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Subject: Claudine's Awakening (Rosemary Gage, f/m, 1/1)
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This is an extract from an Obelisk Library Etext title
available via Email or on disk. For more information
about this and other Etext titles, ask for the
Obelisk Library Catalog at: <specpress@earthlink.net>
This text is for adults only.
from Rosemary Gage: CLAUDINE
Copyright (c) 1991 Spectrum Press Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Published by Spectrum Press Inc.
ISBN 1-57138-112-0
<specpress@earthlink.net>
Claudine's Awakening
Claudine Sherwood thought of herself as reasonable and
settled, moderately educated and urbane, a young New York woman
who like all true New York women had been born and raised
somewhere else, the loving wife of a loving husband who was now
making a brilliant success on Wall Street (wasn't that enough to
make her a true New York woman?), the loving and doting mother of
a five year old girl, a young woman not yet thirty and still
attractive enough to be occasionally mistaken for a famous New
York model whose face these days seemed to be on the cover of
every magazine on the newsstand, dark brown hair and red lips and
always a red background to complement the ivory skin. Claudine
thought of herself as all of these things, and she also thought
none of them were too remarkable, neither too remarkable nor too
ordinary. I'm just another girl, she'd say, the girlhood maybe
fading a bit at twenty-eight, but she still thought of herself
that way in her own mind because somehow "woman" implied over
thirty and "girl" implied under thirty, and anyway they were only
words and not worth bickering about. There was no sense in
bickering about things when she had nearly everything a woman of
her class might want. She had every reason in the world to be
happy, as happy as anyone she knew, but whenever she took stock
of things and tried to make a summation, the end result was
always the same: happiness was definitely eluding her. My name
is Claudine Sherwood and I'm definitely unhappy.
She was seated now in a plane about to land at La Guardia
Airport, a flight from New Orleans about to end uneventfully.
She'd had a week of quiet visiting with her mother in New Orleans
and now she was returning to the only life she cared about, her
life in New York. As she always did, she held her breath as the
plane landed, and then finally she was out of it, through the
long corridor and into the terminal, and of course Ben was there
waiting for her with that expectant look he had whenever he
waited for something.
"Lordy, what a long week," he said with a smile, then kissed
her cheek and hugged her.
He was taller than she was, tall and diffident looking, but
definitely handsome. She'd always thought she was tall enough
and she was grateful that Ben was taller. Her father had been a
tall man also, and she thought Ben in some ways resembled her
father. Like her father, Ben could look quite distinguished when
he wore the proper clothes for it. She remembered that one time
in London when he'd been taken for an earl or something, or maybe
it was a viscount.
"How's your mother?" Ben said.
"The same, I think. She's always the same these days. The
house is just as beautiful as ever."
"Still damp?"
"Always damp. Is Beth all right?"
"Just fine."
And so it went. Before long they were in the car, in the
traffic on the highway to Manhattan. No matter how seedy New
York appeared these days, Claudine always enjoyed returning to
it. More than Ben did, maybe. Ben complained about the city a
great deal, and she expected that before long he'd be talking
about a house in Connecticut. She thought she could tolerate
Connecticut if they found the proper place for themselves. But
then in the back of her mind she always thought maybe they ought
to have both a house in Connecticut and a pied-…-terre in
Manhattan. That would be a reasonable solution, wouldn't it?
Beth would have the schools in Connecticut and she and Ben would
have Manhattan when they wanted it. They'd work out something at
any rate. They had the money for all the possibilities. It was
always an advantage to have the money for things.
At last they arrived at their building on East 64th Street.
They had one of the only two duplexes, four bedrooms and a stone
terrace on the tenth floor. After parking the car in the
underground garage, Ben took her luggage in.
"Welcome home, cover girl."
* * *
He always teased her about that model. Yes, she did look
like that girl, didn't she? When they were inside the apartment,
he took her in his arms and kissed her.
"Maid's out," he said.
"Oh?"
He smiled. "I gave her the afternoon off until she picks up
Beth and brings her home. I thought we'd enjoy some time alone
together." Then he added: "Unless you're too tired."
Which meant that although he wanted to make love to her, she
had the option of refusing him, postponing it until the evening
or until tomorrow. But she always felt so awful when she did
that. She moved toward him and she kissed his cheek. "I'm not
tired at all," she said.
She remained in his arms as he slowly moved his hands over
her body. She could tell he wanted her desperately. Only a
week gone and look at the result, she thought. Well, it wasn't
the first time, not the first time they'd been separated and then
united again with Ben showing a mild frenzy. As he ran his hands
over her buttocks, he mumbled again about what a long week had
passed.
"You're a billy goat," she teased.
"Affirmative."
"All right."
"Thank God."
"Do you love me?"
"What do you think?"
She started undressing in the bedroom. He sat on a chair
and watched her awhile, and then she looked at him and said:
"Aren't you going to undress?"
"Soon," he replied.
When her breasts were exposed, he came behind her and he
took them in his hands. She remained motionless as he gently
fondled her. She was thankful he was always so gentle with her.
Then she pleaded with him that she needed some time in the
bathroom, and in a moment he allowed her to slip away from him.
Inside the bathroom, she closed the door and she looked at
herself in the mirror. She had only her panty hose on, her
breasts swinging from side to side, her nipples erect because
he'd rubbed them with his palms.
