Jackson Robard - The cub-scout mother

"But I just gave you one." Bette Jean answered meekly.

"I know that! I need two. You're going to have a little drink with me, baby. Maybe that'll loosen you up a little!"

"Oh, Lester, you know I shouldn't. The doctor said I should take it easy." Her voice trailed off as Lester poured the glass half full and chunked two ice cubes after the liquor.

"Here… maybe that's what you need, baby. Loosen up that clenched ass of yours!"

"Oh, Lester… please don't talk like that… I thought we were going to have such a nice evening… I have a good dinner in the oven… it's pork chops the way you like them… and… I thought we'd talk after dinner… I went to the doctor today… that new Dr. Madson I told you about… and…"

"We are going to have a nice evening, baby… just you and me… drink up… come on… down with it…" Lester held the glass to her lips and forced her to take a big gulp. She sputtered and spit as usual but she got it down, her big blue eyes blinking back the tears. She looked so helpless and little, but he'd had enough of her innocence. By God, this was one night she wasn't going to get away with it!

"Now… that's better." He drank thirstily, watching his meek but terrified wife over the rim of his glass. He felt the liquor hit his gut in burning satisfaction. That's what he needed too. It was crazy the way he'd let this woman browbeat him. Hell, she made him feel so guilty if he did the slightest little thing. She looked so little and frail but she'd given him four healthy kids with no trouble and worked like a demon to keep the house shining and spotless. He liked it that way but there was no reason to use all her energy on the house and the kids, which was what she'd always done. He'd begun to realize recently that she'd used him for years just to bring home the bacon. Unwillingly she'd acquiesce when he wanted some tail. Well, by God, those days were over. Hell, he was forty years old. Time he had some decent fucking and a little respect around here. Shit, if he didn't get some soon… why maybe he couldn't after a while, even when he wanted to. The thought made Lester's hand shake slightly as he poured out two more stiff drinks and watched grimly while Bette Jean drank a little more.

"Did something happen at work today, dear, to make you all upset?" Bette Jean inquired softly. "I mean… I certainly didn't mean to make you so mad."

"No… nothing happened at work! I told you what was the matter, woman. Why don't you believe me when I talk to you. I need a good fuck… and so do you…" He slugged down some more of the amber liquid. Jesus. It felt good. Lester watched as Bette Jean looked in the oven and poked the chops. His eyes traveled over her trim figure. Shit! Every time he'd even looked at another woman, he'd been comparing her to Bette Jean and hell, none of them could stand up to her. That waist that he could span with his two hands and those breasts that looked like big melons, juicy and ripe, the curved hips and tapering legs. For a little gal she was one hell of a lot of woman. Not only that but she had the face to go with it. Pretty as a picture. She made some of those movie stars look cheap and overdone. But by God, he was just about ready to put it in anything that was hot and hollow! Twenty years of fighting about sex was just too God damned much. Life was too short and he'd been more than patient. No, by God, he'd been a fool… that's what he'd been… a hen pecked fool!

Lester drank steadily and insisted Bette Jean keep up with him. Somehow she got the dinner on the table though she felt rather fuzzy and relaxed. Her headache had miraculously disappeared and she tried gently to steer the conversation to topics that she thought would calm Lester down. He even grinned fatuously at her and kept patting her hand. He still hadn't dressed and she thought she'd better not make an issue of it even though every time she looked at his naked hairy chest across the table she felt a little faint.

"Lester…" she said softly as she was clearing the dishes from the table. "The… ah… doctor thinks we should have separate bedrooms for a while… just a little while till he finds out exactly what's causing my headaches and the fatigue… and feeling so done in all the time… I thought you could take Donnie's old room… it's close to the bathroom and it'll only be till I'm feeling well again…" her voice rose to a shriek as she felt herself lifted off the kitchen floor into Lester's big arms.

"Don't give me that shit, baby… not tonight! Running around to those God damned doctors making like you're sick all the time… I'm tired of paying the damned doctor bills… I'm tired of being used… I'm tired of never getting to fuck my own wife… and I'm tired of having no rights in this fucking house at all!"

Bette Jean felt every roaring word through her body as Lester carried her unceremoniously into their bedroom and dumped her in a heap on the bed. The tears rose to her eyes. He didn't care. He didn't care one bit about her feelings… he didn't care if he hurt her or made her sick. He was a monster!

"All right, Lester… you win… you always do eventually…"

"Like hell I do!!"

"Just let me bathe quickly. I'm still all sticky with salve from the visit to the doctor today… I won't be a moment."

Her mouth trembled, the big blue eyes were wet with unshed tears yet she spoke softly with stiff dignity as Lester looked down at her smallness.

"All right… but be quick about it, woman!"

Lester stalked back to the kitchen when be heard the shower start, heedless that his towel had long ago fallen off. He'd have one more belt while she showered and then by God there was going to be one hell of a fucking in that bed.

… But, while he waited, he drank. Bette Jean insisted on absolute cleanliness. They had to go through the ritual of a bath, before she would even consider having sex. There were a lot of things he had learned to put up with in this marriage business… too God damned frigging many!

Drinking at the kitchen counter he realized the shower had stopped and he didn't know how long ago. Then, he went into the bedroom, expectantly, and there she was with her nightgown on, covered up and asleep… or feigning sleep. Christ! She had pulled that on him too damned many times, already.

He crawled in under the covers, naked and furious. Reaching out for her, he said, "Bette Jean…?"

There was no answer.

Turning on his side, he moved up close to her supine body and reached out to cup a softly resilient breast in his hand. She stirred, turned to her side, her back to him, legs drawn up, curling herself into a ball, and settled, comfortable, into the mattress.

It had happened this way, too often! Frustrated anger rose in him, spilling over, acidly, as he growled, "God damn it… I know you're awake… and you're just trying to put me off… again! I told you, bitch!"

Roughly, he reached down, grasped the hem of her nightgown and jerked it up above her whitely glowing hips. There was a ripping sound of seams giving way. Her thighs were exposed, nakedly, his hand going in over the swell of her hips to the softly curled down of her pubic mound, worming its way down into the deep triangle of her loins.

"You don't have to tear my nightgown off!" she complained, giving up the pretense of sleep.

"Things like that wouldn't happen… if you'd just act like a normal wife!" Lester fired back. "You knew I wanted it tonight! I told you a million ways."

"But, I don't!" Bette Jean snapped, attempting to writhe her genitals away from his searching hand.

"Look… why don't you let me work you up to it… really get you ready for it… so you'll enjoy it more…" he coaxed.

"You've never made me enjoy it… yet!" She was caustic and hurt and smarting from his callousness.