Student And Teacher Ch 17

Student and Teacher (Chapter 17)

Kathryn M. Burke

Damon was satisfied with how well Vera was fitting into the household—both sexually and in many other ways. And yet, he sensed that she was not entirely happy, nor that the troubles that had beset her in the past were fully resolved.

And that is why, one day a few weeks after the spring term was over, he found himself approaching the office of one Wallace Baker.

Wallace worked as an insurance salesman in an area of Charlottesville quite a ways away from Iris's house, and Damon had to expend some effort to find it. But as he was about to open the front door of the office, a sudden trepidation overcame him. What could possibly be Wallace's response to his unexpected overture? He wasn't even certain what he would say, let alone how he would explain the highly unorthodox makeup of Iris's household. But then he threw caution to the winds and walked boldly in.

He was met by a pretty and highly efficient secretary who glanced up at him and said, "May I help you?"

"Um," Damon blundered, "I'd like to see Wallace Baker."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"No. This is—er, a personal matter."

The secretary gazed at him long and deeply before getting up and saying, "I'll check if he can see you."

She retreated to the only other room in the very small office—a room that, much to Damon's relief, had a door that could presumably be closed for privacy. She poked her head into the office and said to the occupant within, "There's someone here to see you. He says it's a personal matter."

There seemed to be an unusually long silence before the man inside said, "All right, send him in."

The secretary returned to her own desk and did nothing more than toss her head in the direction of her boss's office.

Damon walked stiffly into the room and laid eyes on Wallace Baker for the first time.

He admitted to himself that he liked what he saw. Wallace was a substantial figure, more than six feet tall, and with a barrel chest. He was by no means fat, and it might even have been inaccurate to say he was stocky. Most of his frame seemed to be muscle and bone, and as he stood up and fixed his eyes on Damon, he gave Damon a firm handshake that belied both men's nervousness and uncertainty.

"Can I help you?" Wallace said in a rich baritone voice.

"Um, you don't know me," Damon said, suddenly feeling very much the callow undergraduate, "but I know your daughter and wife—er, ex-wife."

Wallace seemed to freeze in place. "Oh, you do?" he said, almost as if Damon had admitted knowing the head of the New York mafia.

"Yeah," Damon said even more hesitantly than before. "I guess I'm Nan's boyfriend."

And Vera's—and Iris's.

"Well, good for you," Wallace said in a sudden burst of bonhomie. "I was wondering about Nan—she didn't seem to have much interest in boys in high school." Looking Damon over scrupulously, he went on: "You seem to be a fine figure of a man."

The compliment caused Damon to blush. "I'm on the baseball team at Westminster."

"Splendid," Wallace said.

Both men fell silent. They both sensed that something consequential needed to be discussed, but neither of them knew how to go about it.

"You say you know my wife—ex-wife," Wallace ventured.

"Yeah, Vera," Damon said. "A really fine woman."

"Yes, she is," Wallace agreed.

Damon couldn't help glaring at him.

Then why did you leave her?

Then he took the plunge, knowing that the subject couldn't be avoided much longer. "I don't think she's very happy right now. I mean, she's better than she was"—

that's what regular sex will do for you

—"but she's still not really happy."

Suddenly Wallace's face crumpled in misery as he fell back against his chair. "I—I'm not so happy myself."

"But," Damon said quietly, "you're the one who . . ." He trailed off.

"I know," Wallace said. "I'm now wondering why I did that."

Damon looked at Wallace in an exasperated manner, unable to speak.

"Look, guy," Wallace said, "you obviously know Vera and Nan pretty well, so I might as well level with you. When I was courting Vera, I thought she was just about the most wonderful woman I'd ever met—beautiful, smart, tender, kind, caring, just about everything a man would want. And the first few years of our marriage were great, too."

He heaved a big sigh. "But maybe we made a mistake having Nan so soon. Don't get me wrong: Nan's fabulous, and I'm sure she's become a younger and maybe even better version of her mother—I can't really say, since I haven't heard much from her these past two years or more."

That's mostly your fault,

Damon said to himself with a scowl on his face.