Yes, he did love her, didn't he? And she loved him. That
was the most certain thing in her life, her love for Ben and
Beth.
When she came out of the bathroom again, he was naked on the
bed and waiting for her. He had a fierce erection, his penis
extended along his belly, the glans bloated and wet at the tip.
Even after six years of marriage, she still wasn't comfortable
when he was both naked and aroused like this, his excitement so
evident, the organ flushed with such a demanding urgency. Maybe
she'd never be comfortable with it, not in broad daylight like
this. She knew it was silly, considering they were about to make
love in the afternoon in their own bedroom. People did it this
way, didn't they? If you read anything at all these days, you
couldn't help knowing about the way people did it, how they did
it, what they did and when they did it.
Now Ben made an attempt to be amusing. He took his member
in his hand and he waved it at her. "Billy goat is ready."
"So I see."
After she climbed onto the bed, he folded his arms around
her and he kissed her. She could feel his penis pushing against
her belly, the heat of the hard cylinder against her skin. He
bent his head to kiss her breasts, his hands clutching her ass.
She made sure to keep her legs open. She had a tendency to hold
her legs closed when they were on a bed like this, and she knew
it sometimes bothered him. So she kept her legs open, and then
before long he had a hand down there, his fingers stroking her
sex, probing inside, finding her clitoris and rubbing it slowly.
Unfortunately it never worked for her. There was always
more irritation than pleasure when he did it. It wasn't Ben's
fault, it was hers. She never felt what she ought to feel, she
was sure of that. She felt hardly anything with him, not with
his hands and not with his penis and only barely on the rare
occasions when he did it with his mouth. He knew it, of course.
It was something they had discussed years ago, even before they
married. During their engagement he was never able to make her
come with his fingers. And since masturbating each other was all
they did before the marriage, she went to the altar without ever
having an orgasm with him. They agreed she ought to respond, but
she just didn't. Before the wedding, Ben said things would
change afterward. After the wedding, after he took her
virginity, he said things would change in a year or two. Now it
was six years and nothing much had changed in their sex life
except six years had passed. She still never had a climax with
him. She guessed he was now more or less resigned to it and she
was always sorry for him. What she did was play the game of
being sexy for him, his beautiful sexy wife, the beautiful wife
that made him the envy of all his friends, but all the time she
had nothing for him except the appearance of passion, not even
the faking of passion because he didn't want that and they'd
agreed she wouldn't, only the appearance and the willingness to
be there for him, more or less when he wanted it, but it being
understood in a sort of unspoken way that he had no expectations
of anything but her passive presence.
Now he took hold of her hand and he brought it down to his
penis. She closed her fingers around it, held it a moment, and
then she stroked it carefully. On a few occasions this caress
with her hand had made him come too soon and she knew he didn't
want that. So she did it carefully, without much skill because
she never did it to him that often. She had done it to him more
before they were married because for a long time it was all the
sex she would allow, all the sex she could allow and still be
comfortable as a Catholic girl. But even then she wasn't that
good at it, always clumsy with her hands on him. He would drive
up to Vassar on weekends and they would neck and pet in his car,
and then at the end she would bring him off in a wad of tissues,
masturbate his penis until he came, exciting herself sometimes
because the feel of the organ twitching in her hand when he
ejaculated was indeed thrilling. As far as her own pleasure was
concerned, she would get excited enough when he fingered her in
his car, but that's all, she would never have a climax. Later,
when she was alone in her dormitory room, she would do it herself
and have one orgasm after another until she was exhausted. But
never never with Ben. She just wouldn't let go with Ben; she
hadn't let go with any boy before him, and no matter how much she
loved him, none of that would change. It didn't matter what she
read. She'd read everything; she'd listened to everything; and
she wasn't even a practicing Catholic any more, no kind of
Catholic at all these days. None of it mattered; nothing had
changed.
She was afraid her hand would make him come too soon, so she
stopped stroking his penis and she moved her hand down to hold
his balls. She fondled the testicles in the sac while he kissed
her breasts and stroked her clitoris. As always, she felt a
great apathy about it. All she cared about was Ben's pleasure,
not her own. She didn't mind that it was all for him: she was
certain that was a proof of her love for him. She relished his
excitement, his urgency. A long week had passed, and even if it
meant no real excitement for her, she wanted him inside her
again.
Finally he pulled his hand away from her sex and he shifted
his body around to mount her, helping her raise her legs, and
then guiding his penis inside and making a sound of pleasure in
his throat when he had himself all the way in. She closed her
eyes and turned her face to the side while he did it. Despite
the airconditioning, she could feel the heat of their two bodies,
the film of sweat between them wherever they made contact. She
heard his heavy breathing as he continued thrusting in her sex,
the occasional creak of the bed, although she had done her best
to find a bed that made no noise at all, it did make noise and
there seemed to be no such thing as a bed that didn't. He was
breathing heavily now, but he was silent and she was thankful for
that. She always hated it when he talked to her while he did it,
the talking, the words, reminding her how little she enjoyed what
he was doing to her. She felt his thrusting, and the slapping of
his balls against her buttocks, and then she felt his body go
rigid and she heard him groaning as he came inside her...
-----------------------------
End Extract
This is an extract from an Obelisk Library Etext title
available via Email or on disk. For more information
about this and other Etext titles, ask for the
Obelisk Library Catalog at: <specpress@earthlink.net>
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