Chapter 2: Discussion
All week I felt like I was walking on a tightrope, knowing I couldn’t appear too anxious, but at the same time I was desperate to return to Jason. He was all I could think about during the week. His handsome face, that muscular body, and the huge bulge he sported in his sweatpants. I kept thinking about what he might look like without the pants, undressed, naked, exposed with all he had to offer. I wondered what he sported down there, how long he could be, what kind of size he might really have. And then I couldn’t help but think what I would feel like as he used it on me, opening me wide, driving deep inside, and doing it over and over again. The anticipation of an intense orgasm filled my imagination. And forty-two times! I could hardly believe it possible. The doctor made mention of an hour long session too. A whole hour! Maybe she meant the additional time to check in, maybe sit in the waiting room and wait, and then for me to get undressed and ready for him as well. That must have been what she meant. I can’t imagine myself being pounded for that long.
Thoughts filled my mind on how he would do it. Would Dr. Palin require a particular position for us to perform the dirty deed? Would it be traditional intercourse with him on top? Or might she require something more exotic, like with me bent over and with Jason pounding me from behind? I once heard a guy could insert himself deeper if he did it from behind, but then Jason would have no trouble with depth. Or would the entire procedure be treated as somehow more clinical, more like a professional medical procedure. The doctor did mention a medical procedure several times to my husband. Is that the way it would be administered, as nothing more than a procedure, where he would simply enter me and go to work? I wouldn’t mind even that, but then I can’t help but wonder about foreplay too. How much would we get to know each other first? Would there be any hugging? Any kissing? What about feeling each other up? I suppose it wouldn’t be necessary for either of us to get naked, not entirely. There would be no need for me to take off my top, although I hope I would get to. Jason was one guy who I wouldn’t mind if he saw my boobs. Better yet, I fantasize his hands encompassed around both breasts, his fingers squeezed deep into my big mounds.
All the fantastic thoughts running through my head made it difficult to get much sleep the first two nights after the appointment. I had trouble concentrating the next two days at work too. On the third day, Thursday, I left work early, took sick leave because I felt so exhausted. At the same time, I felt so horny. My husband had tried to bring me some relief the night before, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I went home to retrieve an old cigar box full of a few seldom used mementoes from my younger days, hidden deep in the attic, under the insulation. In the box I kept an old diary, a few love letters from an old boyfriend, and of course, the dildo. I hadn’t used it for years, but for the rest of the afternoon made up for lost time. I used it on myself right there up in the dark attic, before my husband came home from work. Only afterwards was I able to go to bed and get a solid 8 hours sleep through the night.
Now the need is building again. Jason fills my thoughts once more. I imagine his big cock, wondering if he is bigger than my dildo, and then fantasize about it plunging deep inside me some more. The dildo brought satisfaction, but I know Jason’s big cock will bring a lot more. The real thing is always better than a piece of plastic, and the fact he will have to fuck me in the bare excites me even more. No plastic rubber to get in the way, not if he intends to impregnate me. I sigh at the thought of his bare skin against my own.
To make the past week even worse, my husband never talked about it. He never brought it up. It’s like he tried to temp me, tease me into making the first move. I didn’t dare do so, fearing it would give away my own interest, and so held my tongue and let the lust simmer deep inside me. Or perhaps he already saw the lust, the desire in my eyes, the need in my body? We’ve been married six years. Two people can really get to know each other in that time. He was always able to read me well, sometimes too well. I fear he already knows what I am thinking.
I did make one mistake late in the week. It was in my outfit, in the way I was dressed for work that day. Or rather, it was in the way I was partially dressed when I got home. I had forgotten all about it, not remembering until he brought it to my attention. Over our Friday night dinner, after a long day at work, and after the satisfaction from the previous afternoon’s delights, he asked if I was chilly. Only then did I recall the two extra buttons open down the front of my uniform.
As an excuse, I made up an elaborate lie. I told him they were having trouble with the air conditioner at work. Several times I had to escape to the back alley to cool off. It was so hot I had to open a few buttons on my blouse, and then I opened them again at the end of the day. I even made up a story about the problem being with the air conditioner in the kitchen. The customers might not have even noticed.
The additional exposure produced an interesting side-benefit at work. Besides the increased tips, it also served to effectively relieve my lust by displaying it off to others. I received several compliments during the dinner shift. A couple of times I noticed customers look down into my blouse. Usually they stood over me. Twice I caught myself bending down low in front of a table. Some of the cooks complimented me too, asked if I lost weight or was working out. The affect proved intoxicating, like a drug to help me survive.
