Marlena.
We don’t do well apart, John and I. We’ve learnt this the hard way. Our need for each other is just too great. Our love consuming; all encompassing. It destroys anything in its path just to be. Ask Roman.
He flew me home from Europe for Mother’s Day. To be with our boys. To be with him. Not necessarily in that order. We’re not addicted to each other, you know? That’s as much a lie now as it was 27 years ago. Every natural force in this universe brings the two of us back into each other’s orbit; brings John between my thighs, burying him deep inside me until we’re both soaked in each other’s sweat, clutching at one another and heaving with exhaustion.
At the airport, he stood tall, wearing the smile that I love. His blue eyes sparkled with all his boyish charm as he held a sign that simply read: Mrs Black. A wonderful reminder that I am his. He is mine. My partner in everything. My everything. I just love him so.
I worried about him while I was away. About his happiness. This is not ego but rather, self-awareness. He needs me like he needs air. I know this because without him I can’t breathe. So there I stood before him. The twinkle in his eyes gave away his excitement. His body language, his impatience. I remember thinking *this* is what happiness looks like. After a gentle exchange of hi’s and small, tentative touches, the dam burst. I don’t know who made the first move. I leapt up into his strong, safe arms and cried. He buried his face in my neck and hair and held me so tight I could barely breathe. His shaky sigh of relief was the unburdening of his soul… and mine. I felt it against my sensitive skin. It washed over me and I was whole again. Wiping away my tears with the pad of his thumbs, he told me everything would be ok now as he drew my mouth to his and kissed me. Softly at first. Nuzzling my face. Smelling me. Licking at my lips to part them. Then, like our life together depended on it. It did. Completely oblivious to those around us, our tongues began to collide in a voracious exchange of saliva and muted moans – a mere prelude of things to come (me, I hoped). We could not get enough of each other. Fingers threaded through each other’s hair, tugging, pulling. His entire body throbbed against mine. Our carnality was unapologetically out on full display. I began to ache and tingle for him in all the right places. He tasted and smelled so good. All I could think about is what he might do to me later; how his masculine scent would cling to my skin. “Take me home,” I begged him quietly as I tugged on his shirt, our foreheads and noses touching as we struggled to regain our equilibrium. In case he had any doubt, “I want to be home with you right now.” He smiled against my lips and laced his fingers with mine. “Let’s go.”
To any onlookers in the parking lot, there’s no doubt I am his. He stole kisses along the way and only let go of me long enough to make his way to the driver’s seat and start the car. He reached for me again. Casual conversational tones and laughter filled the small space but did nothing to quash the undercurrent of longing between us as we touched – our palms pressed firmly together, fingers intertwined. He spent most of the car ride home from the airport holding my hand – always the precursor to other kinds of holding. The webbing of his fingers pressed hard enough against my own to form a seal. The pressure was nice. I felt safe again. “I’ve missed you,” he confessed as he stroked the inside of my palm with his littlest finger, “your hands, your eyes, your smile, your…” he trailed off as his eyes fell to my lap. I brought our hands up to my lips to kiss his fingers. “I know,” I said, bringing his hand to rest atop my thigh, never taking my eyes off him. From the very moment I laid eyes on him and took his strong hands in mine all those years ago, I knew they could love. Not necessarily without hurting me. We’ve both done our fair share of hurting. But we heal each other too. Sometimes we use sex to do that, I’m not afraid to admit. Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he gradually inched up my thigh, and settled between my legs. I thought he’d never get there. It started with light strokes of his pinky finger here and there as he gaged my reaction. Sinking deeply into the passenger’s seat with an uneven breath, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard when he twisted his arm to cup my mound and caress me firmly through the thin fabric of my leggings. “You’re so warm, Doc,” he began massaging me the way he knows I like it. I opened my legs wider for him when his thumb found my bundle of nerves. “I want your fingers inside me,” I breathed. It was almost his undoing too. He groaned audibly and pressed harder with his palm. Said, we’re almost home, baby. His restraint was admirable. Meanwhile, my heart sank. I ached for him so badly in that moment; I bucked against him as small sounds escaped me. The humming of the engine matched the natural vibrations of my sex as he continued to strum and stroke me until my leggings were completely soaked through and the saltiness of my excitement made his nostrils flare. The engine died quietly in our driveway. I continued to hum. He removed his hand from me and brought his fingers to his nose. “Get inside now.”
