Crosscurrents

4

4

Evers

When Evers Van Houten entered the bedroom he found Mary Catherine propped up in bed with pillows behind her and a magazine on her lap.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

The bedside lamp beside her illuminated the contour of her full breasts through the sheer, white negligee. “I waited for you.”

Evers loosened the knot on his tie, slipped it over his head and tossed it on a chair. Seeing his wife in a diaphanous nightgown, eyeing him seductively was the last thing he expected.

“You were very sexy tonight,” she said.

“I was? How?”

“You were strong, in charge. Our guests respected your power. Even the Monsignor hung on your every word.” She slid the covers away with her foot, revealing the rest of herself.

He reveled in her flattery and deliberately turned away. He broke into a wide grin. “He’s going to get me an audience with the Pope. He’s thick with Pronuncio Bishop Sabatini, the Church’s ambassador to the United States.”

“You deserve it.”

He took off his shirt, threw it on the chair, and sat on the bed. She moved over to him, ran her hands down his back, and blew in his ear. He felt her warm, soft breasts push against his flesh and sniffed a sensual, earthy fragrance new to him.

“f**k me, Evers, I want you.”

He stiffened, said nothing, and looked straight ahead.

Her fingers drew curlicues on his arms as she spoke in his ear. “We hardly make love anymore.”

Shifting around, he said, “We’re older. At sixty-three passions wane. You can’t expect me to behave like a twenty year old.”

“I don’t.” A smile brightened her face. “But you were splendid then. If I looked at you seductively, or licked my lips, you’d stand at attention like an obedient soldier.”

“I was good, wasn’t I?” he said with a half-smile. His mind leapt back to a time he chased her up the stairs, pulled her back and ripped her skirt and panties off. Raging with passion, he thrust himself into her from behind and rode her like a bull on the stairway until they both collapsed in sweet exhaustion. “In those early years I could c*m three times and still not be spent.”

She put her hand on his leg. “You were a stallion. My stallion.” Her voice was husky.

His groin flooded with warmth. She was a desirable woman and he wanted her. She had massaged his ego, already at a high ebb, and his flesh yearned to burrow into her, to thrust into her until she begged for mercy. But maintaining control was more important. He stood, causing her hand to slide to the bed. He shed his pants, folded and draped them on the back of a chair.

“We should have s*x more often,” she said.

“Comparing our s*x life to Norma’s again?”

“No, we don’t talk about s*x—not much anyway.” She withdrew, leaned her back against the headboard, her upper lip quivering. “Obviously s*x is more urgent for Norma and Tom since they’ve only been married for three years, but it would be nice to make love more than once every three or four months.”

“Has it been that long?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

“It seems I wait until you’re ready to spill your sack, and then you drive into me without foreplay. Over in minutes. Without tenderness.”

He glared at her. “If it isn’t good, why do you want it?”

Tears gathered. “I didn’t say it wasn’t good. I’m just saying I like it to be slow and tender sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood tonight.” He reached over, turned off the light, slid under the covers, and turned his back to her. He denied the tingling in his groin.

After all these years, he still hadn’t forgiven her indiscretion.