The Sailor's Wife

The Shroud

Stephanie woke, troubled by something, a noise perhaps. What time was it? After 10, she was late for work! No, wait, it was Sunday, everything's all right. Was she going to sleep the entire day away? Why not? She'd done it before. At least when she slept she was clear of the pangs of loneliness.

She turned on her side, tugging at the flannel nightgown she'd wrapped herself in before she fell asleep, and gazed over the bedside to the portrait of her husband. The glass was cracked, and she recalled how it had been broken just the night before. Suddenly, she felt the tears welling. Unfaithful again! The memory of the young man came flowing over her, how she'd seduced him, attempting to assuage both her seclusion and the physical needs of a young woman. She felt a good cry coming on, the wracking sobs of a woman whose conscience wouldn't allow peace.

Suddenly the noise returned, a banging on the front door. Who could it be? She roused herself, throwing a bathrobe over her shoulders to protect her modesty, wiping her tears with the bedsheet, and made her way to the front door. Through the peephole, she spied Chuck, the young man she'd invited into her bath and bed the night before. Cracking the door, keeping the chain latched, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Hi," he replied. "Thought I'd come over to see you. Is it okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Listen, I'll open the door, but don't come in for a few seconds, okay? I'm not quite decent." Then she remembered just how indecent she'd been when he saw her just twelve hours before.

"Okay."

Stephanie unlatched the door and left it ajar, then sprinted for the bathroom. She couldn't let Chuck see her this way, disheveled, teary-eyed, ugly. She heard him come in after her, and called to him, "Be a dear and put some coffee on, will you?"

She began her toilet, only to be disturbed by a call, "How many scoops?"

"Two," she replied. By the time she emerged from the bedroom clad in shorts and sweatshirt, brushed and perfumed, she was feeling a little better, not only physically, but morally as well.

"So," she began, "how did you get here?"

"I walked."

"Walked? It's over five miles!"

"Yeah, but it only took me an hour and a half. I can walk pretty fast, I was on the cross-country team in high school."

Why was he here, she wondered? Did he expect her to strip, throw herself on her back again, and let him have his way with her? Luckily, he said the first words, and picked just the right ones. "I thought maybe you'd like to go over by the lake, or maybe up into the hills. It's a really pretty morning."

It certainly was! But weren't they all in this wonderland they called California? The fog had already burned off, the picture window displayed a world filled with crisp images of trees and mountains. And here he was, just trying to be a friend. Maybe he wasn't like all the other guys who, she imagined, had only one use for a woman. "Sure, let's do something."

Stephanie made sandwiches and put some fruit into a plastic bag. In the garage, she had Chuck put two bicycles onto the rack on her VW bug - she figured he could ride Glenn's bike well enough. Soon they were on the way up to the redwoods and began a long ride through the hills and trees. Forty-five minutes into their trip they were both sweating. Chuck pulled his T - shirt off, displaying the trim torso Stephanie had enjoyed so much the night before. She pulled off her sweatshirt, exposing the halter top and hoped he wouldn't notice her nipples, crinkled with the remembrance of last night's passion. A half hour farther on, they stopped in a high meadow overlooking Oakland and the San Francisco Bay below them.

They spread the picnic in the grass, thirstily gulped the water from the jug and began to munch on the provisions. "Chuck," Stephanie began, spouting the words she'd rehearsed during the bike ride, "I want you to know just how much I enjoyed last night..."

"Yeah," he interrupted, "It was great, wasn't it? You're really something."

"But you've got to remember, I'm a married woman. What I did was wrong, I shouldn't have led you on. I'm a little ashamed of myself."

"You mean..."

"What I'm trying to say is, I like you, I like you a lot, but, well, I guess I don't want you to think . . . I mean, I just can't... It's just not right..." The carefully polished speech crumbled under the weight of her emotions, and she realized just how incoherent her thoughts were.

"That's okay, Steph. If you can't, you can't. Just the one time was great. But, maybe, I could just hang around with you, if that's all right."

It was the perfect retort, and suddenly the gloom that filled Stephanie's soul lifted. A friend was found, one who could be counted on. A rush of conversation followed. They discovered each other, what she did at work, the hobbies he had. They began to become comfortable with each other.

