, Marsha stood looking at her nude body from forward then, turning to the side, looked at herself in profile. Turning full forward again, lifting her breasts from beneath, Wonder what they’ll look like when they begin to grow? I’ll enjoy that: being big busted... or bigger busted. Mitchie sure will. Bringing her hands tightly down the sides of her body and pushing her fists into her straight waste making sharp indentations – as she had almost every day since she was mature enough to realize– thought, If only I had hips! Smiling, thinking, Now it doesn’t matter! Further wondering how she might look later, in a few weeks, in a few months. Turning sideways, pushing her stomach outward from inside, Marsha caused only the slightest protrusion.

Certainly not in Mitchell’s, but in Marsha’s hypercritical eyes she had small, sagging breasts and her buttocks were nothing more that a double-sided bulge on her back-side. Her hard stomach was deeply concave with an ‘outie’ navel that she thought of as ‘ugly as hell’, that her husband always told her was ‘cute as a button’... Whatever ‘cute as a button’ meant.

Always regular with her ‘period’ except, ‘of all times’, when they’d been married the second time, the, ‘in the eyes of God’ time.

Looking at a calendar, There’s thirty-one days this month. My period should begin...calculating, about the twenty-eighth. Further thinking, If I’m not bleeding by the fourth of July, she decided, I’ll tell Mitchell he’s going to be a daddy…

But, Where’s the money going to come from if I am pregnant and they want me to quit working after I start to show? Coming up with the only plausible answer, . ‘Mother’!

Attempting to make up for the years of her daughter’s childhood, Rhea had been as attentive to Marsha as possible since the wedding, via ‘long distance’, of course.

I think she’ll do it. Marsha thought, After all, keeping my mouth shut all those years has got to be good for something!

And to Marsha’s way of thinking, in a very large way it had, because...

****

Bedsides the large, plush wedding that Rhea had all but insisted on making. The two-and-a-half carat, pear-shaped diamond engagement ring Marsha wore most certainly did ‘not’ come from Mitchell’s saving account because he didn’t have a savings account and even if he had, a ‘two-and-a-half-carat-diamond’? Also, Rhea paid for a one carat diamond ring that Marsha had given Mitchell as an engagement present. To say nothing of the five thousand, one hundred, sixty dollars they had received as wedding gifts, that Rhea was holding for safe-keeping that was earmarked as a down-payment on a house when Mitchell is discharged and he and Marsha return to Chicago, minus, of course, the one thousand dollars they’d taken to cover expenses when they left for New York.

****

Moving from the mirror, turning the television on – planning on eating the corned-beef sandwich she’d bought ‘to go’ at the Kosher delicatessen across the street from the Bensonhurst subway station in bed while watching television.

Taking the cushions from the sofa while thinking of the newly-found relationship between herself and her mother. ‘Yeah’!she thought sadly, guess keeping my mouth shut all those years has been good for something after all. And...

As Marsha had every day since she was old enough to realize, she wondered why, among her many friends and acquaintances, ‘why’,– so far as she knew– was she the only person who’s mother was a... whore.

Rhea Goldman…

Rhea Goldman was a small woman. Five foot, two inches, in height, Rhea weighed one hundred sixteen pounds, had long, straight, raven black hair, a beautiful, oval shaped face and a flawless olive complexion. She had dark brown eyes, thick lashes and eyebrows that were always plucked in the current style. She also had well­ rounded hips and buttocks and was built pretty much in exact proportion to her size… Except for two features: Rhea’s breasts were large—and made to appear even larger by her diminutive size—and her legs were thin.

Taking great pride in her breasts, Rhea well knew how to use them to her best advantage.

As for her legs, Rhea had found that by wearing the highest heel of any shoe that was presently in fashion, the radical arch of the shoe would add curvature to her calves giving at least some shape to her lower legs.

In addition to Rhea’s exotic appearance, Rhea also had a quick mind and a pleasing personality, and many of the men she would meet quickly became enamoured of her.

The youngest of three sisters and one brother, coddled and spoiled, best described Rhea Goldman is exquisite and beautiful… and selfish, narcissistic and just ‘slightly’ materialistic.

