The Preacher's Wife, Chapter One

            Naked, Maggie stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom. "Fifteen years," she said to herself.  "Fifteen years ago I graduated from high school. The class of 1979." 

            She looked critically at herself.  She was slender and more attractive than she had been in high school with character lines making an ordinary face interesting.  Her breasts were small and her nipples were no longer rosy red tips but were now brownish and wrinkled, the consequence of having given birth to two children.  The stretch marks on her abdomen were another consequence.  Still, her breasts stood firmly, pointing straight back at her from the reflection in the mirror.    

            She pinched the skin around her middle.  "Hmm.  Maybe an inch."  The triangular bush in her pubic area was small and neat.

            She turned around to look at her buttocks.  "Firm. No sag there."  Her legs were her best feature, long and well-formed.  With a little toning, she would look good in a short skirt -- except that she never wore short skirts.  She was a preacher's wife, spouse of a small-town, bible-thumping evangelical who preached hell-fire and damnation for sinners.    

            Maggie had few sins on her conscience.  "There was that boy in high school, but I didn't really have sex with him," she told herself.  "It was an accident, and I made up for it in my service to God."

            Her life plan had always been to be the helpmate of a preacher.  She had married Clyde during her sophomore year at Oral Roberts University.  Six years her elder, he had an offer to be pastor of a church in Arapaho, Kansas, population 3,000. Marrying had been an agonizing decision for her.  She was an excellent student and loved her life as a quiet bookworm, but she yielded to God's will.  Her husband-to-be needed a wife and she was perfect for the job.   She quickly became a pillar of the respectable, religious community of Arapaho, praised for her piety, humility, and tireless work. 

            "I'll have plenty of time to rest when I get to heaven," she told people.     

            She and Clyde had the perfect family: one boy, one girl, a dog named Spot, and a modest home on a quiet street.  They were almost poor.  Small town preachers don’t make much money – and preacher’s wives, none. 

            It was – everybody said –  a marriage made in heaven.  Why then were tears running down her cheeks as she stood there, looking at her body in the mirror? 

            Maggie was not sexually deprived.  Clyde had sex with her every night.  It was always the same  – missionary style – and she usually climaxed.  She was a willing receptacle of his emissions.  During her periods she satisfied him with her mouth.  When they were first married, he regarded oral sex as deviant and sinful but he had changed his mind and now he considered it an acceptable substitute for biblically-sanctioned vaginal sex -- although his mouth had never touched her clitoris.  He had also changed his mind about birth control after their second child.               

            She had two guilty pleasures during those 15 years.  The first was reading smutty, sexy novels. She didn’t take the risk of checking them out of the public library in Arapaho, but bought them on shopping trips to the larger town of Hickok.  She kept the novels hidden from hubby and the children in a locked drawer of her sewing machine.  She liked to sew and making and fixing things for the house stretched her budget.  In the same drawer as the smutty novels she had several hundred dollars she had saved from her household budget.  What her savings were for she could not say.    

            Her second guilty pleasure was Sue, her best friend from high school.  Sue, bold and busty, had moved to Kansas City after high school, married, divorced, and worked her way up to a well-paying job as office manager for a law firm.   Maggie and Sue talked on the phone every few months and met each other for coffee or lunch whenever their paths crossed.  Clyde didn't approve of Sue so Maggie didn’t tell him that they were still in touch.          

             The day after her self-examination in the mirror, Maggie and Clyde journeyed to Kansas City, two hours away by automobile.  Clyde needed a minor operation and he would stay in the hospital overnight.   She waited by his bedside until he woke up groggy from the anesthesia at mid-morning and promptly went back to sleep.  She telephoned Sue and they arranged to meet for lunch.  Sue was the same as ever – with a head of flaming red hair, and wearing a skirt that was short and tight and a blouse that was almost sheer.  Sue had always been her opposite.  Maggie dressed like a refugee from a Protestant nunnery – and an impoverished one at that.    

