David Wiltse - The Edge of Sleep

“Does um want some?”

“I do,” he said and put his hands on her biceps as he lowered his head. The muscles were firm under his fingers.

She moaned loudly as he took the breast in his mouth. Edgar knew he was going to love this. He sucked her breast briefly, switched to the other one, heard her gasp with pleasure, and reached for the zipper of her skirt.

“I’m going to take good care of you,” he murmured. He buried his face in her neck as he fumbled with her skirt.

“Shut up,” she said. She took his head in her hands and placed it back on her breast. “I’ll tell you when you’re done.”

Ash reached the motel after an hour’s walk. He saw the Daybreak sign, mouthed it aloud to himself, and turned into the courtyard. Their room was on the corner. Dee always took a corner room if possible. It cut their neighbors in half, she explained. Ash had tried to visualize their neighbors being cut in two, but the images always led to thoughts of violence and blood and he soon stopped trying to understand what she meant.

The curtains were only partially drawn and the lights within the room were on. Ash peered in and saw Dee on the floor on all fours. The Lyle was behind her, thrusting at her. Dee’s teeth were bared as if she were snarling and he could hear her calling.

Ash did not want to watch. He sat on the hard concrete stoop in front of the motel room door.

“Daddy, oh. Daddy!” he heard her call. “Yes, Daddy! Come on, Daddy!”

Ash covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to think about the last good time with Dee. It was just last night when she was beginning to be happy, but she wasn’t yet too happy the way she was today. He was watching one of his nature shows. A snake had encountered a frog that, instead of hopping for its life, had inflated itself twice its size and risen on its legs. It seemed too large for the snake, but the snake knew better. Ash was taken by the stupefied look on the frog’s face as it was being swallowed. It showed no alarm, no fear, just a stupid wonderment.

“See that?” Dee had said. “It doesn’t even care.”

Ash had liked having her watch the show with him. She so often wasn’t home or wasn’t in the mood, but last night she had chosen to spend her time with him, just hanging around the room, watching television and commenting on things they saw. It was the kind of time they had together so seldom.

When the thoughts of last night could no longer drown out Dee’s yells. Ash started to do pushups. In the exercise yard many of the men had done pushups to kill the time and Ash had become the best of all. He did them now, easing himself down until his nose touched the concrete before pushing up again, scrupulously avoiding any use of his legs, which he knew was cheating. He worked until sweat poured from his face and his arms trembled with the effort.

Dee had stopped screaming and now he heard the sound of voices in conversation.

Edgar lay back on the bed, convinced he was going to die, but, as the old saw had it, what a way to go. She was all he had hoped for-imaginative, indefatigable, multi-orgasmic-and loud as hell. He did not have to guess how matters were proceeding; she let him know at the top of her lungs.

And was he ever doing well. He’d always suspected he was pretty good at this sex business, but he now realized he was a champion. He had pleasured her until she could no longer move. She lay beside him, drenched in sweat, exhausted and satisfied deeply enough to last a normal woman a month. Edgar could not resist a smug smile of self-congratulation as he stared at the ceiling. He’d certainly given her more than she had bargained for.

He would have to get this woman’s phone number. He would be back in the area in a month’s time, and she was certainly worth a repeat visit. There were a few variations he had been tempted to try and would certainly get around to them next time. He had also learned a few new wrinkles, which he would use with his wife. They weren’t apt to work, of course, because they relied on a certain level of enthusiasm, and enthusiasm was a quality his wife lacked-in spades. But if he had ever entertained thoughts that her shy reserve-not to say torpor-was in any way his fault, he could certainly dismiss those suspicions now. He had just driven this woman crazy. And she was a bright, good-looking woman, too; the kind of woman who could have just about any man she wanted. She had wanted Edgar-and he had just proven that she had made the right choice.

Edgar could not remember when he had felt more gratified after a bout with a relative stranger-or less inclined to bolt out the door after the passion was gone. Still, it was late; he had to work in the morning and he had already lain beside her for several minutes. She could not reasonably take offense if he left now.

He made a show of looking at his watch.

“My God, is it that late?” he said, sitting up abruptly. She put her hand on his naked thigh.

“I had no idea,” he said.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. She had that edge to her voice that he had heard once or twice when they were hot at it. He had chosen to ignore it then, chalking it up to the heat of passion, but he had not liked it then and he liked it even less now.

“It’s late,” he said. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling away from the hand on his thigh. “I’ve got to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

He understood the sentiment. Naturally she would want to hang on to him. That’s how women were; they never knew when to let go. But damn, he didn’t like that demanding tone. It made him angry.

“I’ve got to run,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“You’re not done,” she said.

He chose to laugh even though he wanted to belt her one. So aggressive, so demanding.

“I’m done,” he said. He gave her a big smile and a wink. “For now. There’s always next time.”

“You may be done,” she said, rising to her knees on the bed.

She really was a good-looking woman, Edgar thought, even though he found her nudity mildly embarrassing without the lust to justify it. Most women would not look all that good to him after sex, not in the harsh light of the motel room. Their breasts would sag or their tummies shake or their thighs would bulge. They had moles and veins and stretch marks, none of which fit the perfection of the women in magazines, which had formed his notion of feminine beauty. Most women felt better to Edgar than they looked. But this woman really did look good. Her stomach went in, her breasts seemed almost boastfully upright. What a shame that she was turning into a bitch.

“You seemed pretty done to me,” he said, hoping she would join his chuckle. He didn’t want a scene.

“You may be done, but you’re not finished,” she said.

Edgar picked up his shirt from the floor. She scrambled off the bed and stood between him and the door.

“Are you kidding? I just gave you enough for six women. You ought to be grateful for what you got.”

“I’ll be the judge of what I got, and it was precious little,” she said. She yanked the shirt out of his hand.

“I’ve never had any complaints before,” said Edgar.

“You got some now,” she said. “Get back on the bed.” She pushed him on the chest. The edge of the bed caught him on the back of the knees and he tumbled backward.

She was atop him, her hand between his legs, pulling impatiently at him.

“Get it up,” she said.

“Christ, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded, trying to twist away but being constrained by her forearm on his chest and the hand in his crotch.

“Get it up,” she repeated. “Play with it.”

“You play with it. That’s not my job.”