Now here we are. We haven’t made it out of the living room, my luggage is still at the door where he left it when he compels my body forward, pushing me over the back of the arm chair by the fireplace. I yelp with surprise. Some of the wildest, most passionate love we’ve ever made has been through shifted clothing, just like this. He’s pulled my panties aside in both public and private spaces to get to my sex, secure in the knowledge that I will give it to him.
“I want you so badly,” he tells me. He’s hard behind me. Pulsating and wanting entry. Normally, I’d be spreading my legs for him and begging him to put it inside me by now. Coming into my home, my mood has shifted. I wasn’t expecting rough and ready. I’m taking it all in. It looks and feels different and I’m distracted – not malleable to his touch. “John, we shouldn’t… not here,” I pant. Mistaking the reason for my sudden reticence, he hushes me, telling me Eric and Brady won’t be here for a couple of hours yet as I hear and feel him fumbling impatiently between our bodies with his belt and the zipper on his blue jeans. “We have time, baby,” he says as he holds me down, expecting my body to relax beneath his. His breath quickens with excitement as he frees himself between us, lowering his voice, “Daddy needs to fuck Mommy.” He pulls down at the stretchy fabric of my pants just enough to push my panties aside and find the part of me he wants. I moan. I’m expecting him to run his fingers deep into my folds; to encourage my juices before gently guiding himself inside me. It’s been a minute. Instead, I feel the sharp sting of his heavy hand against my buttock as he slaps me before entering me abruptly and so completely from behind. His grunt is animalistic, primitive. My choked cry is involuntary – born by the combined sting of his slap and the force of his thrust. The sound escapes my paralyzed mouth unhindered and uncontrolled, tearing at my throat. I wasn’t ready for him. Not like this. He wasn’t ready for me. I can tell from his panting. “Hope?” He stills. I find myself grasping at the armchair for support, elongating my spine and rising on my tip toes to accommodate him and alleviate this discomfort that I’m feeling. My bottom throbs hot from being smacked. My vagina aches from his girth. “It’s just you and me,” he tells me as he starts to move inside me, taking my earlobe in his mouth and circling his tongue around it. “Happy Mother’s Day, baby,” his thick fingers slide down my pulsating neck into the v of my white tee and over my pounding heart. He clutches one naked mound of flesh and gropes it as though it were his lifeline, pinching and twisting hard at my nipple while thrusting roughly. Thoughtlessly. “You’re the best mother to all of our children and a wonderful grandmother to our grand babies.” I smile despite my mood. I know he wishes we were still making babies. We make them best.
I try to move with him. Try as I might, I can’t get into it. I’m distracted not by our sons’ impending arrival but by Hope’s usurpation of my home, my private space. From the minute I walked in the door, she was everywhere. What these four walls have witnessed between John and me over the years, even now, is sacred. We’ve fought and almost destroyed each other, battled enemies, we’ve laughed until we’ve cried, we’ve lived, taken care of one another, we’ve loved. I’ve given myself to him and he has taken me, drained me of every ounce of love and passion against every wall, on every floor, in every room, on every surface, in every corner. Our vulnerabilities have been laid bare as he’s explored every inch of my skin and touched the deepest part of me. Our countless declarations of love, our most intimate conversations and the passionate cries of ecstasy that inevitably follow such acts echo in the spaces that aren’t already brimming with the intensity of our love for one another and for the family we have created. Who does this woman think she is that she believes there is a place for her in this picture; that there are cracks in these walls big enough for her to breach; that she can come in here and distract my husband? Take my place in his mind, in his heart and in his bed?
