Glenda has a new book. It’s one of those books. A… shh… a sex book. She bought it because things aren’t going so well in that department for Arthur and herself. At first, she’d thought it was because they were new at it. You see, neither of them had done it before they were married. Arthur confessed on their wedding night that he’d taken himself in hand on occasion (those occasions were actually uncountable, though he didn’t tell his bride that) but Glenda blushed when she admitted that she had not.
Arthur had wondered at her confession because of course she had not. Why would she, a woman, do such a thing? After an awkward fumbling of buttons and arranging of fabrics in the dark, they’d finally come together. Well, that is somewhat misleading. Arthur came, Glenda did not.
Weeks became months and still, Glenda had not known the pleasure of orgasm. Not in Arthur’s presence at any rate. Frustration had been a hard teacher, but she’d learnt how to pleasure herself during her husband’s working hours. Sometimes she used her fingers, other times the handle of her paddle brush and, once or twice, she employed the services of some very well washed vegetables.
After months became years, her solo efforts ceased to be enough. She walked around every day with her husband’s semen seeping from inside of her and the lack of enjoyment she found in the process which put it there was beginning to foster resentment. She felt used at times. Sometimes she wondered if Arthur had married her for no other reason than to give his wrist a reprieve.
Oh, but what a wicked woman she was to entertain such thoughts! Her husband loved her dearly, of that she was quite certain. He did try, she had to give credit where it was due. Was it his fault that his hands were clumsy? Could he be blamed for not knowing that she needed her little button to be pushed before the spark of desire she felt for him could burn bright?
One day she thought about it and decided that, no, Arthur was not to blame. Not entirely. Some of the fault had to be laid at her door, for she was the one who failed to direct his fingers. She was the one who didn’t speak up if she required a change of pace or rhythm. And thus, she purchased the book.
She squirrelled it away for days. Peeking at certain pages. Flushing hot red as she skimmed certain passages. She even sat in her chair by the window one afternoon to watch the young man in the house opposite clean windows for his mother. One eye was on him, the other on the book. One hand held the book while the other rubbed the wet folds beneath her dress until she dropped the book altogether. She tells herself that it was the young man ringing out his shirt that did it – it was a warm day, to be fair – but in truth, it was a paragraph about… she could barely think it… about oral sex that made her shake with so much pleasure she lost her grip.
Now the book is in Arthur’s hands. Glenda left it on his bedside table while she used the bathroom. When she came back to the bedroom he was sitting on the edge of their bed, so intent on the words on the pages he barely noticed her return.
As was her way, Glenda slipped beneath the bedsheets and rested her hands beneath her breasts. She watched the back of her husband’s head as he read, knowing by the way his ears twitched that his lips were silently forming every word. Patience had always been her greatest virtue, but it was failing her now. For Glenda was quite aware of which page Arthur was reading. She had creased the spine intentionally, knowing that the book would fall open in his hands to reveal what she had been reading.
Arthur nodded a number of times and mumbled a handful of m-hmms. Then he closed the book, placed it carefully back beneath his lamp, and turned to Glenda.
Glenda held her breath. She was watching Arthur think. He had a way about him when he was concentrating. Creased forehead, pinched nose, lips pressed firmly together. When he reached over and switched off the light she thought the book had been a waste of money, but then she heard the strike of a match and the candle on the window sill began to glow.
In this soft light, Arthur came to her. She didn’t move. She rarely moved. All she did was wait to see if he would do anything differently. He already had, of course. The candle was different, they’d only ever done this in the dark.
Arthur untied the sash of his dressing gown and laid it across the bottom of the bed. He loosened the sheets from beneath the mattress but didn’t uncover his wife. Instead, he crawled beneath them. Glenda felt a thrill of excitement that was tinged with horror. The bulk of such a large man moving beneath the candlelight shadowed sheets was grotesque, but she thought, hoped, that she knew what he was doing. She hoped he knew what he was doing. Lord, did she hope.
The first touch she felt was fingers at the hem of her nightdress. Pushing it up her calves to her thighs. She lifted herself, just a little, so Arthur could take it all the way to her hips. Then he pried her legs slowly apart and kissed the insides of her knees. Her thighs. He bit the soft flesh there. Nipped it with his fingers, dampened her flesh with his hot breaths.
Glenda shuddered when Arthur’s fingers combed through the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. Bit her lip when a finger – just one finger – tickled and pressed until her lips became unstuck from one another and allowed it access. He used that finger to spread her wetness. Added another finger and pinched her smaller lips, flicked them, squeezed them together and ran those fingers of his up their length until he found her button. Or, as the book named it, her clitoris.
Arthur reminded her of this because he whispered, “Gently touch around the sides of the clitoris but don’t touch it directly.” That was step three in the book. Step four was… oh, dear God, he had moved on to step four!
He lapped from top to bottom with long, firm licks. Next, the figure eight would come, and then the alphabet. Glenda expected it because the book instructed it. To her utter shock, Arthur deviated. Instead of flicking her clitoris gently with the tip of his tongue, he yanked her towards him by her hips and buried his face further into her. His nose knocked repeatedly against her clitoris and his tongue!
“Oh!” Glenda cried out in delighted shock, for Arthur’s tongue was plunging inside of her.
He snuffled and snorted, scraped her thighs with his nails, wrapped his lips around her clitoris and wedged two fingers inside of her. Arthur sucked, licked, and growled until he had his wife quaking in her curlers. Glenda panted and moaned, dug her feet into Arthur’s back, just above his shoulder blades, so she could force herself even closer. She writhed, wriggled, ground her cunt all over his face and laughed as she pulled his head away so she could look into his eyes as, for the first time ever, she came for her husband.
“What was that?” she gasped, opening her thighs wider in order to accept his large frame between them. “The book didn’t make any mention of those steps.”
Rather than clamber on top of her, Arthur knelt at her feet and laughed. “Oh, it does, my love. Just not in the chapter for beginners. You think tonight was the first time I’ve seen that book, but you are wrong. I found it days ago and have read it cover to cover. And now, I’m about to give you chapter twelve. It’s very precise so you’re going to have to be in the right position for it. So come on, my love. Get on your knees and smother your lovely face into that pillow.”