Eli Goldman...

The eldest of four boys. A kind, generous, soft spoken man, Eli Goldman was five foot, seven inches, in height, had wide shoulders, muscular arms and a broad, tapering torso. With a pleasing, manly face, Eli had curly, dark brown hair, a freckle­ scattered forehead, light blue eyes, an amiable smile... and a fairly prominent Semitic nose.

Forced to drop out of high school less than a year prior to graduation due to his family’s financial problems, which were created when his father had committed suicide because his inherited fortune had been lost early in the great depression, Eli found himself without a trade and was, in time, forced into menial labour.

Though not highly formally educated, Eli was extremely intelligent, but the deep love he had for his wife and his extremely trusting nature—and the fact that he ‘truly’ considered Rhea a delicate china doll that was ‘always’ kept on his pedestal of adoration—did not, however, allow him to see any of Rhea’s imperfections—physical or moral.

Pearl, Rhea’s widowed mother had, on the other hand, been able to keep most of her husband’s money intact throughout the depression.

Though she felt Eli was beneath any social strata that her family had been able to maintain through the years, she knew he was a good, hardworking man that always had and always would treat her youngest daughter with love and respect.

Not only then was Eli fully accepted by the family, he was also the person that many of the family’s more educated members went to when a good, common sense answer to a specific problem was required.

Pearl was a generous person who often gave gifts of ‘things’ or cash to her children.

It was for this reason and ‘well’ aware that he could ‘never’ give his wife ‘the finer things in life—The things Rhea was used to. The things Rhea deserved that Eli had never objected to, or questioned where the extra money and unaffordable clothing or household items came from.

Retrospective One

Chicago, Illinois

Rhea, Eli, and Roger—‘1932’

Besides the obvious, the later months of pregnancy had caused other drastic changes in Rhea’s body.

Carrying a baby, being as small as Rhea was had caused wide, red stretch marks across her abdomen. Her normally large breasts had swollen to even larger proportions which caused the tissue to stretch and sag and the areolae to distend and change in color from dark pink to— in her opinion— an ugly, dark brown. Her back, legs, and feet ached constantly and also, for the first time since she was thirteen, Rhea had developed an outbreak of pimples.

Rhea had ‘always’ known she was beautiful, but looking at herself in a mirror what she saw during pregnancy was a sagging, grossly distorted body and a blotchy, broken out swollen face.

Becoming depressed, “Eli,” she moaned, “do you still love me now that I’m so ugly?”

Sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Re, honey, of course I still love you.” Putting the cup down, turning on the chair and taking hold of her arm he pulled her onto his lap.

His right hand caressing her bulging stomach. Supported by his left arm held across her back, leaning against Eli’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder, “God,” she said, “I’m so ugly!”

“No!” kissing her ear, “No, you’re not ugly!” Nipping her lobe, his hand slipped through the robe onto the bare bubble of her protruding navel.

Sitting as she was, anywhere Eli put his hand on the front of her upper body would have to be onto or under a sagging breast, and he felt the warm hardness of her stomach in his palm and the warm softness of her breast upon the top of his hand… Taking hold of the back of her head, turning her head, moving her mouth to his, Eli kissed her lips, her eyes, then her lips again, this time, though, harder and, parting her teeth, Rhea allowed his tongue to make contact with hers. As the kiss lengthened, needing confirmation that, indeed, she was still desirable, if even only to Eli, whom she knew she was always desirable to, Rhea moved her tongue deeper and his hand from beneath to above.

Holding the weight of Rhea’s softer than ever, heavier than ever breast, feeling the hardening projection of her strange, pregnancy caused, distended nipple between a thumb and forefinger, “Re, I love you!”

Because she had told him the last time he’d touched her there, Eli knew her nipples were sensitive. Moving his hand from her breast, he made a slow, wide circle around her stomach then, fully expecting her to stop him, his hand going beneath the stretched band of her underpants—actually, because at this stage of her pregnancy Rhea was more comfortable in Eli’s boxer shorts than in her panties, Eli moved his hand to under ‘his’ underpants. Feeling her course pubic hair. “You’re ‘all’ I ever want, Re!” he rubbed her mound.