My mind protests as he moans my name and tells me how tight I am, how good it feels to be inside me, the things he’d like to do to me when our boys leave. “Oh John!” It’s not just you and me, I want to tell him. Her acrid scent is everywhere, inserting itself between us even with him so deeply inside me. My mouth catches up with my mind, “John, no. Oh…god.” I’m struggling. “You want me to stop?” he asks breathlessly and a little hurt as he moves inside me. I shake my head no as he settles like a weighted blanket against my back, nudging my insides with his penis, digging and inching deeper while curling his arm around my front, plunging into my leggings to clutch painfully at the flesh of my inner thigh. “Then what is it, baby?” He’s concerned. I can’t bring myself to utter her name again, to have her taint our intimacy. I want this. I do. It’s all I’ve thought about as I’ve had to settle for touching myself. I’ve been gone a few months and it’s long enough to cause some real discomfort between John and me as he wordlessly and relentlessly pushes his love inside. “It hurts,” I tell him. It’s not a lie. But it’s not just the physical aspect of his incursion into my body, his raking of my insides, that causes me pain. Yes, he’s naturally thicker than I can accommodate. That’s always been the case and it’s ultimately made for great foreplay and brought me, us, great pleasure. It’s the intrusion into our relationship, the violation of our intimacy I feel he has caused by bringing Hope into our home and into our marriage. Again. “I know, sweetheart.” He becomes soft against me. “It’s been a while for us.” He tilts his pelvis and tries sliding in and out of me at a different angle, “is that better, baby?” Biting my lip, I shake my head no. “Let me in.” “I can’t,” I cry. He is so aroused right now. I would be too if I could just get the image of her with my husband out of my head. “You can,” he insists. He wants me there, in the moment, with him. “Concentrate on how much I love you… only you.” After a few beats he whispers hotly in my ear, “relax your pussy around me, Marlena.” It’s an order that makes my breath hitch in my throat. One that he knows makes the place between my thighs discharge fluid. He rolls his hips slowly into me working hard to unknot the tension deep inside. My body moves as an extension of his with every stroke, even while it tries to expel him. It betrays me every time it draws him in. He is like hot sandpaper inside but I can’t help the little moans that escape me and encourage him. I know my resistance has unnerved him when he begins rubbing his fingers between my folds to help me, help us, along. “I’m trying,” I tell him as I stare at Hope’s blazer draped casually over the chair by the front door – taunting me. This home that John and I have painstakingly built over 35 years with love and joy and considerable pain – she’s breached its foundations. Tried to make it hers. Her behavior has surpassed that of a guest and in her mind I am certain she has betrayed me as a friend. “I want this to feel good for you too, baby,” he tells me. I want her gone. “I want that too, John.” I close my eyes in a conscious effort to block it all out, to concentrate on where he joins us so that my excitement can start flowing freely around him. I can’t help the tears that fall. “I love you,” he exhales hotly, desperately against the column of my neck as he jabs me short and sharp over and over. “Oh! I love… love you,” I cry into his mouth between breaths when he twists my neck back to fill me with his tongue. His fingers are knotted in my hair, not so gently tugging at the back of my head. I can feel how much he wants this, how much he loves me. “Baby?” He needs me to say it. Not just with words. He needs me to make my love for him spill over him and trickle down my thighs. He needs me to tremble with it as I bear down on him. I need him to erase the distance between us and the lingering stench that is our houseguest.
John.
