Norman Singer - The Hungry Husband

But as the months went by and Linda's time drew near, all of David's newly-paved sex-drives reared their knobby little heads again; for now even the Fortunes' limited bedtime gymnastics had to cease. But oh dear Lord!.. How Linda longed to show him those other methods she'd learned, the moist French-style sharings taught to her by Brad and Darlene and their revolving chain of team-mates; David, at the same time, wishing he might put her through those very same wet-paces. Yet, since they were honor-bound to stick to the scripture, each were thwarted by those unwritten laws of connubial temerity.

"Can you be patient for a few weeks, dear?" she would ask, giving him one of her close-mouthed "I'm Your Auntie Wife!" kisses.

"Yes," sighed David. "If it takes forever, I will wait for you." But he didn't sing it.

And he waited. Those were the bad weeks. All the gut-tearing fevers and images came back to him, assailing. He would lock himself in the bathroom at home, the men's room at work, and desperately wag himself rigid with nostalgia, summoning up all those wistful losses… voluptuous mouths and bodies and members. With Valerie herself leading the brigade, grinding all valves and calling all shots. Because she was still his motor and impetus, ringleader vice-queen not yet exorcised. And in seeing this mind's vision of her, he saw the others, as if she alone had given them birth… Oooh Christ… Those strange and dangling blooming ones still lurking and untasted and all a part of the same lusty cloth of degradation, fresh contours of adventure to drink or to impale. God, how those appetites clung to him! Would only castration cut him free forever?

So David thought about her. About them. How easy it would be to lift the telephone and dial a still-unexplored number. A flick of the fingers and all his buried agonies would find reprieve. The Hot Triumvirate: Valerie, the telephone, and them. Three spectres that stayed with him, ripened.

Linda, meanwhile, had been suffering in much the same fashion, although, thankfully, she'd been much too pregnant to be lusting. She had gradually stopped going to Brad Grogan's apartment, not only because of her condition; he had grown increasingly wilder and more indiscreet, inviting too many questionable types to his apartment, the place getting so crowded that people often had to "make out" while dancing simply because there was no room to do it lying down.

However, Linda went on seeing Darlene Morrison for an occasional lunch in town, although she had deftly managed not to be alone with the girl again. She faced enough disturbing problems now without adding that unsettling influence. Darlene phoned several times a week to inquire about the children and offer advice regarding Linda's condition, never failing to remind the latter about her promise to let her have Brad's baby, should David prove difficult and refuse to accept the child as his own. Linda had regretted that hasty gesture almost as soon as she'd made it, hoping the girl would forget it. But Darlene talked about it constantly. Linda didn't doubt that she was genuinely fond of children, and several times had given in to her request to visit Janice and Larry during trips to Golden Gate Park. Not that she feared any sort of blackmail if she refused to let the girl meet her children. But more than once Linda wondered what might happen when, or if, David welcomed their new baby with open arms. She had a strange feeling Darlene would want something else, if she couldn't have that baby. At present, Linda didn't want to think what that something-else might be; except that whenever she thought of Brad and Johnny and all their blistering performances, Darlene was a part of it. Not as a threat, but as a memory of desire. And promptly stifled such thoughts by reminding herself how constant and devoted her dear husband had been of late, knowing their whole life would hang in the balance when David got his first look at Brad's baby… resigning herself to accepting whatever decision he made. Either a punishment or a rescue, she would take what he offered and find it just.

When Linda's baby arrived, right on schedule, her fears that it would be a perfect latin-flavored replica of Brad Grogan were somewhat allayed. It was a female. Seven pounds four ounces. However, nobody who saw this ravishing little brunette was thrown off the scent in the least. The hair was a fuzzy jet-black, eyes dark, and the olive tones of the skin were downright Mediterranean.

At the hospital, the antiseptic face-mask they gave David luckily hid most of his expressions as he held the yapping infant in his arms. Nor did his eyes reveal any emotion save that of paternal pride. He noticed Linda raising weakly in her bed, her eyes boring holes into him.

"Isn't she an angel, David? Mother says I was a sort of brownette until I was five…"

Her eagerness to mention this point at that particular moment convinced David of the truth. But his eyes danced and smiled as he handed the baby back to the nurse.

"Then you feel she'll turn blond during kindergarten?" David said to his wife.

"She's bound to!" said Linda, nodding her head incessantly.

The nurse gazed up at the ceiling and whistled an old standard. David knew it was Little White Lies, but he kept smiling, even after removing the mask. And now, a whole flaming montage of vital statistics swept through his mind. Brad's threat to get back at him after he found out about Joyce, promising to hit him right where he lived. Linda's recent frantic extra-curricular activities.

He gazed steadily at the little Greek-bearing mother in her bed, wondering how she could still retain all that innocence after a stomping affair with Brad Grogan, propped up in that sea of purest maternity-white. David recalled her old revulsions for Brad, and the revelation came as no surprise to him that it was primarily because she disapproved of him so strongly that this could have happened at all. But how beautifully off-the-hook this left him! Linda had been so involved with her own illicit affairs, she'd had neither the time nor the energy to become suspicious about his-which placed him in a fantastic bargaining position as her wronged and blameless husband, for now only one of them had to lose his illusions about the other. Since he was in no danger of having a baby who resembled Valerie, his reputation was still secure and intact. And, as he tenderly smiled and kissed his deflated helpmate, David meant to hold onto everything Linda still felt he deserved: the clean-white world of Suburbia, forty thousand a year, prestige and public dignity-and, what was most valuable, at last he had something on her, his perennial virgin-faced wife, a trump-card he could now use to lubricate his own flaring desires, those gnawing appetites which, until the birth of Brad's bastard, he'd feared must be kept buried forever.

By presenting him with Brad's tiny Latin temptress, Linda had re-opened some sweet doors for David. The Underground! All those snarling degeneracies Valerie Hudson had shown him could be his once more, if he was careful and selective. No longer would there be that martyred saint in his house keeping him constipated with false guilt. His germ-free idol had feet of clay just as clammy as his own, so now David felt free to ooze right back into those pits and fraternize!

He played the role of Duped Daddy with great sincerity, and soon Linda seemed quite convinced that he accepted their new baby as his own. David decided she mustn't ever suspect he knew the truth, for this might give her the incentive to re-grease her loose morals, which was a most unattractive idea for any husband. Who wanted a wife that laid around? She was now a woman who had been bitten once by the virus of Satan, and was so humbly grateful not to have been found out by her husband that now she had learned her lesson and would henceforth take the veil. So be it. David meant to keep her in that vault of chastity and repentance, while he very cleverly fulfilled his heart's dirtiest desires. By now he'd become sufficiently familiar with the diverse enticements of the flesh to realize one needn't dabble at top-speed every waking hour in order to maintain a balance of sensuality. Why not part-time debauchery with everybody else? But with spice this time… Ahh yes!.. With novelty…