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Another Double Dick Creampie Barb Cummings Watch My Mom Go Black Joseph Savior was cleaning the family room of the four-bedroom
colonial, cleaning and waiting for the calm that occurred only at
night in their busy home. The odd and relaxing silence that
sleeping kids would bring. Oh sure, a few giggling outbursts or
requests for water from the children, but then as they drifted off
the blessed silence would come.
Mary was upstairs putting the children to bed. Four of them.
From ten year old hellion, David, to three year old Beth. With
eight year old, Tommy and six year old Faith in between. Four busy
kids. While Mary was upstairs with the kids, Joseph straightened
up the ground floor of the home. Mary and Joseph alternated the
jobs of child-bedder and home-straightener. Putting the Sega
away, picking up the books and CDs, clearing the kitchen counters,
loading the dishwasher and generally improving the appearance of
the home for the morning when the kids would descend and start
their day anew. As tomorrow was Saturday, the mayhem would
continue all day, Joseph reminded himself ruefully.
Upstairs, Mary was reading Beth a book. Beth was just starting to
lose focus on her mother; her blinking eyes taking longer each time
to reopen. Mary read the mechanically, putting less character and
volume into her voice as Beth started to nod off. Deep down, Mary
was wrestling with a large problem. How to tell her husband,
Joseph about the URGE. Because THE URGE was upon her. It had
started two weeks ago as the tiniest suggestion in her head and
built steadily until tonight it captivated her waking moments,
bouncing around powerfully in her skull. THE URGE. Mary hoped
Joseph would take it well. Not lay too much Catholic guilt on her.
THE URGE was impervious to criticism, but Mary was not. Why do I
have these thoughts, she asked herself sadly? Why?
As Beth drifted off, Mary closed the book and crept out of the
bedroom. In the bathroom, she examined herself in the large half
mirror. Mary Savior, wife and mother at thirty-six years. The
Classic Soccer Mom. Had the minivan and suburban house. Identified
herself first as a mother, second as a wife, third as a lover.
Stood five foot nothing in her stocking flat feet; weighed between
125 pounds when she was exercising to 140 pounds when her period
was in and she guiltily indulged herself in forbidden sweets and
happened to be off her exercise regimen. Shoulder-length blond hair
and light blue eyes. Mary would describe herself as average. Just
average. Two B cup breasts after the four children; somewhat saggy
with traceries of light blue veins; a stomach that pooched out
slightly no matter which diet or how hard it was exercised. The
bellybutton which frowned downward. The stretch marks, tiny white
scars on her tummy and thighs and butt. The marks she bore for her
children. Firmly resigned to wearing only one-piece bathing suits
to hide her marks. Turning around and looking back over her
shoulder, Mary checked to see how her bottom appeared through her
work slacks. Oh yeah. The ever-present slight sag of her butt,
years ago her best feature. She sighed and left the bathroom.
Time to talk with Joseph.
Joe was sitting at the dining room table paying the bills when
Mary rejoined him. He gazed up at her fondly, his wife of 13
years. He loved everything about her. He was comfortable about
her body and her pretty face. Any chance? On a Friday night?
Probably not. They were generally worn out after work and coming
home to fix dinner and be with the kids. She sure looked down
about something.
"Kids go down all right?"
"Yes," Mary answered dutifully. "Beth was nodding off before I
finished Winnie the Pooh. The boys are quiet. I think Faith is
already asleep." She sat down next to him at the large table. She
sighed. That's how Joseph knew it was talking time.
"Anything the matter, hon?" he asked anxiously, wondering what it
could be. "You need something?"
Mary looked up at him. She didn't want to say the words. Didn't
want to see the look of pain in his eyes. Again. She fought for
the words and the context to put them in. She lost and just ended
up blurting it out miserably.
"I... I... I have THE URGE, Joe. I have the URGE and I'm so
sorry..." she gushed, tears springing to her eyes.
Joe felt the heat rush to his face as he stared at his wife. Not
anger--he loved her too much for that--but he felt the distress and
the guilty Blacks On Blondes Elise
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