            “Why don’t we go out for a drink tonight?” Sue asked as they finished their lunch.  “It would do you good to have a little fun.”  Maggie had shared her feelings of discontent and boredom during lunch.      

            "Oh, I couldn't.  I don't drink and --"

            “You don’t have to drink alcohol,” Sue interrupted.  “You can have a coke – or even a Virgin Mary.  That’s a Bloody Mary without the vodka.  Come on!  You need to escape for an evening."  

            “Well,” Maggie said with hesitation.  “I’ll have to be in the hospital this evening with Clyde, but if I can get away for an hour or two….maybe.” 

            “Just call me,” Sue said.  “I’ll wait for your call.”                

            Maggie spent the early evening at the hospital with her husband, willing him to fall asleep and he soon did so.  She rushed to a pay telephone and called Sue.  Sue picked her up at the hotel where she was staying and they drove to their destination nearby  – a large well-lighted restaurant which advertised itself as an Irish pub.  Just off the entrance to the restaurant was a bar.  Even on a weeknight it was crowded with a collection of young men and women, many of them unattached.   Maggie had never been in a bar before.  They were not allowed in the part of Kansas where she lived.       

           Sue was wearing a low-cut dress with spaghetti straps that showed impressive cleavage. Maggie felt like Ms. Dowdy in her knee-length skirt and buttoned-up blouse. She loosed a button, then another.  The hint of a white bra showed.  They sat at a table and Sue ordered a gin and tonic and Maggie ordered a diet Coca Cola.  She was both frightened and fascinated, especially as men came by the table to say hello, many of whom were acquainted with Sue.

            "This is my hangout," said Sue. "One of my hangouts. I know a lot of these guys." She winked.  "Hello, Brad," she said to a younger man nearby.  "Hi, Jerry."

            "Who's your beautiful friend?" asked Jerry.  He approached the table, kissed Sue on the cheek, and turned his attention to Maggie.

           "Her name is Maggie.  My best friend."   Sue motioned for the two men to sit down.  They were both good looking and younger than the two women, about twenty-five years old, Maggie guessed. 

            "Can I buy you a drink?" Jerry asked. 

            "I….uh….well, maybe.  First, I need to make a telephone call."  Maggie rushed away from the table, found a pay telephone near the door of the restaurant, and dialed the number of the hospital.  Her husband, they said, was still asleep.  She walked back to the table and said to Jerry. "Yes, I believe I'll have a drink." 

            "What do you want?"

            "You order for me."  Maggie had no idea what she should order.

            "Gin and tonics for me and the lady," Jerry said to a waitress.               

            Maggie had never in her life tasted alcohol. Never.  She took a tentative sip of the drink and frowned.

            "Something wrong with the drink?" asked Jerry.

            "Oh, no.  It was just…..something of a shock." 

            "Maggie is a respectable married woman," said Sue to the men.  "Not a pub crawler like  me. Treat her nice or I'll get on your case."

            "Get on my what?" asked Jerry innocently.  "Do you promise?"   

            "In your dreams," Sue laughed.  Maggie sipped her drink slowly.  It made her feel woozy but she participated in the conversation by saying a few words that made the others laugh.  Sue and she took a trip to the bathroom and, in the way of women in water closets, Sue asked  "What about Jerry? We have to break this up soon." 

            “Oh, I like him” Maggie said.  “But Ï couldn’t….I just couldn't.” 

            Sue kissed her on the cheek.  “You are thinking about sex.  I'm shocked!” She laughed.     

            Maggie realized with a start that she had been thinking about sex.  Those thoughts were quickly repressed by fear – of her husband and her God.  When they returned to their table, she ordered another gin and tonic. She and Jerry sat side by side, their legs and thighs touching.  She was having trouble holding up her head.  It wobbled from side to side and her hair brushed against his cheek.   

            “Hey, guys,” Sue said.  “I have to work in the morning. Come on, Maggie. I'll take you to your hotel. If that's what you want....?"   

