Pig Sex

He smelled of alcohol and smoke. Saying something, his words sounded like animalistic grunts and my ears deciphered not a single syllable. Somewhere between the waking world and dream, I slumbered, wishing for nothing more than the sandman to sprinkle his sleeping sand upon my face. Tired from a long work week, I needed and deserved a good night's rest.

"Roll over," the voice said. I understood his grunt and in a comatose state, acquiesced to the command.

Hands as cold as a February morning grabbed my hips. As if I stepped on an errant nail, my body jolted backward. "Jesus, your hands are freezing!" I said before laying my head back into the indentation of the pillow.

"Sorry."

Those frigid digits tugged on my panties, slipping them off my hips. Still half asleep, I lifted my ass and then my thighs, allowing him to remove my bottoms. I felt the lace dangle on my left ankle for a split second, incorporating the feeling in a dream that began to brew. His cold hands checked my fall, bringing me back. God, his hands were cold. I moaned my disapproval. He lifted my ass and brought it toward his virile cock.

"I'm so horny," he mumbled.

Then he pushed his cock against my ass, searching for the hole. Reacting, I angled my hips so he could enter my pussy, but he fought me. He didn't want my pussy. Thrusting his hips, he attempted to penetrate my back door. The head of his penis only managed to scrape against my asshole. A sharp pain, acting as a bucket of water, woke me, my hopes of a good night sleep suddenly dashed.

"What the hell are you doing John?" I said turning around and sitting up erect.

"Nothing!" he said, reacting to the rejection.

"I was sleeping you know."

"Let's have anal sex tonight," my husband said, thinking only of stroking his libido. His breath reeked of stale beer. I could practically see green fumes emanating from his nostrils and mouth.

"How many have you had?"

"Not too many." He had trouble pronouncing the last word thus weakening his defense. "Come on, honey. Let's try something new."

"No."

"You might enjoy it," John said, each word an arduous chore for him to say.

"You come home drunk, smell like an ash tray, and want to have anal sex. That's romantic." Shaking my head, I cradled up in the fetal position and tried to return to sleep.

"You're such a prude!"

"John, you're drunk."

"I don't understand what's...what's the big deal. It's anal sex. So what," he said with a voice loud enough to be heard by the neighbors.

"I don't want to discuss this right now. I've told you a thousand times, the thought of it disgusts me."

"It's wives like you that get cheated on!" John said, the anger evident in the volume of his voice. Grabbing his pants, he stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door. Downstairs, I could hear John putting in a video to watch, obviously something to help alleviate the hormones which had usurped his reason.

"Finally," I muttered to myself as I squeezed the pillow tight. John was never a good drunk, I thought as I drifted back to sleep, this time hoping not to be interrupted.

Next morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon, one of my guilty pleasures. Cracking open my eyelids, I saw John standing beside the bed, holding a tray like a waiter serving me at a fine dining restaurant.

"Good morning," John said.

"What are you holding?" I asked, rubbing my eyes

"I'm serving you breakfast in bed."

"It's not my birthday for another two months."

"I feel awful about last night. I tried to force you to do something you didn't want to do and then I reacted like a child after I didn't get my way. Worse was what I said when I left in a huff."

Still half residing in an unconscious state, I couldn't remember what John said last night, only recalling how awful he smelled and how cold his hands felt. However, I was not going to let him off the hook. One of a woman's greatest feelings of empowerment was to watch her man groveling, imploring for forgiveness. With a face that could nominate me in the category for best actress in a leading role, I stared at him with regret. "That really hurt."

"I know. I feel awful."

"Do you really believe that?" I said, hoping my vague question would elicit what caused John's guilt.

"No, of course not."

"Of course not, what?"

"I would never cheat on you."

Whoa! I thought. I had been really tired to miss that one. No longer did I have to roleplay an angry wife, for I became one. "So, you would cheat on me just because I wouldn't have anal sex with you?"

"Of course not. You know that. Honey, I'm trying to apologize for being as ass. Here...before your omelette gets cold. I used your favorite vegetables."

"Good god. Just like a man to buy his way out of shame."

John set the food before me. It looked delicious, plus John knew his way around the kitchen. So, I accepted my breakfast surprise and ate, but my level of frustration did not attenuate with each bit as he hoped. Well, maybe a little bit.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"So, you would really cheat on me?"