"But the thing is," Wallace continued, "Vera changed once Nan was born. It was as if a lot of the love she had for me was suddenly transferred to the baby. Nan became Vera's whole world: she gave up her job and became a full-time mom; and even when I came home from work, expecting her to give some attention to me after I'd been gone all day, I felt the focus was still on Nan. I felt cut off from my own family.

"And let me tell you: much as I love Nan, she became quite a handful, especially when she was a teenager. Okay, almost everyone goes through a rebellious phase, and Nan may not have been as bad as others—nothing like drugs or sex with boys or anything like that."

Certainly not sex with boys—I can assure you of that,

Damon reflected.

"But she rebelled in a quieter but perhaps more emphatic way, and as a result both Vera and I felt alienated from her a little bit. We just couldn't seem to reach her. And that changed Vera even more."

Wallace stared at Damon with a sort of quiet desperation. "God, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I don't even know you. But I'll be honest with you: I like, um, intimacy. It's one of the great pleasures of my life. I hadn't had too many women before Vera, and when I won her as my wife, I couldn't believe my good fortune. It was great at the beginning, but as the years went by, Vera"—and Wallace's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper—"didn't seem to want me to touch her; didn't want

anyone

to touch her. I don't know what it was, and it kind of drove me crazy. But that was a large part of the reason why I left. I thought I had to make a new start with someone else—clean slate, you know?"

It took Damon a long while to say, slowly and precisely: "I can assure you, sir, that Vera feels and acts very differently now."

Wallace looked dumbfounded for a moment; then it was as if he was going to leap over his desk and throttle Damon with his bare hands. His face got all red, and he began breathing hard. Then, all of a sudden, he gave a wry smile.

"Is that so?" he said.

"Yeah, it is," Damon said with incredible intensity.

"Well, more power to her," Wallace remarked with a shrug. "I don't see why she shouldn't . . ." He trailed off, but then added: "But what about Nan? Doesn't she mind?"

"She's very tolerant. They both are."

Wallace just shook his head. "Well, if that works for the three of you, it's all well and good. You're one lucky . . ." Again Wallace trailed off, and Damon was inclined to think Wallace wanted to say:

You're one lucky son of a bitch, fucking both my daughter and my ex-wife!

Instead, Wallace said: "So why are you here? It seems the three of you have worked out matters pretty well among yourselves."

Damon realized this wasn't the moment to spill the beans about the unusual situation at Iris's house. So all he said was: "She misses you. I think wants you back. She may still be in love with you."

Wallace's jaw dropped. "Did she say that?"

"No, not in so many words. But she always refers to you as her 'husband,' not her 'ex-husband' or anything like that. I think that's pretty significant."

"Well, I haven't heard a peep from her in more than two years. Why doesn't she—?"

"Oh, Wallace," Damon cried, "she can't do that! The first move has to come from

you.

You're the one who left her. If she tried to reach out to you, it would seem as if she were begging you to come back. She has too much pride for that.

You're

the one who has to reach out to

her.

"

Wallace shook his head in disbelief. "I just can't take all this in. Are you serious? Do you really think she'll take me back after all this time?"

"Hey, it hasn't been all that long. Two-plus years after a marriage that lasted almost twenty aren't much. There's plenty of time for you to get back together with her and have many more years of happiness."

Wallace eyed Damon skeptically. "But, um, where would I fit into this—arrangement?"

"I think we can make some adjustments. But you just have to win her back."

"And how do you propose that I do that?"

"Well, for starters . . ."

*

When Damon back home later that afternoon, with Wallace in tow, he found the house pretty empty. Only Iris was at home; Nan and Sylvia were off on some errand somewhere, Brad was getting in a workout at the gym, and Vera hadn't yet come home from work. On the drive back from Wallace's office, Damon had had to explain a little bit about the living arrangements, at least to the extent of letting the older man know who was occupying the big house owned by this young professor. Wallace was clearly perplexed, but didn't question his new friend very closely. And when he got his first look at Iris, he stopped in his tracks and gazed unabashedly at this fine figure of a woman.

"Who is this?" Iris asked Damon as she came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron.

"This, um, is Wallace Baker," was all Damon said.

Iris was quick on the uptake. Her eyes widened, and as she extended a hand toward Wallace she said, "You're Vera's . . .?"