            Maggie looked at Jerry as they stood up.  He met her gaze.  ”I…uh….had a really good time,  Thank you.”  She extended her hand to shake his. 

             He took her hand and pulled her to him and kissed her on the cheek.  "I also had a good time. Perhaps we could meet again?"

            "I would like that."  

            “Kiss good night, lovebirds,” Sue prompted. 

            Jerry and Maggie's lips met and lingered.  It was like an electric shock running through her body.  She pulled away from him in panic and ran for the door, pulling Sue with her.     

            Sue helped her out of the car at the hotel.  Her head was spinning.  She hugged Sue and said,  “Tell Jerry I’m sorry I ran away. I liked him.  I'm just not used to being kissed. Nor drinking.”  

            “He liked you too,” Sue answered.   

            Maggie waved goodbye to Sue and stumbled into the hotel.  She sobered up in the shower. She was happy.  

            But for a coincidence, that night have been the beginning and the end of her flirtation with the wilder side of life. 

            Maggie was involved in state-wide women's religious groups. She enjoyed her excursions to meetings and conferences,. To her surprise, she was offered a seat on the Board of Directors of a Christian charity in Kansas City.  She realized that the strong-minded president of the charity had asked her to be on the Board to serve as a compliant cipher who would not make waves.  Nevertheless, she accepted with alacrity – subject, of course, to her husband’s approval.  The Board had quarterly meetings in Kansas City.         

            Clyde and she prayed on the matter. He was perplexed at her show of wifely independence and accomplishment, but it was a prestigious charity and he might benefit from her association with it.  He had dreams of one day escaping his little church to become a TV evangelist with a giant church.  Maggie never dared to even hint that he had reached the pinnacle of his accomplishment as a small-town preacher.  

            Her good fortune continued.  At her very first Board meeting the position of treasurer was open for election.  The President announced that not only would the treasurer be required to attend the quarterly Board meetings, but she would also have to stay a second day in Kansas City to audit the accounts.  The charity would pay expenses for meals and a modest hotel for the overnight stay.  Nobody else on the Board wanted the job, so it took only an oblique reference to her experience as a bookkeeper and treasurer of a missionary group to get Maggie's name in nomination.  She was elected unanimously.    

            Thus, three months after her first nocturnal adventure, Maggie came again to Kansas City overnight, alone this time, and Sue and she planned an evening on the town.   To her surprise, Sue told her Jerry was interested in seeing her again. 

            “I must not have been too much of a wet blanket!” Maggie said.  

            "Don't get serious about Jerry,” Sue warned.  He's as randy as a billy goat -- but he has a serious girl friend who lives in Chicago.  They're probably going to get married."    

            "Oh," her face fell.  "Is it okay for me to go out with Jerry? I don't want to cause a problem.”

            "If you're asking whether he'll take you to bed, yes, he will.'' answered Sue with a wink. 

            "I didn't mean that…I…uhh…."

            "Well, just in case."  Sue reached into her purse and pulled out two condoms and tossed them to Maggie.  "Don't forget to use them – if you need them.  Sue paused a moment, then reached into her purse and pulled out another two.  "Here, you might need these too. You were pretty hot back in high school."

            "I couldn't….,"  but Maggie put all four condoms in her purse. 

            "You could -- and it would do you good.  After all these years with Slick the preacher."  Sue called Clyde "Slick" because of his pomaded, Elvis-like hair.  "Just don't take it seriously.  Drinking, flirting, sex, it's all fun."    

           "I don't think I can do it just like that."  Maggie was excited – but nervous.  What if her husband called the hotel that night and she wasn’t in her room?  What excuse could she offer?  She had to have a story prepared in case of need.  Deceiving a spouse required forethought and planning.  She would claim that she went out to dinner with a woman she had met at the charity.  She didn't intend to do anything bad; but she must avoid the appearance of evil.  She just wanted to laugh with Sue and Brad and Jerry.     