"I told you, I was drunk and horny."

"Well, a lot of men cheat on their wives when they're drunk and horny. True?"

"Yes, but I am not one of them."

"Sure acted like it last night," I said.

"I was just frustrated and saying stupid things. You know I would NEVER do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I'm crazy about you. Always have been. I just wanted to get a little naughty last night. You know...add a little spice to our sex life. But, I was rude to have woken you up. I just want to forget it even happened."

The omelette was pretty good and I could tell John was contrite. I couldn't stay mad at him for too long. Never could. Sure, alcohol transformed him into an idiot, yet that was an epidemic among all men if you asked me. Besides, he rarely gave into the temptation of the bottle and his assets greatly outnumbered his shortcomings. When I say assets I was talking about his stock portfolio, real-estate investments, and savvy business sense. John accumulated much wealth in his 43 years, actually gracing the cover of Fortune Magazine several years ago, but none more valuable than his wife...me. I didn't mind being his trophy, because both of us made out rather well from our nuptial. I obtained a handsome bank account, lavish furnishings, and a life style fit for royalty and he obtained a former Miss Indiana with a perfect figure, who most men considered out of their league. Just as I loved the comfort of living given to me by John, he worshiped my 26 year old 5'7" 112 pound frame, 34C beautiful berkeleys, flawless almond colored skin, and a pair of eyes as brown as my long, flowing hair. As far as I was concerned not only did we compliment each other well, we deserved each other.

"Who were you out with any way?" I asked, after swallowing a strip of bacon.

"Ran into an old high school friend. Ended up reminiscing about old times."

"I don't remember you ever talking about any one from high school."

"That's because I hated high school," John said, sitting on the end of the bed. "I was considered a bit of a nerd."

"Most of us were nerds in high school. The ones that weren't, peeked too early in life. Take the homecoming queen from my senior year, Nancy Wallace. I bumped into her a year ago and she looked like she swallowed a hippopotamus. The woman reminded me of a dancer from those Richard Simmons videos. Tragic."

"Not everyone is as beautiful as you," John said.

"I've already forgiven you. Thankfully, you are a world class chef." I raised my fork as a signature to my statement.

"I guess I'm going to miss my 25th high school reunion. I didn't even know about it."

"When is it?"

"This weekend."

"Let's go," I said.

"No. I've got work to do. Besides, I really don't want to see any of those people any way. They were all assholes. The experience would only regurgitate horrible memories I've spent years trying to digest."

"You've got to go."

"Why?"

"I'll give you two reasons. One, you're a vastly successful business man and two...me," I said with a flair for the dramatic. "What graduate from your class drives a better car, lives in a nicer house, and has a better looking wife?"

"Probably nobody," John said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What better way to show all those assholes from high school who really made it."

"I don't know."

"You mustn't have gotten picked on too badly then."

"Oh, it was awful. The worse was Trevor Gordon. I still hate that kid. He made my junior and senior year a living hell."

"Here's your opportunity to show Trevor and anyone else from your class who was the best man after all. Honey, wouldn't it be nice to make them envious of you. Imagine them seeing your success but more importantly, me walking beside you."

"Maybe you're right," he said.

"Of course, I'm right. I'm always right," I said, causing my husband to chuckle. Like I said, we complimented each other rather well.

After being cajoled to alter his weekend plans, John arranged to attend his 25th high school reunion. We flew out Saturday morning and rented a Mercedes. My husband spared no expense. Before arriving at the hall, John showed me many of the local sites that had changed quite a bit since he graduated so many years ago. John was disappointed that the old penny candy store no longer stood on the corner of Main and 4th and that the bowling alley where he first kissed Emily Watts was now a warehouse for outdated furniture. Strip malls marred the main street and warring fast food establishments seemed to be the local hangouts in town. As we drove around, I realized that I wasn't even 1 year old when my husband graduated from high school.