The ride back took longer, interrupted by bits of conversation and frequent stops for views and water. Once Chuck put his hand on her shoulder, sending a thrill through her body, but she willed it to cease and almost forgot the physical attraction she felt for the youth.

Returning to the house, she offered him a beer and put some chicken on the hibachi. For hours they talked, playing Yahtzee and cards, rarely remembering the passion of the previous evening. Finally, near sunset, Stephanie said, "Listen, why don't I take you home?"

"Okay," he agreed. He rose first from the couch and offered his hand to pull her up. She accepted, and as she rose in the gloaming, she tripped over the leg of the coffee table and stumbled into his arms, her face next to his. "Thank you," she said, and then, suddenly, desired a kiss. She pressed her lips against his and they fell back onto the couch. His hand was on her breast, feeling the nipple through the bra, and she pulled him to her. He was on top of her, his crotch on hers, and remembering the feel of his penis within her, she was quite sure what she wanted.

When he unsnapped her jeans and tried to put a hand down her pants, though, she recalled her resolve and cried, "Chuck, stop. Please, dear, don't." Waiting for him to respond, she was certain that if he didn't restrain himself, she wouldn't have the strength to ask again.

But he did stop, and shyly got off of her. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have . . . ."

"No, that's okay dear," she replied, closing her pants and straightening the rest of her clothing. "It's just that . . . ."

During the drive back to Alameda, she reminded the boy that Glenn would be returning Thursday afternoon. "Well, maybe I could come over one night before then," Chuck suggested.

"Maybe. Why don't you call me?" She dropped him off a block from his house with just a quick handclasp.

He did call that week, and when Steph answered the phone they chatted, but she resisted the temptation of his company. She'd rather be lonely, she decided, than unfaithful. And if he came over, she was afraid this time she wouldn't be able to stop his advances, or was it her advances?

Thursday evening, just after work, Stephanie was on the dock of the Naval Air Station, waiting for the aircraft carrier in a silky gown. Soon it tied up, gray and immense, and young men began to pour down the gangplank. She watched as Glenn joined them, a little late she thought, and there was something wrong - instead of the dress whites the rest of the sailors were wearing, he was in dungarees.

They met on the dock, and she was in his arms, kissing him, fondling him. But an unknown something kept them at a slight distance. "Listen, sweetheart," he began, "one of the guys got detached, and they switched my section. I'm on watch."

"Oh, no," she said, realizing he wouldn't be coming home with her that night.

"I'm afraid so. But hey, if you want to come aboard for an hour or so, the chief says it's okay."

And so, instead of getting into the car and heading for their retreat in the hills, she found herself climbing onto the ship, walking the passages, trying not to stain her dress. They entered his workspace - she'd been there a dozen times - and they were alone.

"You've been all right?" he asked.

"Sure, I missed you." And she was in his arms, and she knew she wanted him, desired his attentions. Her hands caressed his back. Their lips met. After a long kiss, she suggested, "Let's make love."

"You mean..."

"Right here. In back of those racks."

"Honey, if anyone caught us, I'd get busted. It's not that I don't want to..."

"Please," she begged, "It will be all right. You can lock the door, maybe there's somewhere else we can go."

And of course, with perfect timing, the chief walked in. "Oh, sorry," he apologized as the couple broke from each other.

"Chief, this is my wife Stephanie."

"How do you do, ma'am?"

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the Chief looked to Glenn. "Don't mean to break this up, but we need you on a work party. Get down to the second deck ASAP, okay?"

"Sure, Chief."

After he was gone, they kissed once more. "Sorry, honey, I've got to go." And he escorted her back to the gangplank, with whispered promises that tomorrow they'd be able to care for each other's passions. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at 5:15, right after work," Stephanie promised.

But as she descended to the dock, Stephanie felt not just disappointment and loneliness, but an overwhelming physical need.

Soon she was in her car on Webster, and passed the string of fast food joints. Suddenly, she was pleased to see a familiar figure walking along the street. "Hey, Chuck," Steph yelled, pulling the car to the curb. Just the ticket to assuage her solitude.

"Oh, hi!" he responded, realizing who was stopping to greet him.

"I was just driving past. Can I give you a lift home?"

"Sure!" He got in the passenger side, and Steph drove through the residential neighborhood. "I thought your old man was going to get home tonight."