            Maggie rushed out to a clothing store and bought herself a new dress for the evening with money she had hidden in the drawer of her sewing machine.  It was a subdued red in color, sleeveless, with a modestly low neck line and a high empire waist that emphasized what little there was of her breasts.  It fell to just above her knees. For most women it would have been modest; for her it was racy.   She gave her mousy brown hair a flip to soften her severe style and added red lipstick that matched her dress.  She was ready.    

            Jerry and Brad were waiting for Sue and Maggie in a bar only a couple of blocks from her hotel.  Tall, young, handsome, solicitous Jerry leaped up out of his chair, put his hands on her shoulders, looked her over, nodded in approval, then pulled her closer for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

            “Welcome back, Maggie.  I recommend the margaritas.”

            “I’ll have one,” she answered.  But she couldn’t restrain an “Oh, my God” when the colorful, frozen concoction arrived.  The margarita went down easily.

            “Tapas?” Jerry asked.

            “Certainly," said she, having no idea what tapas were.

            Jerry ordered asparagus dip, calamari, and little meatballs in a tangy sauce and they ate and drank in pleasure – although Maggie was conspicuously quiet.  She simply couldn’t think of anything to say, although she said “Oh, yes” when Jerry asked her if she wanted another margarita.  “They’re delicious.”   

            “And deadly,” said Sue who doubtless felt an obligation to warn her -- but Maggie was already digging into her second frozen delight with spoon and straw.   Soon Jerry ordered her a third one.  Amazingly, she found her voice and they all laughed uproariously when she told a story about being the wife of a preacher.      

            Maggie never got to the bottom of that third margarita.  The room was spinning around in her head and suddenly she felt faint and bile burned in her throat.   “Oh, no,” she said in anguish to Jerry.  “I’m going to be sick.”  

            “I’ll take you to the bathroom,” Sue said.

            “No,” Maggie said in a sudden panic.  “I have to go to my hotel room.  My husband might call.  I have to be there.  I’m drunk,” she added with a giggle, holding tightly to Jerry. “I have to be sober if he calls.”   

            “I’ll walk you home,” Jerry said.  “The air will do you good.” 

            “I need air.  I have to have air,”  She draped myself around Sue and gave her a sloppy kiss and then did the same to Brad -- on his lips.  “Great evening.  A lot of fun.  Great meatballs.”  She leaned on Jerry as he led her out of the bar.

            In the parking lot she vomited on the boxwood bushes.   “Oh, my God,” she retched.  “It’s all over my new dress.  My only red dress!  I loved this dress.”

            Jerry wiped vomit off her face with his handkerchief and she leaned against a lamppost while he wiped off the front of her dress, his hands running across her breasts.  “Big things,” she said, laughing hysterically at her humor.    

            “I like them small,” said Jerry.  “More nerves concentrated in a small area.” 

            She found that funny.  She felt a little better now that her stomach was emptied of meatballs and margaritas.  She wrapped her arm around Jerry and they walked together the two blocks to her hotel.  Along the way, Jerry put his hand on her cheek and turned her head and kissed her full on the lips.  It was a long lingering kiss and she pressed hard against him and his hands slipped down to the small of her back and over the curve of her buttocks.  

            “Do I smell awful?” she asked when their lips parted.  “I don’t want to smell awful, but I want to kiss. Just kiss.  That’s all I want to do. Just kiss.”      

            “You smell awful,” Jerry said,  “but you kiss good.  I’ll clean you up and put you to bed.”  He led her to her hotel room, helped her find the key in her purse, and opened the door.

            “May I come in?” he asked politely.

            “Come in.  I want to kiss.  But I don’t want to smell bad.  I have to brush my teeth.  Where’s the mouthwash when I need it,” She laughed loudly at herself, staggered into the hotel room and sat down heavily on the bed.  She kicked her shoes off. 

            “Let’s soak that dress in cold water,” said Jerry. 