With plenty of time to get ready, we checked into our hotel, which also represented the location of tonight's gala. Accustomed to staying in five star hotels, our current accommodations seemed mundane and borderline cheap, but I reminded myself that it was only for one night. First John got ready, wearing an Armani suit he bought in Florence last summer. Although not a particularly handsome man, John cleaned up well and exuded success, which was more tantalizing than any level of comeliness. Then it was my turn. Taking my materials into the bathroom, I went to work. I am a master at highlighting my attributes with cosmetics and I brought out my coloring with the skill of a french impressionist. As if Monet held my brush, I added a veil of beauty to my already beautiful face. Then came the hair. Layering each strand with precision and perfection, I toiled with a brush and dryer for nearly a half hour. To complete the present, I wrapped myself in a chocolate colored one piece dress with spaghetti straps that revealed a naked back. The material naturally harnessed my breasts together, showing off so much cleavage that I could get arrested in most states. Of course, I added a pair of 4 and half inch spikes to show off my shapely legs, possibly my best feature. When I waltzed out of the bathroom, John's eyes widened and his jaw fell to the floor.

"Oh, my God."

"You like?"

"Like is not even in the same latitude. You're stunning."

"Thank you."

John stared at me, his eyes drawn to my face and then my cleavage, before approaching me. Putting his arms around me, his hands falling on my ass, he motioned to kiss me. Turning my head, I checked his progress.

"You'll mess up my lipstick. Later tonight, I promise," I said.

"I don't think the gods of Olympus could prevent me from mauling you tonight." I smiled. Then John wore a bewildering expression as his hand rested against my ass. Then he asked, "Are you wearing any underwear?"

"A woman should never wear panties when wearing a form fitted dress," I said. I felt an erection growing in John's pants. "We better get going."

"You sure? We could stay here and....and...you know."

"You have a reunion to attend. Shall we?"

"All right," John said.

Much to his chagrin, John escorted me to the elevator. Then we walked to the banquet hall, where scores of couples were gathered. Most of the men were bald and most of the women looked as if they had swallowed hippos just like Nancy Wallace. A woman, who definitely needed pointers on how to apply her Avon, sat at a table and greeted the two of us.

"Hello. I'm sorry, I don't recognize either of you," she said, trying to place John's face.

"I'm John. John Pelter."

"Snickers! Boy have you changed. I'm Debra Bately, but now I'm really Debra Burrows. Didn't have to change my initials though," she said with the verve of a school girl.

"Good to see you. This is my wife, Jamie."

"Hello Jamie. Gosh, you're beautiful. Nice dress," Debra said. I thanked her and then Debra instructed John to wear a name tag, that included his senior picture. After John signed a book and filled out a questionnaire for some activity to be shared later in the evening, we were freed from the host. "Well, snickers! John Pelter. Never would have guessed. Have a good time!"

When we stepped foot into the main hall, I noticed every single man's eyes redirected towards me. Enjoying the attention, I held John's arm, proud to be his symbol of success. Some men casually darted an eye my way but more stared ostentatiously at my breasts or ass as if these men were attending a bachelor party and I was the paid entertainment. Receiving just as many stares from women, who looked at me with an envious and evil eye, I stole the attention of practically every human being in that place. Victory, I thought with a glorious smile.

John escorted me to the bar, where he bought me a glass of wine. It was a cheap brand but John slapped down a fifty and told the bartender to keep the change. One of John's old classmates accosted him from behind and he exchanged some small talk, the focus of the succinct conversation centering on me. Escaping the meaningless volley of words, I led John to the middle table, where every prowling eye could lust after me and realize that my husband had made something of himself. Many people, all men, walked up to John to say hello. Yet, the intention of these overweight, receding hairline imbeciles was all the same...they wanted a closer look at me. Envy was written on all of their faces.

John leaned toward me, his hand draped over my shoulder, and whispered into my ear, "You were right. This is so much fun watching every man stare at you. They must think I'm a rock star."

Then John's smile turned when he heard a familiar voice. "If it's not old dominoes." I looked up and saw a lean, tall man with big hands.

"Hello, Trevor."

"What's your mail order bride's name?" he said with a laugh.

"I didn't have to buy her and her name's Jamie."

"Didn't have to buy her? I guess it was your charm that won the heart of this beautiful lady."

"Is this the asshole you were talking about?" I said.

My husband chuckled and Trevor was shocked from my response, but to his credit he took the parry and returned a barb of his own. "John, I see you got someone to stick up for you. That's good. Do you do her laundry for her in return?" he said jokingly. "Why don't you two sit over with the gang, we can drown the past over a few beers."

