Frank Seymour - Sensual Family Nights

His fingers were on his zipper before he stopped himself, hating himself for the weakness. Jesus, one lousy week without his wife's cunt, and already he was going out of his mind. When Trish left he vowed to himself that he could make out all right without her, he could last the summer without fucking. He knew that she expected him to find some other ass to grab, but he was determined to prove himself a better man than that. He'd had two wet dreams this week so far, but he had managed to keep his hand off his cock except when pissing.

Although just touching himself even to piss made him feel so goddamn horny…

The sudden burr of the intercome buzzer broke into his revery. He jumped, feeling guilty, and looked around. But of course no one was there. He hit the button on the intercom.

"What is it, Priscilla?"

"Will you be working tonight, Dan? Chuck just called in from the Copperwood development. He has a couple of prospects coming at seven, and there's no one to cover the office while he takes them out."

Damn! That was the trouble with being in the real estate business-your time was never your own. Customers didn't realize what shitty hours real estate salesmen had to keep-work almost every evening, and Saturday and Sunday too. The latter two days were when you did the most business, so there was no such thing as a weekend off with the family.

That was part of the trouble with Trish-she understood why he had to work such shitty hours, but understanding didn't make it any easier to accept. Even though the shitty hours gave them two houses, gave Trish the boutique, something to do during the long hours when Dan was tied up.

If Trish were home now, he'd say fuck Copperwood, and go straight home to fuck her…

But she wasn't home. "All right, Priscilla. I'll cover for him. I'm going home to have supper first, though-I'll leave in about twenty minutes."

"All. right, Dan I'm leaving now. Good night."

"Good night."

For a minute Dan thought about his office secretary-Priscilla was stacked herself, still keeping her shape into her mid-thirties. If she really was only thirty-six. He had a sneaking suspicion that her application form lied by at least five years. But what a body! Christ, he was getting hard again thinking about her!

But Priscilla was a no-no-a well-married no-no, with several kids about the same age as his own two sets of twins. She had come back to work as soon as her kids were all in school-only in her case, the money was a great deal more important than what Trish made out of her shop. Priscilla's husband had been a cross-country trucker-until the night five years ago when his rig jackknifed on an icy mountain road, cutting off the only down-bound lane of traffic as well. Before he could get out and set up flares, another truck came roaring down thirty miles an hour faster for the condition of the road, and caught him broadsides. Sam Burket's spine was snapped instantly, and from that moment he had been paralyzed from the waist down.

Not where his manhood counted, though-Priscilla said that he was still as much a man there as ever, perhaps even more so. It was awkward for both of them, husband and wife each having to adjust to new positions, new ways of satisfying the old urge. But a broken spine hadn't been the end of sex, and Priscilla had never found it necessary to look outside of her own home for all the humping she needed. Which left Dan in the cold.

Christ! I gotta get some relief, or go out of my goddamn fucking mind!

He fidgeted for the twenty minutes, unable to concentrate on any of the papers on his desk, or to read any of the business journals stacked up. At last it was time to move out, head for home-the home without a wife. Even though the girls were there, it seemed empty without Trish-and the boys.

Without Trish… It took him less than ten minutes to make it home through the late afternoon traffic, and when he parked in front of the house Liz came bursting out of the front door, running to throw her arms around him.

"I love you, Papa!"

"I love you, too, honey," he said, squeezing her and patting her fanny. "Supper ready?"

She made a face. "Hamburgers again. Hamburgers and mashed potatoes and corn. I wish Mama was here to do the cooking, not Janet."

"Yeah, sure." He said nothing more as he scooped the evening paper off the steps, carried it into the house. Janet popped out of the kitchen, almost lost underneath one of Trish's work aprons.

"Hi, Papa. You can sit down in two minutes, so go wash your hands."

He bent to pass a kiss across her cheek, and gave her a familiar pat in turn, heading into the downstairs john to follow orders. When he came out, the dining room table was set and Janet was carrying the last of the dishes in. Liz was already seated, and helping herself to everything despite her comments about the food.

"Hard day, Papa?" asked Janet.

"Hard as usual," he said, dishing out mashed potatoes. "I have to run out to Copperwood for a couple of hours tonight. You girls don't mind, do you? I was thinking, I could drop you off at the Savoy on the way-there's a double bill monster show on this week. I'll pick you up after, and we'll stop at Farrell's for ice cream."

"That's a stinky show," said Liz. "We saw it last winter."

"Thanks anyway, Papa," said Janet. "But I guess we'll skip the movies tonight. Ice cream later sounds good, though, doesn't it, Liz?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Will you be out late, Papa?"

"No later than I have to be," he said, answering his youngest daughter's question.

But when he was finally finished at the model home, his own home did not seem like such a great place to be. His groin still ached-he still wanted his wife so bad he could almost taste her lips. He was building up to a great depression, so it was easy to stop at a bar near the development-the first one he saw. It was a quiet place, with few customers and those minding their own business. The first drink was followed by several more, and before he knew it the bartender was standing in front of him, shaking his wrist.

"Mac! Hey, Mac! Wake up!"

"Huh? Whazzit?" His glass was empty, although he could not remember drinking it. "Gimme another. Wha' time's it?"

"Eleven-thirty. You're the last one in the place-everybody else went home. You go home, too, so I can close up-please."

"Gimine another," he said again.

"Okay, but this is the last one-and drink up. I want to get home before Johnny Carson goes off, for a change."

Five minutes later he was fumbling his car keys into the ignition. He sat up straight before starting the motor, stretching his eyes wide. How many drinks had he had? His vision was blurry for a moment, until he rubbed his eyes. Then he managed to start the car, steer it out onto the street.

Dan didn't remember getting home. Suddenly he was sitting in the car, which was parked in his own driveway. He tried to read his watch, but the figures were too far away to be made out. Somehow he got out, made his way to the house, stumbling as he went up the porch steps.

A light was on in the hall, and when he finally managed to open the door and stagger inside, Janet appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked up with bleary vision, and saw that his daughter was wearing baby doll pajamas-brief panties, and a top that barely came to her waist. The pajamas were old, but a favorite pair. He could see the girl's developing tits clearly through the light blue fabric.

"Oh, Papa!"

She came to him, and caught him as he stumbled against the first step before he could fall. His arm around Janet's shoulder, he used her as a crutch to make it up the stairs, and then into his bedroom-the bedroom he shared with the wife who was not there.

"Did you have to get drunk, Papa?"

Janet helped him sit on the edge of the bed, bent to remove his shoes and his socks.