Carlotta Graham - The animal urge

Prowling through her home, Diane considered turning on the radio or television, anything for company, but she knew she would not be able to sit still long enough to listen or watch. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight and made no effort to try. A night-owl's mournful cry outside the house made her shudder and, when she realized that there was really nothing to be afraid of, she sat down in the kitchen again, wearily brushing a blonde curl away from the side of her pale, worried face. She knew that she would have to calm down soon or go out of her mind with fear and irrational dread.

She picked up one of Bill's sports-jackets that had a button hanging loosely from the side pocket and dropped it on the breakfast table, but not even her guilt could make her like the prospect of repairing the garment. It seemed so useless now, as though everything had changed forever and it was senseless to even think of her husband's wearing clothes that she had mended. If only he were here, she thought somberly, somehow she might be able to explain everything that had happened and he would understand, comfort her. He would somehow know that none of it had been her fault, not really, and he would kiss away her wretched unhappiness and tears of shame.

In the next moment, her gaze fell on the blue wall beside the kitchen sink and lingered thoughtfully on the telephone receiver hanging there on its cradle. Maybe… maybe she would call him… She rose abruptly and walked to the bulletin board on the wall beside the telephone. As she flipped through the tacked-up notes that Bill always left there each time before he left on a business trip, she smiled with the anticipation of hearing his deep masculine voice. At last, she found one of the business cards with the address and telephone number of the kennel he was visiting. If she got in touch with the owners, perhaps they would know the name and number of the nearby motel where Bill was staying.

She lifted the receiver and began to call the long-distance number but when she had finished dialing the area code, an unexpected stab of doubt caused her outstretched hand to stall and then finally drop to her side. No, there was no way to explain this, she suddenly realized; at least, she could never make everything sound right and true over the telephone. He would probably be all the more upset by her sketchy emotional account of the affair than if he heard it first-hand from her in person.

If he had not taken their only car, maybe she would have driven up to see him, even though it would mean that the dogs would be left alone for a whole day. But there was no car and, now that she thought about it, she would no doubt have just as hard a time telling him what had happened face-to-face as over the telephone.

The hopeful smile drained away from her pretty youthful face as she realized the true futility of her position. God, how do you tell a man that his own supposedly-faithful wife spent the morning groaning and writhing adulterously, legs spread shamelessly wide under another man's hard-driving penis? Even to her, it sounded too shocking and insane to be true, and even if she were able to convince him that it had all happened as it did, why should he ever forgive her? Even she was not certain that the horrible episode had happened as she remembered it now. Maybe her own mind was playing cruel tricks on her now and she had been far more responsible for the obscene interlude than she dared to realize.

Well, it was her responsibility to protect Bill from the ghastly truth, she decided, because she loved him too much to cause him suffering simply for the sake of clearing her own conscience. She would try to stick this out in silence and suffer alone for her terrible mistake. And yet, it would be hard. She knew that she would never be able to curl up in his lap again and nip playfully at his ear in girlish innocence without remembering Jack Green and how she had actually submitted to his filthy rape of her shamelessly-willing cunt. It would be like a penance that she would have to bear by herself, a scar that she would have to hide for the sake of her husband. Yes, time might dull the memory but it would never completely erase it.

"Hey, hey Wolf, slow down boy," Diane commanded as she tugged at the plaited leather leash that the huge animal had almost wrenched out of her hand. The enormous animal had apparently caught some interesting scent in his nostrils and wanted to follow it but the flush-faced young blonde fought to guide him back onto the trail. It was a magnificent day, unexpectedly warm and sunny, and the forest ground was springy under her feet. The usual gray haze of the morning had dissolved and now, just after mid-day, the sun was blazing down brilliantly, cooled only by a light breeze from the south that ruffled and swept away the last traces of clouds. She was aware of the late hour, troubled by the thought that this was grooming day for the dogs and she had to be home in time to brush and comb each one of them carefully while there was still enough light.

It was the day after her indecision about confessing to Bill and she had awakened that morning feeling slightly better. In the clear light of the dawn, she had resolved that her conclusion last night, not to tell Bill anything about what had happened, was a good idea and now she should make every effort to forget the nightmarish experience. It would do her no good at all to dwell on the horrible memories of the cruel rape and besides, she had made up her mind to avoid any further contact with that common man, Jack Green, again. Surely he realized that she could get him into serious trouble legally if she ever wanted to go to the police with the story of how he had sexually assaulted her… in her own home. No matter what kind of woman the caretaker had thought she was after finding her in that compromising position with Wolf, he had no real right to force her to make love with him, to mock and taunt her through it all as though she were some kind of sluttish idiot.

Yet… yet, if she was so certain of her position, why had she backed out last evening when she started to telephone Bill via the kennel owners? It returned to her with full force that her rendition of the last three days' events would sound to anyone, especially to a husband who was extremely conscious of his masculinity, like a girlish fairy-tale or simply a deliberate lie. She heaved a deep sigh and continued on along the trail as she thought back on the seemingly normal events of that morning.

She had risen from her lonely bed, slipped into blue-jeans and a soft black knit shirt, and then made herself a hearty breakfast. The day before, she had been too upset to even think of eating and this morning she had gulped down a massive breakfast of toast, eggs, and coffee to counteract her overall feeling of weakness and to help her think more rationally.

It was as though she were suspended in some kind of delicate balance between right and wrong, frustration and happiness. Though she still felt unspeakably disgusted about her own spontaneous lusting reaction to Jack Green's obscene usage of her helpless body yesterday morning, she had begun to consider again the idea that much of what had happened was really partly Bill's fault. Then, there was the unavoidable fact that he often did leave her alone out here in the woods, heedless of her loneliness, while he went off for days on his frequent business trips… and more important, as far as her guilt was concerned, she recalled how he had not bothered to take the time and trouble to really satisfy her when they had made love before he had gone away Sunday afternoon. If he had been only a little more loving and thoughtful, she had decided as she sipped at the steaming black coffee earlier that morning, she undoubtedly would not have been so vulnerable to the strange sexual occurrences that had filled her days alone since he had departed. Not that she was trying to avoid her true share of the blame, she rationalized, but it was comforting to know that she was not evil through and through, a woman who would spread her legs for any man who made an offer to satisfy her. After what had happened yesterday with the grey-haired caretaker and the strange incident with the dog outside, she had been almost out of her mind as she had sat at the kitchen table, with a look of worried distress on her face about the actual nature of her personality. Now, though, she was slowly beginning to understand the terrible sexual strain she had been subjected to ever since Bill had left the house. She found that she could at least live with herself now. It was a good thing, too, because she was certain that she might have been capable of trying to run away, or even an attempt at suicide, if she had gone on feeling the way she had been feeling last night.