Squirming on his lap, knowing at least he still found her appealing, further knowing that this activity would go no further than his hand, with ‘maybe’ her reciprocating in kind, leaning back, Rhea opened her thighs.

* * * *

Later, standing nude, studying her image in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, Eli’s Eli! she had thought. He’d love me no matter what! Looking closely at her swollen face. Bringing her hands down, over her sagging breasts, over her protruding navel, over her bulging stomach, turning sideways. Gasping, “Oh, my God, I’m ‘grotesque’!” Then thinking, He’s crazy! How can ‘even’ Eli say I’m beautiful?

At that moment, ‘No more’! Rhea made a decision. “No more!” she said aloud, further thinking, This is it! No more babies… ‘Ever’!

Two months later, Eli signed the birth certificate that read, ‘Roger Keith Goldman. Born March 13, 1932. Chicago, Illinois.”

May 22, 1932

She sat on the sofa with the top three buttons of her house-dress open with both pendulous, blue veined breasts exposed.

Held in her arms, a thin circle of bubbling milk formed around his lips, Roger noisily sucked on his mother’s distended nipple.

Eli, sitting alongside, watched.

“Think I’m going to stop now.”

“Yeah,” Eli replied, “he should be full by now.”

“ ‘No, Eli’! I mean I’m going to stop nursing!”

“Re, Doc Schaffer said you should nurse for ‘at least six months’, and it’s only been… what? Eight weeks?”

“Eli, it’s ‘not’ Schaffer’s breast, it’s mine and it’s starting to hurt!” Laying the baby on the receiving blanket to her right, turning back to her husband, knowing the effect her breasts ‘always’ had on Eli. Lifting the breast, holding it for him to see. “See! Can you see how sore it is?” Holding the nipple between the length of her fore and index fingers, pushing inward a thick drop of watery milk oozed through the perforation. Pouting, looking into his eyes, “It ‘really’ hurts, Eli!”

Forcing his eyes from hers, Eli stared at Rhea’s breast, at the milk white, blue veined flesh. At the glistening drop of mother’s milk that hung from the dark brown elongated nipple. Blinking his eyes, swallowing, he then touched the cusp of his wife’s nipple. Lifting the drop of milk onto the tip of his finger, Eli looked at it.

“Eli, you want to taste my milk, don’t you?” Reaching to him, putting her hand onto the back of his head, “Go on, Eli,” urging him downward, “taste my milk,” she whispered. “Drink me, Eli.”

Eli put his mouth onto Rhea’s breast, at the place where only a minute earlier the mouth of his baby had been and, sucking at the nipple, drawing the warm, sweet milk, Eli drank of his wife’s milk…

To drink of Rhea’s milk was to Eli… ‘spiritual’. Deeply moved, taking his mouth from the nipple he pulled her tightly to his chest and as he hugged Rhea with one arm, Eli cradled the small head of his child with the other hand, as…

Eyes overflowing, tears streamed down Eli’s face…

Feeling his sobs, “Shhh.” Smiling, looking at some distant point on the ceiling, “Shhh.” Patting Eli softly on his back, “My two babies,” Rhea cooed.

At that moment Rhea knew—‘knew’—that she would ‘always’ have her way—‘any way’ she pleased with this man.

Retrospective Two

Chicago, Illinois

Rhea: Spring ‘1933’

Realisation

Producing a show of lace like patterns on the walls and ceiling, the soft breeze fluttered the gossamer curtains inward, steeping the room with the sensual kiss and soul touching scent of spring.

Savouring the breeze, the odour and warmth of the curtain filtered early May sun, lying languorously on the sofa, stretching Rhea brought the cigarette to her mouth, drew… exhaled and watched through half closed eyes as the spiral of rising smoke mixed with floating light accentuated motes of dust.

Overtaken by a sense of sheer comfort, dropping her right hand to the floor, resting it on the rim of a heavy glass ashtray, for the first time in fourteen months, since the birth of Roger, Rhea Goldman felt totally and completely at ease.