“Fuck,” she exhales softly, almost inaudibly, as I penetrate her deeper still. The word rolls off her tongue, tortured, as if it were made to come from her lips as I breach her opening over and over again. This is hard work for both of us. I’m thick and heavy inside her. Her lips are plump and soft like a cushion against the base of my penis but beyond that, her tight canal is like a vice, trying to choke and expel me with every thrust. My movements are purposeful, urgent, forceful even. I twist and bend her body to my will. I stretch her; rub her inner walls raw. I’m relentless. I plunge in for the exquisite pain that inevitably turns to ecstasy. She feels it too. Mostly pain in this moment. I’m sorry and I’m not. I’m so turned on by her in this moment. Always. I need her to know how much I love her. How much I’ve missed her. She struggles to balance herself on the arms of the chair as she receives me, again and again. We’re mostly quiet. Except for the chafing of our heated skin where I join us and the odd harsh exhalation or expletive. Add to that the little whimpers that escape her. They fuel me. She’s trying to remain unaffected by me, by us. She’s usually extremely vocal when we’re alone. I try not to take it personally. She doesn’t trust the circumstances yet – I sensed the change in her when we walked in the door. Something was off. She was no longer the Marlena who parted her legs for me and encouraged me to finger her in the car. That stickiness that welcomes and draws me in is gone. It’s my job to coax forth the salty excitement that inevitably seeps out from between her legs and allows me to push my love inside her with ease. She’s preoccupied and I’m failing at it. “I want you,” I tell her. I do. “There is no other woman for me.” “Really?” There it is. Laced with uncertainty and hurt. I realize this is going to take more.
Marlena.
I’ve given myself away. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. In a split moment, that rawness of skin rubbing against skin, the stretching of my insides is gone and it’s replaced with warm, wet silk and stubble. He’s on his knees behind me now, nose, mouth and chin deep in my folds as he grasps onto my hips tightly. “I love you, only you,” he mutters into my dark flesh. I find myself bending my knees, squatting to get closer to him, moving my pelvis back and forth to feel more of the stinging lashings of his tongue as he feasts on my center. His sounds are wet, his mouth is full of me. Moans reverberate against his lips and my vagina where that tingling sensation turns to cum. He rakes me with his teeth. I can’t even describe to you the sound I make when he finds my clit and bites down, suctioning me in his mouth. He knows that’s his cue. He brings his fingers up into me to assess and coax my juices. He’d lap them up but that’s not why he has summoned them.
John.
Yes! I hiss in her ear as I stand and join us again – plunging long and deep between these swollen lips I’ve just had the pleasure of French kissing. We struggled at first as she squirmed to avoid me and delay the inevitable. “No… n..not yet,” she stammered. “John, I’m so sore…. hhhhh… honey?” My answer was to purposefully slide back inside her even as she protested. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby,” I promised. The low mewling sounds she made as I settled deep inside her were painful in my own ears. I wondered momentarily if she’d ever let me touch her again after this. “I hate you,” she whispers thickly, bucking against me. I lick and bite at her jaw as our sticky skin rubs together. “You love me.” She won’t deny it. We’re both out of breath from the effort of rejoining, that our bodies make their own jerking involuntary movements against each other. She can’t help herself. She’s thick and gelatinous now. Easier to slide in and out of. I find it harder to control my movements. She’s panting and bracing herself against the back of the armchair. “I need you,” she pleads with me, flinching. “Oh, you do now?” “Don’t gloat.” “Ok,” I can’t help my smile. “Take it slow, honey. Please…” she breathes. I can feel how swollen and tender she is from my earlier assault even as she clenches and draws me in despite herself. Looking down between us, I notice her bottom is crimson red with the imprint of my hand. Feeling guilty, I oblige. I cup her bottom where I’ve struck her and begin pushing gently, pulsing, “oh, Doc.” I am not complete unless sheathed inside this woman just like this. There are no words to describe how much she means to me. How much I love her. I know the pain and doubt she is feeling as my pelvis undulates rhythmically against her bottom. I revel in the sounds leaving her as I move against her and wish I were the only man to know those sounds and the ecstasy of being inside her. Just as she wishes I didn’t have the memory of being inside Hope. God, if only she understood how much I never wanted that. How something so mechanical and involuntary could