Now I need more of it.
We have a return appointment scheduled with the doctor. She gave us a week to think about it. My husband and I were supposed to talk in private, discuss it with one another. We were then to return and provide our final decision. The receptionist at the front counter of Dr. Palin’s office encouraged me to return. He said it in a whisper to me when we left, while my husband busied himself filling out some kind of credit form. I got the distinct impression that the receptionist might have served as yet another inseminator. He certainly had the looks to do so, a well-built guy every bit as handsome as Jason. A few minutes later on the way home I wondered if he also held the equipment to do so.
Our week is almost up. Our return appointment is for the afternoon and at 3:00 PM. I wait until the last possible moment before I talk about it.
“I told them at work about taking some time off,” I tell my husband over a bowl of breakfast cereal. “I assumed we were still going, if that’s all right with you?”
He turns from the paper with a confused expression on his face. “Appointment?” He questions before a light suddenly goes on somewhere inside. “Oh, yes! Dr. Palin!” He remembers.
I can’t believe he ever forgot. He goes back to the paper without giving me an answer.
“I assume we are still going,” I repeat. “I figure we owe her at least that much, to at least keep our appointment and not cancel out at the last minute.”
“Of course,” He agrees without looking up. Whatever article he is reading, it has his full attention.
I hold back my exuberance. There will be plenty of time to celebrate later, like maybe even in the doctor’s office. One step at a time, and the first step is done. At least we will return to the doctor. And to Jason! I am anxious to see him and also the receptionist too. The simple act of meeting them would greatly relieve my anxiety. The act of having sex with either one of them would relieve it a lot more.
“Still interested?” My husband disturbs this pleasant thought with a question. He puts down the paper and goes back to his coffee and cereal. That’s all he ever has for breakfast, his newspaper, a bowl of cereal, and two cups of coffee. I’ve tried to get him to eat more, like some fruit. It would be more healthy, plus give him more energy for the rest of the day. It might even help his performance in the evening as well.
“You mean the procedure?” I ask stupidly in reply, trying not to show interest.
“Of course that’s what I mean!” He speaks to me like an idiot child.
I take little offense at his remark, having long ago gotten accustomed to it. He always behaves short in the morning, crabby, impatient with everyone around him. I sometimes feel sorry for his coworkers who will soon have to face him.
In response to his question, I shrug my shoulders and feint disinterest. “You know how much I want to have children,” I remind him. “And I know how much you would like a son to keep the family name.”
He nods in agreement.
“And it sounds like the procedure would be a perfectly logical way of getting what both of us want,” I continue when he doesn’t respond. “I was a little shocked at first, but the more I think about it the more I like the idea. Completely natural. Very safe. What could possibly go wrong?”
He doesn’t answer me, but instead finishes the last of his coffee and stands up. “So you’re in favor of it?” He asks.
“Only if you are,” I worry about showing too much interest. “It has to be a joint decision, like the doctor said. And I still have some questions for the doctor before I agree to anything.”
“Like what?” He stands there and asks.
“Like if I can catch anything,” I give him an example. “I mean those men she uses have been with a lot of women. How do I know they don’t have a disease? They could have VD! They might have something a lot worse.”
He nods.
“And I don’t want Jason to hurt me,” I add. “What the doctor said about his size worries me. Size isn’t supposed to make a difference, but I’m such a small girl. What if Jason’s too big for me?”
I say the words but don’t really believe them. In fact, I hope he is too big. I want him to be a tight fit, to stretch me wide, to penetrate a lot deeper than I have ever been penetrated before. Size really isn’t suppose to make a difference, or so I am told, but I can’t help but think his large size will allow me to feel every inch of him.
“Jason?” My husband asks back, confused. “Who’s Jason?”
I am also confused, for an instant, but then realize the problem. My husband doesn’t remember the name. I probably shouldn’t have used it.
“He’s the guy she introduced us to,” I remind him. “You know, in the doctor’s office. You’ve always been terrible at remembering names.”
“Oh yes!” Now he remembers. He really has always been terrible with names.
“What about you?” I quick ask his same question back before he leaves. “It has to be a joint decision between us. It can’t just be me.”
He picks up the bag lunch I packed for him while he was still getting ready in the shower.
“I’ll meet you there,” He answers without answering. “I’ll be coming in direct from work, so no need to come home first.”
“I’ll call before I leave,” I finish my own breakfast as he walks out the door. While I would have preferred an answer, the simple fact he is willing to return for a second appointment satisfies me enough for the time being. I don’t give it much hope, but at least the hope is still alive.