The fingertips of her left hand idly stroking the hollow of her throat, taking another drag she watched the upwardly dissipating smoke a moment or two longer.

Putting the cigarette onto the lip of the ashtray, opening her chest to the light and air Rhea unbuttoned the top three buttons of her house-dress. As the palpating breeze sensually played over her bare breasts, feeling her nipples pleasurably tighten…

“Mmmm.” Not sure if she’d moaned aloud or only thought she’d moaned, moving her hands lightly over both breasts her palms brushed the rigid projections of her turgid nipples…

Stretching her legs and thighs— straining the muscles within her groin while holding both nipples— rolling the course dark brown flesh between her thumbs and forefingers…

“Mmmm!” This time ‘knowing’ she had moaned aloud, Rhea moved her left hand onto her stomach making slow, teasingly slow widening circles around her navel…

Around her navel and over her stomach her hand moving to beneath the band of her panties where, entwining all five fingers within the thick patch of pubic hair gently pulling, teasing herself…

With her palm on her mound and her fingers stretched downward, no longer ‘teasing’ Rhea began a hard, circular rubbing motion…

Stopping, Rhea lifted her hips and wiggled out of her panties. Anxious now, her index finger probed through the moist lips… and lower into the wet fold touching, caressing the hood of tissue that concealed the sensitive nodule.

Her eyes closed to the sweet sensations, dropping her right foot to the floor and stretching her left leg to the side, opening her vagina to its limit…

Using both her fore and index fingers— up, down. Down the length of both long, thin fingers into the tight, slithery channel. Down, up. Up the length of both moisture slicked fingers, rubbing to either side of the minutely raised ridge of tissue... moving the membrane of tissue fore and back, fore and back…

Each backward motion exposing the pink tip of her burgeoning blood engorged nodule…

***

By happenstance, two stories below a dark green, weather beaten Hudson had stopped at the curb. The driver’s side door opened and a man wearing a wrinkled top coat over a crumpled, beige coloured suit stepped out. Straightening his tie, the man reached into the car, took a briefcase and his hat off the passenger seat, placed the hat squarely on his head, tucked the briefcase under his arm and walked into the entry of the three story building and up the two flights of steps.

At the door, before knocking— out of habit he removed the hat, wiped the toe of one dark brown shoe onto the back of his calf, then the other. Then, bringing the heel of his hand to the door…

****

Her lips tightly pursed. Short, harsh breaths of air inhaled and rapidly exhaled through both nostrils, her fingers and pelvis moving in opposition… Oh, God! On the verge…

Pounding!

Oh, God! Feeling it ‘right there’….

Pounding!

‘Startled’!

Started out of her masturbatory reverie by the pounding on the door, Rhea stopped all movement a moment, a stroke before the onset of orgasm and taking a deep breath, attempting to focus her eyes she looked towards the door—and ‘whoever’ stood on the other side—with absolute hatred, as…

There came another salvo of pounding accompanied by, “Mrs. Goldman! It’s ‘Gustafson’ from ‘State Wide Insurance’! Mrs. Goldman, are you home?”

Her fingers still within herself. Not quite comprehending. Taking another breath, “Who?”

Not sure he’d heard her. “ ‘Mrs. Goldman’!” Spoken louder. “ ‘You home’?”

Thoroughly annoyed. Calling louder “Who’s there?”

“ ‘Gustafson from State Wide’. Remember? I come by each month to collect the premium on your husband’s life insurance.”

Muttering, “Oh, God!” Sitting up. Disorganised, Rhea attempted to put her feet through the legs of her twisted panties... giving up, stuffing them into her pocket. “Uh, hold on a minute, will you?”

Standing a bit shakily as trying to bring her still laboured breathing under control...

So close! Buttoning the house-dress. So God damned close! Brushing the fingers of her other hand through her hair then taking a deep breath, hesitating a moment, she opened the door.

In the six months… From the very first time he came to the Goldman residence to collect the monthly insurance premium. As some men may do, ‘especially’ with a woman as beautiful and as big busted as Rhea Goldman— though not the slightest hint of impropriety in his manners or speech— the insurance man had purposely misconstrue d her friendly smile and patronising courtesy as something other than just courtesy.