"Well, his ship pulled in, but he's got to stay on board tonight."

"Bummer."

"Yeah, real bummer. Listen, I need some company right now, someone to talk to. Do you need to go right home?"

"Nah. What do you want to do?"

"Can we just drive down to the beach?"

"Okay." Soon they were in the parking lot, gazing at the lights of the City across the Bay. For a few minutes they chatted about inanities, but soon the depression returned to Steph and she began to weep. It was only natural for Chuck to put his arm around her, to comfort her. He remembered her warning, he didn't expect anything to happen, and when he felt her lips pressing against his, nibbling at the corner of his mouth, he was astounded and unsure of himself. But the instincts of love are not so easily dissuaded, and he kissed back. They embraced over the stick shift, and he allowed his hand to fondle a breast though the silky fabric of her dress.

For her part, Steph was suddenly overwhelmed by passion. She wanted not so much to make love as to have a release of tension - hers, Glenn's or Chuck's. Her hand dropped to the boy's lap, caressing the ever-strengthening rod inside the slacks. She knew it wasn't safe to do it here, too many police, but there was one thing she could do for him. Unzipping his pants, she stuck her hand into his boxers, stroking his penis.

She remembered how Glenn liked her to gently rub his dick, and the smoothness of the youth's rod reminded her of something else Glenn enjoyed, something she rarely performed because some part of the Victorian society she grew up in told her it was 'dirty.' At that moment she didn't care about rules, and so she bent over and took the penis into her mouth. The boy slumped back, letting her minister to him, and she licked the tip of the nearly virgin cock and let her saliva drip down, supplying lubrication for the strokes of her hand. Soon she was bobbing up and down on the prick, and he moved his hips in unison. Just a few seconds later, she felt the slight tremors that indicated he would be releasing soon. This was the point where she almost always backed away, letting Glenn spill his seed into the air, but this time she stayed with Chuck and allowed him to erupt into her mouth. Greedily she sucked the sperm from the young penis, thinking all the while of how it could be Glenn's, how much he'd enjoy this, but that he was too selfish to be with her tonight, and so she performed the act on another man in substitution. Soon Chuck was finished, and she spit the milky fluid into a tissue, futilely trying not to taste the acid, not to gag. "Did you like that?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," he moaned.

"I'm glad. You better zip up," she said, as headlights swept the side of the car. Luckily, it wasn't a cop. She started the engine as Chuck rearranged his now flagging dick, and began to drive the few blocks to his house. She stopped on a street filled with adobe bungalows, a few houses past the one he identified as his and told him, "Glenn will be leaving in ten days. Give me a call then, okay?" She drove off into the night, thinking what she'd done served Glenn right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day at work, keypunching, she realized she wasn't up to her usual efficient self. She kept thinking about what she'd done the night before with Chuck, and what she could do with Glenn that night. Concentration on her job was suffering. After the next clerk had verified three batches and corrected the dozens of problems, her manager called her in.

"You okay, Steph?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Donegal."

"Did your husband get home all right last night?"

"Well, no. He had the watch, and had to stay on board."

"Oh. That's too bad."

"I'm sorry I'm not at my best today," she apologized, hoping to placate the boss.

"Don't worry about it. Everybody understands what you're going through. Listen, your boy is shipping out soon, isn't he?"

"A week from Tuesday."

"And the ship will be in port until then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Listen, if you want to take off a couple of hours every now and then until he leaves, just let me know, all right? It's pretty quiet here right now, and I'll let you make up the time after he's gone, okay?"

"Really, Mr. Donegal? Oh, that would be so nice. Thank you!"

"Don't worry about it. I was young once, you know. You just take care of that sailor of yours, okay? What time does he get off today?"

"He can leave at 4:00."

"Okay, then you leave early, and go get him." He thought for a moment that she was going to hug him, but she bounced out of the door. Her performance improved markedly.

At 3:45 she packed up her purse and left to the cries from her coworkers of "Have a good time," and "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Instead of heading for Alameda and her husband, she went home and showered. She took her time drying her hair, applying make up, perfuming herself, and donning just the right outfit. By the time they'd arranged to meet, she was standing on the pier waiting for her husband, and the other sailors and dockworkers were leering at her.