            “Good idea.  You have to unzip me.  I can’t reach that far.”  Jerry unzipped the back of her dress, helped her to her feet, and pulled the dress over her head.  She stood surprised for a moment.   

            “I’ll put your dress to soaking.” 

            “Good idea,” she repeated.  “I’ll just lie here in my underwear.   Never been in my underwear before. “ she giggled.  “Well, I mean in my underwear with a man.  I mean, not with any man except my husband.”  She paused to think. “You know what I mean.  I think I’m drunk.” 

            “You are most definitely drunk.” 

            “I want to kiss ”  She followed Jerry into the bathroom and hung over his back as he ran cold water into the sink and put her dress into it.  She kissed him on the neck and wrapped her legs around him and rubbed up and down his leg.  “Kiss me,” She said.  “Oh, I forgot.  I smell bad.” 

            “Let’s put you in the shower,”

            “But I have my underwear on.” 

            “We can fix that.”  Jerry turned her around and flipped the catch on her bra and pulled it off over her arms.    He turned the shower on.

            She folded her arms over her bare breasts while she tried to get my thoughts in order.  “Water’s warm,” he announced.  “He looked at her for a long moment.   “You don’t have to do this. I can leave.”

            “I just want to be kissed.  I need to be kissed.  Don’t go away.”  She wished her breasts were bigger.

            She turned away from him, pulled her panties off, hung them on the towel rack, and stepped into the shower.  She leaned against the tile wall of the shower and the hot water caressed her body.

            “I'm coming in with you,” Jerry said, standing outside the translucent door to the shower.  “Is that okay?”  

            She was still thinking about that when he stepped naked into the shower with a tube of toothpaste in his hand.  “Here,” he said, squeezing toothpaste onto her finger.   “Wash your mouth out with this.” 

            He was standing very close to her and his half-erect penis was touching her stomach.  She took a mouthful of toothpaste and filled her mouth with water and squished it around and spat it out.  “Do I smell better now?”

            “Much better,” he answered.  He turned the shower off and they stepped out into the bathroom.  He took a towel off a shelf and dried her, first her face, then, turning her around, her hair and down her back, running the towel over her buttocks.  He turned her around again and dried her breasts and, kneeling, her pubic area and her legs.  Then, he rose to his feet and kissed her and they melded together and his penis, now fully erect, sought her vagina and she lowered my hand to help him and she felt the delicious thrill of a penis pressing into her labia.       

            “Fuck me. Please.”  That was the most important request she had ever made. 

            “I will. Let’s go to the bed.”  They walked arm-in-arm to the bed.  He was much less hairy than her husband and his muscles were taut and hard.  His penis was long and straight.  Her husband’s looked like a banana.   He was a beautiful man.  She laid down on her back and, as he hovered over her, she spread her legs.  He laid down, half on top of her.    

            The telephone rang. 

            “It must be my husband,” she wailed.   

            “Answer it,” he said calmly, rolling off her.  “Just talk slowly and naturally.  Pretend you’re sleepy.  Should I leave?”

            “No!  Don’t.”  she mustered her courage while the phone rang again and again.  He kissed her breasts.   

            She answered the phone. “Hello,” she said timidly.

            “Maggie,”  It was him.  “Is everything all right? You haven’t called.”

            “Oh, yes,”  she answered, more loudly than she wished.  “Everything is fine.”    

             “You sound funny.”

            “Oh, no, I’m not funny.  Just a little bit sleepy.  A little bit sleepy.  You woke me up.  Tired.  All tired.  I was tired and I went to bed early.”  Jerry gave her a thumbs up and went back to sucking on her left breast.  She rubbed her hand over the back of his head.  Nice hair. 

            “I just wanted to make sure than you are okay.”

            “I’m wonderful.  Tired.  Hard day.”  Jerry was working his way down from her breasts.  Now, he was at her bellybutton.  He had turned, his head pointed toward her feet, and his penis was poking her in her unoccupied ear. 

            “Well, no problems here, so I’ll let you go back to sleep.  Good-bye.”