Totally unaware, Rhea Goldman had become the man’s principle masturbatory fantasy.

In the six months he had been going there, he’d never seen the lady other than fully dressed with makeup on. So seeing her as he did on this visit, as dishevelled and with… Oh, my God! he thought, as, “Uh...” staring at her, “...I, uh, almost gave up on you today, Mrs. Goldman...” he said haltingly, “...and thought you’d stepped out.”

Tall, 6' 2", and thin, weighing 158, Gustafson’s thinning, greying hair made him look years older than his age of fourty-four. His face, though not unpleasant, was hawk like in appearance with bushy, scraggly eyebrows over deeply set, dark-brown eyes. His nose, fleshy at the bridge, as though it had been broken at some time in the past, was tapered thinly above the nostrils. Clean shaven at six AM by two thirty PM he had gray stubble on his cheeks and chin.

Suddenly hot in the room, innocently said, “You look hot, Mister Gustafson.” Standing aside, “Why don’t you take your coat off and sit down.” Rhea motioned to one of the easy chairs opposite the sofa.

Still looking at Rhea strangely. Speaking slowly. “Whew!” Fanning his face with his hat—though thinking nothing unusual about the invitation because she had often invited him in for the minute it took her to get her purse—“This weather changes from minute to minute and I never know what to put on in the morning.” Stepping into the room, “Don’t mind if I do. Thank you.”

Not usually prone to blushing, but noticing the man’s look and knowing what she had been doing— still feeling the heat of what she had been doing when he’d pounded on the door, Rhea blushed.

Removing his top coat. Draping it over his arm he quickly walked across the room, sat on the chair to the right of the sofa and watched as Rhea followed him into the room.

“I’ll be right back, Mister Gustafson.”

Although regaining some of her composure, Rhea still felt ‘something’ was wrong but could not imagine what it might be.

Opening the door quietly, she tiptoed into the room.

Roger lay in his crib with his thumb in his mouth and the blanket tangled around his legs.

Going to the dresser, she took her purse then left the room, silently closing the door behind her.

Back in the living room, Rhea sat on the middle of the sofa to the left of Gustafson and ‘again’, sensing the man’s intense stare, when she looked at him he quickly averted his eyes, then…

Gustafson looked at her again. Looked at the briefcase he’d placed between his feet. Looked up, looked down and, nervously fumbling with the latch, looked up, looked down and finally getting the latch open, looked at Rhea yet again, then opening the case and reaching inside he removed a green covered ledger, opened it, ruffled through the pages and— seemingly having trouble finding the proper account— looked up again and down again.

“Uh, ‘Goldman’.” Knowing Gustafson was acting strangely. Thinking he’d lost track of the name, “ ‘Eli Goldman’,” Rhea said.

Looking up, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yes, Goldman.”

Good Lord! What is wrong with the man? He seems so…Thinking of a word… ‘agitated’.

Looking at her again, almost staring… was staring.

Squirming on the sofa, looking back Rhea realised that Gustafson was not looking at her face, he was looking lower. Looking down, Rhea gasped…

* * **

Big busted by the age of fifteen, the tissue of her breasts had long since lost much of their elasticity and, since having Roger, if not encased within a bra, if standing Rhea’s breasts dropped to slightly above her navel. If sitting her breasts would lay upon her stomach in a widely spaced, double flow of heavy flesh that she thought of as ugly. But up until then— outside of Doctor Schaffer — her husband had been the only man to ever see her breasts, or anything else naked. And Eli, who loved ‘everything’ about Rhea, had constantly told her that her breasts were just as beautiful, if not more so, then they had always been.

* * **

Although certainly not aware of the extent of Gustafson’s erotic fantasies, from the very first time he’d knocked on the door, Rhea—as most women might—was cognisant of his infatuation with her.

However, since becoming pregnant she’d felt absolutely unattractive, to say the least, and the man’s inept attention amused her and in a way flattered her. Though she had absolutely ‘no’ interest in this tall, skinny, near homely man, she did—at this ‘self loathing’ period in her life—have an interest in regard to the way she affected him, as…

Sitting as she was sitting, the large, dark brown areola showed in stark contrast to the alabaster white of her breast.