Glenn almost didn't recognize her, mainly because, like most men, he started looking at the bottom. Black high heels, nylons, red miniskirt and top, bare midriff, and a come-hither look. At first, he thought she might be a hooker, but when his eyes rose to her face, he took her in his arms and kissed her, winning the admiration of the onlookers. He couldn't wait to get her home.

He drove as quickly as possible through the rush hour traffic, occasionally stroking her legs when he wasn't shifting the stick, gazing at her beauty, peeping into her cleavage. At long last, they pulled into the driveway, and chased each other up the stairs to the apartment door.

Stephanie poured a beer into a frosted glass for her returning hero, and when she took it to him in the bedroom he was already reclining on the bed, garbed only in his boxers. "Come here," he requested, and she joined him on the bed. They began by kissing passionately, hungry for each other after their enforced separation. Glenn pawed hungrily at her bosom, stripping her of her bra and sucking gratefully at her nipples. A warmth kindled within her, not only from the physical attention she was needing and receiving, but also just from the closeness of her husband. Soon she was fondling his sac through his boxers, and he had removed her skirt, pleasantly shocked to discover she'd 'forgotten' to wear panties. His eyes and hands explored her thick bush.

He was ready for her, three weeks and one very long night ready for her, and now he was so excited by her state of undress, just high heels, garter belt and nylons, that he forgot to continue the foreplay. He rolled her onto her back and began to sink into her.

Stephanie wanted him to slow him down, to play with her a little more before the sex. Her sense of duty, however, told her not to interfere with his desire. She spread her legs wide and he pounded into her, shoving his manhood deep within her almost moist vagina. His movements caused the elastic of the garter belt to dig into her stomach, rubbing off a bit of skin, but Stephanie knew her place was to give pleasure to her man, so she endured the punishment. Too soon, his excitement and the friction got the best of him, and he spewed into his wife.

Afterward, unsatisfied and no longer aroused, Steph asked, "What would you like for dinner, dear? There's ground beef, some tuna, or we could go down to the Safeway and pick something else up."

"How 'bout let's go out? We could just walk down to Kelly's."

"Sure." It was a bar and restaurant on Fruitvale where they went every once in awhile, when he was around and they had a couple of extra bucks.

"And would you mind putting that outfit back on? You're awful sexy in it."

While Glenn put civvies on, jeans and a shirt, Steph packed herself back into the getup he'd been so anxious to get her out of. "Hold on a few minutes, hon, and let me put some makeup and lipstick back on." Soon she was looking foxy again, and they strolled the three blocks down to the business district. Steph was glib, enjoying the company of her man, and she joked with him and held his arm warmly. But as they approached the door of the bar, Steph remembered the last time she'd entered the place, over a month ago. It had been without Glenn, and she'd left it with a man. For a second she froze, considering how she'd taken the guy home, gotten screwed - the first time she'd ever had a man besides Glenn.

"You okay?" Glenn asked. Steph knew she'd gone white, and wondered if she'd throw up.

"I'm fine. Just let me catch my breath." She plucked her courage, and they entered the joint. It was early yet, not quite 8:00, and the place was still a little quiet, just four or five guys and a couple of women at the bar, the tables not quite half full. The bartender was the same guy as that fateful night, but he showed no spark of recognition. They sat, and a waitress came by to take their orders, a hamburger for him, a fish sandwich for her. As they ate and drank a couple of beers, the place started to fill, the jukebox got cranked up, and a few of the couples began to move to the small floor.

"Come on, let's dance," Glenn asked.

"Okay." She couldn't move well in the high heels, but it didn't seem to matter. Every guy seemed to be looking at her, taking in her nyloned legs, short skirt, naked stomach, and haltered breasts sticking out towards her husband. She'd neglected to put a bra back on, and the frank stares of the men excited her - the nipples hardened and the entire place knew it. Four or five fast songs were played, and then a slow one, a dance where she could hold him close, and could feel him hugging her to him, as if they'd never be apart again.

Finally she begged for a respite, her shoes were killing her. They sat, having a sip of the beers, and soon Steph excused herself and went to the ladies' room. After taking care of her bladder, she refreshed the mascara and lipstick, and made sure that her hair was brushed. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was pleased with the image, and thought that Glenn should be proud of his 'date.'