"I don't know. That's all right," John said hesitantly. I had never seen my husband so flustered and dare I say it...afraid.

"Come on, honey. It's the reason we came," I quietly said for only his ear to hear. With great reluctance, he nodded his head.

"She make the decisions in the bedroom too?" Trevor said with a guffaw and a slap on John's back.

We followed Trevor to a table located in the corner of the hall. Feeling as if he was leading us to the back of the classroom where all of the rotten students loitered, I sat amongst what I considered a bunch of low lives and white trash. My husband and I made eight at the table. Besides myself, there was only one other woman, a skinny bleach blonde whose brunette roots were already beginning to show. Trevor introduced us to everyone there and I immediately noticed he was without a wife. I prepared to pounce since my husband wasn't.

"Where's your woman? Or are you gay?"

"I'm looking at my woman," he said to me with a wink. "Actually, I got divorced years ago. Marriage was too much of a restriction for me. Plus, she was a bitch." The whole table laughed. Trevor had a charisma about him. I'd give him that. "Sit down," Trevor said, making sure he took a seat next to me. "So, where did you two meet? On-line?" That evoked more laughter from the table. I could tell John was out of his element and nervous.

"At a beauty pageant."

"No shit?"

"No shit," I said without hesitation. "John's a famous chef and was hired to prepare these wonderful dishes for all the Miss USA contestants. Models are funny about their food. So, the organization had to make sure they had a world class chef on hand."

"So, he made you a hamburger and it was love at first bite?" Trevor asked.

"Actually it was smoked salmon and a vegetable medley," John said. The table stared at him, thinking that the kid they teased many years ago had not changed. At least to them. The night proceeded to be much of the same. I made every attempt to make John appear successful and dashing. However, he sunk in the presence of his former foes, wishing he had never listened to me. We ate and John hated the food, making matters worse. The table teased him about his peculiarity, leading John to consume too much beer. Soon, my backing of my husband came to a halt and I too felt as if maybe coming was a mistake. Excusing myself, I retreated to the bathroom.

After freshening up, I left the restroom and bumped into Trevor before returning to the banquet hall, where a band was beginning to play music. Songs from an era long gone emanated out of the room and filtered into the lobby. He stopped me. "Mrs. Pelter, I think you owe me a dance."

"I don't owe you anything," I said.

"Are you always a bitch or are you trying to be one for your husband?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're going to dance with me," Trevor said.

I walked past him and returned to my table but John was not there. I looked around the hall but could not spot my husband. Now that the band played, the lighting had been dimmed, making if more difficult to find him. Sitting by myself for several songs, I waited for John to return to where ever he had gone. Instead of my husband, Trevor came and sat next to me. "Where's your husband?"

"I don't know. Do you know where he is?"

"Maybe he went back to his room. It didn't exactly look like he was enjoying himself."

"You're probably right."

"I know I razzed John when we were kids, but don't let that prevent you from dancing with me just once before you leave."

"So, you can tell your friends you danced with John's wife," I said sarcastically.

"No, so I can tell my friends that I danced with most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

I looked at him, surprised to receive a compliment from the man I had been verbally battling all evening.

"Don't get a big head about it though. You're still a bitch," he said.

"And, you're an asshole," I said.

"Then we deserve each other for the night. Just one dance. Then you can go back and tell John that you left his arch rival with a hard-on in his pants. I mean that's the reason why you dressed the way you did, isn't it? So, I'd get to look but not touch?"

"You are the most incorrigible man I've met in a long time."

"Is that a compliment?"

I giggled and then stopped because I didn't want Trevor to think that my impression of him was changing. When Trevor stood up and offered me his hand, I found myself accepting it against my better judgment. He led me to the center of the dance floor, where he put his hands around me and pulled me toward him so our bodies were pressed against each other. My boobs nearly popped out of my dress he squeezed me so tight. The band played a ballad and I admit Trevor knew how to dance, waltzing me along the floor with dextrous feet and instinctive rhythm. Soon, I forgot who I was dancing with and just followed my partner. Then when the song concluded, he offered to dance one more. I nodded my head, not recalling the last time I had such an adept partner.