The breast that Gustafson saw—the breast that Gustafson thought of as the most beautiful breast he’d ever seen—was laying upon her stomach and as though mesmerised, his mouth dropping open he stared at Rhea Goldman’s wondrous breast openly and— if he wasn’t aware before —the insurance man certainly became aware then of the cylindrical bulge that strained against beige material of his gabardine slacks.

…As Rhea moved her hand to close the gap between the first and third buttons in her loose fitting house-dress, God, she thought, no one’s looked at me like that in years!

For the first time since becoming pregnant Rhea felt desirable and desired.

Hesitating, her hand hanging in mid air, it took but a second for her to realise that she liked the way this man was looking at her and, I wonder? Trying to see if he had ‘one’,” Rhea’s eyes moved from Gustafson’s face to his crotch.

Seeing her eyes shift, realising that ‘she’ was looking at ‘him’. Embarrassed, Gustafson quickly placed the green covered ledger on his lap…

But not before she had seen the ‘very’ defined shape of the insurance man’s erection.

Though Rhea still thought she had ‘no’ interest in Gustafson, at that moment she felt the regeneration of heat in her vagina and the tightening sensation in her nipples that always occurred when she became aroused and—if she had not been doing what she had been doing, or if Gustafson had banged on the door a minute later, after she had had her orgasm—Rhea most ‘certainly’… ‘probably’ would not have done what she then did but…

Staring at Rhea Goldman’s breast, the insurance man actually saw the areola change in shape and as the circle of dark flesh wrinkled, tightened and elongated, his eyes became glazed and— as though a jiggling cork on a fishing line— Gustafson’s Adam’s apple began to bob beneath the loose flesh of his throat, as…

Having no doubt… Thinking she’d be able to handle the situation, doing the exact opposite of what she thought he’d expected. Watching the man’s face, Rhea pushed the first... then the third buttons from their holes then, placing her arms from side to side across the back of the sofa, leaned back.

The house-dress open to her navel now.

“Mister… Uh…” Under the circumstances, ‘Mister’ seemed rather formal. “What’s your first name?”

Seeing both… Gasping at Rhea’s fully exposed, in his mind, ‘unbelievably’ beautiful breasts, squirming on the chair. “Uh, M-Matthew,” he stammered.

“Well, Matthew… Mind if I call you Matt?”

Under the circumstances. “No,” he said, “M-Matt’ll be fine.”

Enjoying the game, wanting to see how far she could tempt this man, then—knowing full well she would remain the master of the situation and when she was ready, pull out of the situation. “Well, Matt...” she said, patting the cushion next to her, “...why don’t you come over here and sit next to me!” This posed not as a question, but a command.

Embarrassed to stand. Afraid to come closer, he did not move.

Smiling, “Come on, Matt!” she coaxed. “I promise I won’t bite you.”

Waiting…

Looking at him… Looking through him imagining the cogs of his brain turning. Patting the cushion again. “Come on, Matt!”

Waiting… Finally, the green covered ledger held tightly against the front of his trousers, standing self consciously…

Rhea had always known the power she and her sexuality had over her husband, but this man certainly was ‘not’ Eli. This man was practically a stranger. Suddenly feeling a euphoric sense of power. “No!” she said emphatically. “Put the book on the chair, Matt!”

Obediently, reaching behind without turning, Gustafson dropped the ledger. Missing the chair it fell to the floor.

“That’s a good boy. Come on!” Patting the cushion. “Come on, Matt!” she spoke as though speaking to a puppy.

