James Evers - Hungry wives

"I can't take much more. Something's got to change. I'm not quite sure what or how, but I got a feeling it's going to be up to me to change it."

Marge Sommers sat slumped on the edge of the large double bed, her dust rag knotted in her hand, and addressed herself to the phone on the nightstand next to her. It was the last place her husband's voice had come from, and even though it was now silently cradled, it only seemed natural to keep talking to it.

"Things just can't go on like this, Roger!"

This was an old thought. It happened every time she got one of these phone calls from her husband.

"I'm tired of waiting for you to change. I guess I'm the one that's going to have to be different… So different, you'll wake up and notice me again."

This was a new thought. It was one approach she had not yet tried, and as she spoke it aloud, it awakened a flood of determination in her that would tolerate no reversal.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it yet, but I'll change into whatever it takes to save this relationship."

This was the most important thought. Marge loved Roger, and was now determined to do anything it took to save their marriage.

Her mind made up, she slipped her gaze from the telephone to scan the half-cleaned bedroom. Change, yes! But change what? Change how? Her mind wrestled hard with each question, her eyes searching every familiar corner of the spacious room as though an answer might reveal itself in some familiar object.

"Oh shit!" she mumbled, throwing the dust rag down to the floor. "How the hell can I fix something when I don't even know what's wrong?"

And there was definitely something wrong.

On the outside it looked like a perfect marriage. They had married young – right out of high school – and Roger had taken over his father's gardening business. In just a few short years he managed to expand it into one of the largest landscaping firms in Southern California.

And now they were the model couple. Beautiful wife – handsome, successful husband – both in their mid-thirties – complete with the ideal daughter, two cars, and a nice home in one of San Diego's upper-income suburbs.

But, that was the outside. Inside, Marge was all to familiar with the problems. A husband too worried or busy to fuck her most of the time – too fast to give her a satisfying orgasm. It had been five years since they had experienced anything beyond accidental good sex.

But Marge could cope with this, she was used to it. The phone calls were another matter. They were more recent, and harder to deal with.

Marge ran the whole phone conversation over in her mind, looking for some tiny clue, some logical reason in word or attitude for her to be so disturbed by them.

"Hello, Marge, you busy?"

"Oh, hi, honey. No, I'm just cleaning up, why?"

"I just wanted to tell you not to bother cooking dinner tonight. I have to go out of town, and I'll barely have enough time to get home and pack a few thing before catching my plane."

"Oh? You didn't tell me you were going out of town…"

"Yet, well… it just came up today. I hate to do it, but I've got to get thing squared away with one of my suppliers."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Don't know for sure, but it looks like it'll take the whole weekend. I don't figure to be back before Monday night."

"Well… if you have to…"

"No way around it."

"O.K… see you later?"

"Yep. Don't work too hard, kiddo."

Marge analyzed each sentence, picking over the words. Until she realized it was making her feel worse to dwell on it, and quit.

There was something about his frequent trips that scared her. It didn't matter if it was a one night hop, or a two week convention. When he was with her, she could handle any of their marital problems; but when he was gone – which was more and more often – she felt helpless. She couldn't change something that wasn't there, and his trips began to look too much like running away.

"Yes sir," she mumbled, throwing one more scornful look at the phone. "Something has got to be changed."

She was startled to have her comment answered by a long, resounding ring. For one brief second her spirits rose on the hope it was Roger calling her to say he had changed his mind. But almost instantly this passed as she realized who it had to be. Without even waiting to hear a voice she picked up the phone and spoke.

"Hello, Jenny."

"Hi, Marge, how'd you know it was me?"

"I just knew."

"God… sometimes I think you must by psychic."

Actually there was nothing psychic about it. It was a simple matter of logic. Marge and Jenny had been best friends since high school; Roger and Jenny's husband, Tom Kramer, had also been best friends since high school. When Roger started dating Marge, Tom started dating Jenny. When Roger married Marge, Tom married Jenny. When Roger went into business, Tom went with him. Roger moved to the suburbs, Tom moved next door. If Roger is leaving town, so is Tom, and if Marge is feeling unhappy, deserted, frightened, so is Jenny.

Simple logic.

"Look Jenny, my E.S.P. level is about four on the hundred-and-eight-point scale. I just heard from Roger. I assume he's taking your husband with him on his newest escape from the marital prison camp."

"Yes, doesn't he always? Look, Marge, I've got to talk to you right away. Can you come over?"

Marge could hear the tension in Jenny's voice. "Sure! I'll be over in a few minutes. You get a couple of stiff drinks ready, and we'll bitch on each other's shoulders… O.K.?"

"O.K… but please hurry."

Marge hung up the phone, and heaved a sigh. She did not look forward to going over. She felt bad enough without having to console Jenny, who usually took things worse.

She paused a moment to lean back on the bed. As she lay there, her mind sailed back to earlier days; days when Jenny and she would call each other with happier voices, and compare notes on their husbands for hours. There wasn't a sexual nuance tried in one bed that didn't appear in the other one the next night.

The two of them had done just about everything together. They carried together, married together, dated together, and…

"Oh My God! We even lost our cherrys together!"

Marge had all but forgotten the incident, and now suddenly, the memory of that evening flooded back.

It had been after one of those many parties that crop up in any high schooler's senior year. The beer had been flowing heavily, and they were both pretty high when Tom and Roger lured them out to Roger's waiting car.

For a while they just drove around, drinking some of the beet they had stolen from the party, and toasting their dual engagements. However, it wasn't long before they parked, Marge and Roger grabbed a blanket and moved off leaving Jenny and Tom in the car.

For a long time Marge and Roger sat entwined on the blanket, their bodies wrapped in a passionate, loving embrace. Roger's tongue was eagerly raping her hot mouth as his hands struggled against the frustrating barrier of her clothing. Marge stood the blissful torture of his caresses as long as she could. Once she felt her resistance falling too low, she broke the embrace. In one sweeping triumph of discipline she rose and announced: "I think a nice cold beer would help us to cool down a little."

"Oh sure," he moaned pathetically. "The very thing."

She kissed him quickly, and skipped toward the car. It was the sounds that caught her first. As she approached the vehicle she could hear Jenny moaning.

"Oh Tom. It's… it's… oh God it's so good, so Goddamn… oooooooohhhh!"

At first Marge assumed it was just another heavy petting session, and stifling her giggle crept up to surprise the young lovers. However, once next to the window, she received the shock of her young life.