never compare to this. I’m elsewhere in this fog but strangely acutely aware that my pace is steadily quickening against her again as her cries begin to crescendo, “John! John!” In my head, I’m obliterating her sexual memory of Don, Richard, Roman… and mine of Hope… all of them, with every spine shattering thrust. “This,” I pound her roughly again to drive the point home, “is the only pussy for me.” Dirty words that make her blush in the cheeks and pulsate between the legs. “Oh god!” “Tell me you understand this.” My lover. My wife. Mother to all of my, our, children. “I do,” she cries as I tap the deepest part of her with my tip again and again. “She’s here as our friend,” I growl. She bears down on me painfully with her muscles, “she needs to pack her bags and leave. I want her out of my house. Tomorrow.” She’s right. “She means nothing to me. I love my wife. I love you, only you,” I repeat as I thrust in earnest, gritting my teeth while relentlessly pushing us both to the apex of this mountain we’ve been steadily climbing. Marlena is crying out with abandon, wanting me to give it to her harder. Begging me not to stop. I’m lost in her, in sensation and the euphoric feeling of loving her this way. My legs are numb. We’ve lost all track of time. I’m afraid our boys might come to the front door at any moment now only to hear what I do to their mother. History has proven Marlena and I have made a bad habit of this. They don’t remember but they’ve heard it, us, many a time before as Marlena has stiffened and shivered into orgasm around me. They’ve heard me call her name as I’ve released myself inside her. Their childhood innocence had a way of protecting their little minds from those sounds, from this language Marlena and I communicate in. I wish I could say the same for Sami. And poor Carrie. One too many times Marlena and I found ourselves sheepish and contrite, trying to explain ourselves to our teary and distressed daughter, while our bodies still buzzed from the incredible sex we were engaged in moments earlier. Well, in truth, it was Marlena who did the trying as I sat back at a safe distance – Carrie was too upset. I couldn’t touch her or comfort her and I certainly couldn’t touch Marlena without triggering a reaction from our daughter. So Marlena tried and thankfully succeeded in convincing Carrie that she (Marlena) was not physically hurt; that I would never hurt her; that Carrie could trust me; and that these are the sounds adults make when they love each other. How else could a child be expected to process those sounds in her mind? But I digress. Eric and Brady are not children anymore and these sounds are not for their ears – not if Marlena and I ever want to be able to look them in the eyes again. I close my hand firmly over Marlena’s mouth to keep her quiet as we continue to create the beast with two backs. My penis bulges and drips inside her, threatening release. Wanting to cry out, she fights me, thrashing her head back and forth to avoid my silencing hand. She doesn’t succeed. She’s exhausted and I feel her hot breath condense against my palm. My fingers dig into her soft flesh to hold her still as we fuck rabidly. I pelt steady string after string of cum into her, biting hard on my lip to avoid yelling out. Our bodies involuntarily spasm against each other. I feel her tense and then gush over me with a muffled whimper. I free her mouth and give her two fingers to suck on as I ekk out the last of my seed inside her. She tells me she loves me over and over. My promise to her is forever. She shudders and shakes against me as I place open mouthed kisses along her bare shoulders and in the crook of her neck where I leave my dark, heavy mark. She smells of sex. Of the two of us. “I’m going to have to cover that up tomorrow,” she’s mildly annoyed. “You’re going to have to cover up more than just that after tonight, baby.” I plan to fuck her until her voice turns hoarse. I’ll then make love to her until the sun rises. Our bodies are exhausted and still bent over the back of our armchair. I cup her heaving breasts and massage them until our breaths become even and the warm sticky jelly that binds us cools on our thighs.
Marlena.
I am nothing now but a strong current of pleasure. He always manages to do this to me. He slips out of me and we’re two again. I straighten up wordlessly, still shaken by our connection; still pulsing with nectar. Gingerly tucking himself in, he repeats, “I love you, Doc.” He comes towards me to press his fingers into the small of my back, knowing the strain he has caused compelling me to make love to him this way. “She’s gone. Tonight.” I turn to face him, trying to pull myself together. He means it. I can see it in his beautiful eyes as he wipes away my tears. He moves in to kiss me. As if on cue, the doorbell rings. I wear John like a heady perfume. I don’t know how I will greet our boys like this… with their father’s sex on my skin.
The Jarlena Journal 