Attempting to look as nonchalant as possible—while holding both hands in front of his crotch—the insurance man took the four torturous steps from the chair to the sofa. When there, sitting with his knees pressed together and his hands folded on his lap…

Now closer, as though attempting to commit the texture of the breast and nipple and each widely scattered freckle to memory, the man’s unblinking eyes studied Rhea’s breasts, until…

Reaching to him. Taking his hand into hers Rhea held it a moment, then placed it palm down onto her left breast…

As though shot through with electricity— at the feel of flesh stiffening, he jerked upright, and…

The man’s reaction just a bit more dramatic than expected…

His hand still held by hers, Rhea wondered, If I let go, will it fall? She let it go, but no, Gustafson’s hand most certainly did not fall, as…

Illusory, as though in the dream of his fantasy. Still sitting stiffly upward. Hs Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes blinking, the insurance man reminded himself, th is not a dream! I am really here! Really touching her tit! I am touching Rhea Goldman’s tit!

Caressing it. Feeling the smooth, cool softness he moved his hand to beneath and holding… Feeling the weight. Feeling the warm weight within the palm of his hand. Feeling! Savouring the marvellous weight, his thumb, making light circles around the rough circumference of the nipple…

The touch of this man, that she had not the slightest hint of interest in. That she could stop ‘anytime’ she wanted…

Unreasonably, unbelievably causing a fresh surge of heat—or was the heat Rhea felt the same heat— Her rational being she ‘only’ wanted to see ‘it’. ‘Only’ wanted to compare his with that of the only other adult penis she’d ever in her life seen: her husband’s. Also, because she had never seen one. Because she was curious, Wonder if he’s circumcised? Rhea wondered as— looking at his lap, Rhea again saw the sharp outline of Gustafson’s extended penis under his trousers and really, unable or unwilling to stop herself, about to reach to it...

“Ummm,” the insurance man moaned.

Rhea’s attention drawn from cylindrical outline along his thigh to his face…

Breathing harshly, his eyes closed tightly. As if snapped from his neck, the man’s head lolling in a circular motion. “Ummm!” Reaching to his crotch, squirming a moment the man then jammed the bulge of his penis between his thighs and clamping then shut, jiggling the weight of Rhea’s breast within the palm of his hand as he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger…

“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!” Grunting. Grinding his thighs tightly… Appearing to spasm, the insurance man’s pelvis jerked sharply upward, once, twice, three times, and…

Rhea saw a dark, widening wet spot on the inseam of his light coloured trousers, as…

Breathing raggedly. Somewhat, and rightfully so aware that he— quite possibly would ‘never’ again be in this position with Rhea or, quite possibly ‘any’ future woman of his fantasies. Reluctantly moving his hand from Rhea’s breast with his eyes still shut as though unwilling to return to reality. Unwilling to return to ‘then’, the insurance man leaned back…

Until his raspy breathing returned to normal, as…

Fascinated with his retracting penis and the enlarging wet spot on his trousers, My God! Rhea thought, I didn’t even touch ‘him’ and the whole thing took… What? A minute! And he came! And I didn’t even touch ‘him’!

Suddenly…

As though ‘first’ realising what had happened and what he had done. Springing from the sofa while covering the wet spot with both hands. “My God! Mrs. Goldman! ‘Never’! I’ve ‘never’ done ‘anything’ like this before! ‘Never’!”

Purposely keeping his back to her, rushing to the chair and grabbing the ledger off the floor and tossing it in the briefcase then quickly shrugging into his topcoat as holding the briefcase in one hand and his hat, covering the highly noticeable wet spot on his trousers in the other. Hurrying to the door and pulling it open,the insurance man was about to step through, when…

“Matt!”

Stopping cold. Pulling the two sides of the topcoat closed he turned back, as…

“Matt… uh, Mister Gustafson.” Reaching into her purse. “The premium…” Rhea held a half-dollar in her outstretched hand. “...for Eli’s insurance.”

“No! No, Mrs. Goldman! I’ll pay this one!” As he backed out the door. “And you’re on the books for the next six months!”

Hearing the rapid descent of heavy footsteps then, from two stories up Rhea heard the gears to the Hudson grind as…

Anxious to be gone the insurance man jammed from neutral to first and, squealing away from the curb, from first to second to third.

Sitting a long moment realising what had happened. Realising the power and control she had over— not ‘just’ her husband— but ‘men’.

Laughing, “My God!” Rhea said aloud. “And I didn’t even touch ‘him’!”

Laughing even louder, she woke Roger.

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