            “Good-bye,”  She said it with a gasp.  Jerry’s mouth had found her clitoris. 

            “You’re okay?” her husband sounded puzzled.

            “I’m fine.   See you tomorrow.  Tomorrow afternoon. I'm coming home.  Tomorrow.” 

            “Oh my God,” she said after she hung up the phone.  “I forgot to ask about the children. He’ll wonder why.  And I forgot to tell him I loved him. Did I sound drunk?” 

            Jerry raised his head from her crotch.  “Not at all,” he lied.  He kissed her on the lips and she could taste the smell of herself.  He stared into her eyes for a long moment, “You still don’t have to do this.”

            “Yes, I do.  I want to fuck you.”   She said it emphatically.  “Fuck.”  She loved that word.  She hadn’t said it since she was in high school. In that moment, she fell out of love with her husband.  Or she realized that she hadn’t been in love with him for a long time – perhaps ever.  Maggie, the flat-chested prude, the modest Sunday school teacher, wanted to be loved by men.  Wanted to be a wicked woman.  To be fucked.  And fuck. And drink margaritas.     

            “Oh, my God,” she said for the hundredth time as Jerry’s fingers pulled apart the lips of her vagina and his mouth closed gently on her clitoris and his tongue flicked against her again and again and she was hunching back and forth and squealing in delight as he sucked her quivering clitoris and rode her plunging thighs to a climax. 

            “That was quick,” he said as he relaxed and reclined by her side.

            “Was it good?” she asked. “I want it to be good for you. I want to fuck good.” 

            “It was good,” he assured her.  He rubbed the side of his head.  “Although sucking you could give a man cauliflower ears.” 

            “I’m sorry.  Did I hurt you?” 

            “No, not at all.”  He rubbed his ears.

            She made a mental note for the future.  “Don’t put a headlock on a man who’s sucking your clitoris.”  She was serious and almost sober for a moment.  “I want you to cum inside me.  My husband is the only man who has ever cummed inside me.  Well, almost the only man.  I want to feel you inside me.”

            “Don’t worry.  I plan to fuck you all night long.  Unless you’re in a hurry.”

            “No, not in a hurry.  I want it to last.  Last all night long.  But I should have asked my husband about the children. I forgot about the children.” 

            He thrust a finger inside her.  She was wet.  “I don't think we'll need any lubrication.”  He pushed his finger in further.

            “Oh, my God!” 

            “Is that the only thing you can say?” he laughed.  “We need to work on your vocabulary”

            “Shut up and fuck me,” she said.  Wow!  She was getting saucy. 

            He rose from her to a sitting position and reached into his billfold and took out a condom, bit off a corner of its plastic cover, unrolled it, and pulled it over his penis.  She watched fascinated.  She had never seen a condom in use. 

            “I'm glad you didn't ask me to put that on. I wouldn't know how,” she said with a giggle.  

            “I could teach you.  You could practice but I have only two rubbers and I don't want to waste one.”

            “I have more,” she giggled again.  “Sue gave me four.”

            He laughed.  “You may need all four. I'll teach you how to put one on.  Later. But first...”  He rolled over on top of her. 

            She reached down with her hand to feel the condom before he slipped his penis inside her.  “The condom has some kind of powder on it.  It feel's sort of....sort of like it is covered with powdered sugar. Like an angel food cake I make.”      

            He stopped, raised his head and looked down at her beneath his body.  ”Powdered sugar?  That's new to me.”   

            “I do a lot of cooking,” she answered, wiggling her hips to bring him deeply inside her.   She paused in thought for a moment.  “Actually it's grainier than powdered sugar. I think it's cornstarch.”           

            She moved in time with him, her lips parted in ecstasy, her legs spread wide, her back arched, breasts thrust forward, her fingernails – short, as befitted a preacher's wife – clawing his back.  And when she climaxed, her body shook all over and she was laughing and crying at the same time.     

© Elsie Thompson

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