"Yes," Wallace said, taking up the hand fervently. For a time it almost seemed as if he wanted to kiss it.

Iris looked back and forth between the two men. "What exactly is going on?" she asked cautiously.

"I just thought," Damon said, unable to look at his lover, "that Wallace should get reacquainted with his wife—er, his ex-wife—and daughter."

Iris eyed him keenly, and the thought running through her mind was clear to all.

I'm not sure you have the right to meddle in other people's affairs like this.

But any doubts she may have had were brushed aside when Nan and Sylvia burst through the door, carrying a few packages in plastic bags. The moment she set eyes on her father she dropped the bags and cried, "Daddy!" Then she flung herself in his direction.

She jumped up and hugged him around his broad chest, compelling him to catch her by the underside of her thighs as she coiled her arms around his neck. She was kissing him all over his face, not caring who saw this display of exuberant affection.

Wallace's introduction to Sylvia was more reserved, but she didn't fail to notice that Nan's dad looked her up and down in the usual way men have of evaluating the physical and other assets of a particularly attractive woman. At the moment all they did was shake hands and exchange a few meaningless pleasantries.

But it was Nan who wanted to be the focus of her father's attention.

"What are you doing here, Daddy?" she cried. "And why've you been so silent? I haven't heard from you in ages!"

"I'm sorry, dear," Wallace said, unable to look Nan in the face. Large as he was—towering a foot over his slender daughter—she somehow seemed the dominant one among the pair. "I—I felt a little awkward."

"Awkward? Don't be silly. No matter what you and Mom feel toward each other, I'll always be your daughter."

"I know that—and I'll always love you," he said, suddenly choking up.

But there was no time for any further intimacy, for everyone could now hear Vera's car pull into the driveway. Everyone froze in place as they listened to her approach to the house, and then her casual entry into it. She looked exhausted after a hard day's work, dumping her purse on a little table in the hallway before sauntering into the living room.

"So what's for—?" she began to say until she spotted her ex-husband looming up in front of her.

She actually staggered at the sight of him, stumbling over to the couch and falling on it awkwardly. Looking up at him, she cried accusingly:

"You!"

This wasn't the most promising of starts, and all Wallace could do was to mutter: "Hello, Vera. I—I'm glad to see you."

It was abundantly evident that the feeling wasn't mutual. For a time it looked as if she was going to bolt from the room—or from the house. Then, catching sight of Damon and instantly recognizing that this was his doing, she looked daggers at him and said:

"What did you bring him here for?"

"Vera, please," Damon said. "I thought it would be a good idea if he came by and met you."

"Did you?" she spat back acidly. "And why should you think that?"

"Because he misses you," Damon said simply.

Vera just gazed at the two men in front of her, suddenly at a loss for words.

"He's right," Wallace supplied. "I do miss you. You—you're looking fabulous, Vera. It's just great to see you again."

He approached her hesitantly, and Vera backed away into the couch as if she wished she could somehow find her way into it. But as Wallace took one of her hands in his own, the contact with the man she had called her husband for nearly two decades seemed to overwhelm her. With a strangled cry she stood up and wrapped her hands around him, nestling her head on his shoulder. He held her gently but tightly, saying nothing.

They stood that way for a long time.

The others watched this strange episode with a sort of quiet amazement. None of them except Damon had sensed how much Vera had missed Wallace—not even Iris, who had exchanged so many intimacies with the older woman during their several cuddling sessions and elsewhere. Now it was as if they were present at some tender, sacred moment—a moment that probably should have been private, and which they felt privileged to be witnessing.

"I hope you can stay for dinner, Wallace," Iris said softly.

"I'd like that very much," he replied without letting go of his former spouse.

The two finally did part, and Vera, seemingly embarrassed at her emotional display, said, "I'll help you in the kitchen," and dashed away into that room to get out of Wallace's sight.

While dinner was being prepared, Nan peppered her father with all manner of questions about how things were going with him. Sylvia tried to get a few words in edgewise, and Nan grudgingly allowed her to do so. Wallace was still utterly befuddled at the way in which these six people all shared a living space, but put the matter out of his mind for the time being. All he could think about right now was re-establishing relations with his ex-wife.

Dinner was a festive affair, and the two older women went to extra lengths to make it special. Luckily, Iris had put a big pot roast in the oven hours before, but Vera made sure to add biscuits, a large salad, and other tasty things to the main course. There was plenty of wine for everyone, and a rich German chocolate cake for dessert.

After dinner, to no one's surprise, Vera all but ordered Wallace to go upstairs with her for a long and intense chat. As she closed the door to the master bedroom, she placed her back to it and gazed at her ex-husband as if he were an apparition conjured up by a sorcerer.

"I really don't think," she said in a low voice, "that Damon should have brought you over here without my permission."

"Yeah," Wallace admitted, "I was beginning to feel the same way. But he insisted. Maybe he thought you wouldn't even let me in the house if you knew ahead of time that I was coming."

"He may have been right about that."

But Vera's unfriendly words belied her overall demeanor. She was in fact drinking in Wallace's presence so avidly that he became a little unnerved by it. For all his size, he was in many ways a shy and retiring guy, and didn't care for face-to-face conflict. He actually stepped back a few paces, as if Vera was going to strike him—not that there was much space to maneuver, what with the king-size bed taking up most of the area in the room.

"So what do you want?" she asked bluntly.

For a time he stared back at her: he too was reacquainting himself with all the lovely features—of mind and of body—that had attracted him to her in the first place, and right now she looked even more radiantly beautiful than she ever had, even when she was a gorgeous young creature barely out of college. He hadn't had many involvements in the past two and a half years, and he was keenly feeling the absence of female companionship in his life.

That's what led him to cry in a croaking voice, "I want you back!"

He rushed toward her in a stumbling gait, and she wasn't deft enough to escape his embrace. In fact, he pinned her to the door while he loomed over her, bending his head down as if to kiss her. She tried to turn her head aside, but he seized it with both hands and plastered a long, wet kiss on her mouth. He could feel and hear her struggling, but eventually she just gave up the effort—it was obviously futile. She even grudgingly snaked her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

They both gasped after their lips parted, but he continued to hold her fast. He had now pulled her a little away from the door and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist. Inflamed by pent-up passion, he began kissing her face and neck frantically while slipping a hand in the direction of her bottom. First he snatched up the hem of her knee-length dress, then he took hold of her underwear and forcefully pulled it down to her knees, and then he touched that bare bottom for the first time in nearly three years, relishing its remembered contours as both let out moans of ecstasy.

In short order he slipped his hand around to her front and between her thighs. She made a faint effort to stop him, but pretty soon yielded to his touch—she was already sopping wet. He parted her labia, inserted two fingers deep in her vagina, and used his thumb to stroke her clitoris. She opened her legs to make it easier for him, and in a matter of minutes he had coaxed a thunderous climax out of her—which she expressed with a strangled cry muffled only partly when she pressed her lips against his shoulder.

They clutched each other for a time, and then she pried herself out of his grasp.

"I shouldn't have let you take such liberties with me," she said in a voice that seemed to chide herself more than him. But the smile that broke out on her face took the sting out of the words.

"Can we . . . get more comfortable?" Wallace said, already beginning to disrobe.

Vera followed suit, and presently they were both naked. Without thinking, she fell to her knees and placed his cock—which, she noted with quiet amusement, was a tad longer than Damon's, although not quite as long or thick as Brad's—in her mouth. She didn't fail to tickle his balls with light and delicate fingers: she knew how much he liked that.

But Wallace was hardly in much need of additional foreplay. After only a few moments, he lifted Vera up by her arms and all but flung her on the bed. In almost a single motion he leaped on top of her and plunged into her. Both of them gloried in the well-remembered sensation of the copulation they had shared hundreds of times during their marriage: it was both familiar and strange, as both of them sensed dimly that they were quite different people than when they were husband and wife. It wasn't long before Wallace gave Vera the ultimate tribute to her beauty and desirability, and she graciously accepted the copious emission pouring into her dripping crevice.

As he rolled off of her, he unwittingly duplicated Damon's habitual practice of having her lie directly on top of him as they snuggled in post-coital affection. But there were things that Wallace had to settle in his own mind.