Chapter 3: Enter Michaelene I

The eerie light of a pale moon illuminated the glassine waters of Woahinke Lake. Patrick Accuardi returned to the bed to find Myrtle sound asleep. Snoring softly, she seemed completely relaxed and at peace, her breathing regular and light. Spooning in behind Myrtle, Patrick felt her bodily warmth and sighed. Maybe he’d go visit her in Jefferson City after all.

Maybe. For a woman many years older than Patrick, she had a host of fine qualities.

But what kind of woman was he really looking for?

Patrick didn’t honestly know. He’d already had the one child he cared to have, his daughter Kirsten. The girl was a sweetheart, even if her mother was an All-American bitch. Man. That goddamn night after the concert. If he could do anything to undo it, he would. But then Kirsten would not have been born. People were the playthings of fate.

Definitely something went on behind the scenes, of this Patrick was certain. What the nature of it was he couldn’t say. Otherwise, the final reality was that women and men shared the Earth on a more or less equivalent basis.

More or less.

Deep down, Patrick believed the first human being had to be a woman. If anything had been created from a spare rib, it must have been the male.

Males were, after all, secondary to the continuation of the race. An appurtenance. If there’d ever been a question, living with his crazy mother for eighteen years dispelled all doubt. The woman who brought life into existence was the same person who came first in every situation.

And don’t you forget it!

Truth be told, Patrick sincerely believed his father could have thrown a rock into a crowd of women and by random chance struck a better woman than his bird-brained, vicious mother turned out to be. How’s that for odds?

No, Patrick knew what to look for, and the chore was simple: His potential mate had to be trustworthy, diligent, industrious, capable, smart, strict, and loving. Not easy to find, to be sure, but maybe doable. The first girl he’d ever fallen for was that quirky little brown-eyed minx during his sophomore year in high school.

What a juicy little vixen Merri Baer had been at fifteen! Of course, she would never fuck, but she was not averse to being felt up. However, being felt up was where Merri drew the line. And Merri loved to kiss. Thinking about Merri, as Patrick stretched out behind a sleeping Myrtle, his penis suddenly stiffened. Soon it was achingly hard. The woman in front of him was sound asleep after three glasses of wine, two acts of sex, and countless orgasms.

Just to see if Myrtle was asleep as she seemed, Patrick inched his rod closer. There it was, her slit. A little push, a little shove, and slide right in it ought to do.

His rod barely had touched Myrtle’s puckered nether lips when she murmured, seemingly dreaming, “Oooohh… Yes. Fuck me.”

Patrick adjusted his position and his rod slipped in with no resistance. It was at such moments that he realized how loose Myrtle was. Her large capacity vagina absorbed him with about as much friction as a bowl of tapioca. His rod was fully lodged, with Myrtle still sleeping or, if she wasn’t sleeping, faking it excellently.

Myrtle really was asleep, breathing with the rhythm of sleeping people. Slowly, and hardly thrusting his pelvis at all, Patrick went in and out of Myrtle’s accommodating slit. This was delightful! She seemed completely open, receptive in her slumber. Her capacious box welcomed Patrick with a marvelously soft, almost sodden embrace.

Pretty soon, he could feel it building to climax. Tonight, he wasn’t going to turn Myrtle over to finish in her mouth. He was just going to cum. A perfect confluence of desire and release enveloped him. In the loose grip of his lover’s vagina, Patrick thrust in minute increments, barely moving his pelvis at all.

From behind Myrtle’s rump, he heard her sigh—a deep, voluptuous sigh. Patrick suddenly felt his rod spurt, spilling the contents of his glands in her, an ejaculation as powerful and satisfying as any he’d experienced with her.

The eruption was electric, searing. The gluey spurts felt exquisitely pleasurable on spilling from him, and seemed to go on and on—a pulsing, swirling summit of ejaculatory release. When at last it ended, Patrick kept his rod inside Myrtle, feeling it slowly go flaccid.

By the time it shrank enough to pop out, he was asleep. He liked the way they slept together, spooning or facing one another. When sleeping face to face, they were invariably mashed up, his left knee between her legs, his face nestled in her soft, melony boobs for the occasional goo-goo. This embrace also gave Myrtle easy access to his rod for erectile checking throughout the night.

Before dawn, Myrtle awoke from an erotic dream, and decided her bedmate needed to cum again.

“You want to go up inside me now, lover?”

“Sure,” Patrick answered.

Myrtle turned over, drawing his rod in missionary style, and they engaged in regular intercourse until Patrick said he was getting close to orgasm. Whereupon he climbed off and again finished in Myrtle’s mouth, enjoying the suctioning technique he had lately been training her in.

“That was excellent, Myrtle,” he said, patting her head as he pulled his penis from her mouth, “good job.”

Anything to make Patrick happy, Myrtle thought. Never in her life had she had a lover so cute, kind, sweet, gentle, virile, and sexy!

***

It was right after dawn. Michaelene arose before Todd, pulling the covers back to examine his rear in the red-hued light. Perfect. The lattice of welts would fade in a few days. The times before her period were always troublesome, and by extension for Todd. Oh well, so fucking what?

Michaelene was showering when Todd came in and sat down to urinate. He never peed standing up, following his Wife’s orders. Michaelene hated the sound his urine made splashing in the bowl, in addition to the mess. Tiny drops flew everywhere, getting on the seat, and consequently she forbade the male standing habit in her home.

“So, you’re up early?” Todd noted. The Male Chastity device she made him wear daily was beside the sink. Todd would be locked in it before he left for work.

“I’m starting my new job today,” Michaelene replied, as she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

Todd dutifully gave her a towel, which she used to dry her superb body. Todd never wearied of viewing his Wife’s figure—her long, lovely legs, clear skin, prominent bottom, and spectacular, pink-nippled breasts. After gazing upon her charms, Todd felt his resentment about the previous night fade. Michaelene was a remarkable woman and though she was exceptionally strict, she was also loving in a profound, satisfying way.

“Oh yeah, your new job. Good luck with that,” Todd said, as he stood up from the toilet. He daubed the end of his penis with a tissue. The fluid had exited his bladder in a solid stream, pale yellow and practically odorless.

Todd reached for the flush handle.

“No,” Michaelene said, as she finished drying herself. She let the towel fall to the floor. “I’m going to pee on top. Then I want you to groom me before you shower.”

“Yes, Michaelene.”

She urinated, and then sliding forward on the toilet seat, made her damp urethral opening available to the tongue of her kneeling husband. He carefully cleaned her parts of pee residue, as he had done many times before.

***

Across the lake at precisely the same moment, Patrick was emerging from Myrtle’s warm bed. He dressed quickly, kissed her goodbye, and returned to the small house along the sand bank where he lived, thinking hard. He showered, dressed, brushed his teeth, and ate puffed oat cereal with raisins and one percent milk, along with an organic pear, cored and sliced. Of course it was fun to have such a willing partner as Myrtle, but Patrick was honest enough to know that there was something missing.

What he really wanted, he realized, was a woman who was his equal, if not his superior. She had to be a woman he couldn’t boss, one he could look up to.

A woman, Patrick thought, who was compatible in her sexual preferences. Together, they’d share secrets nobody else knew. He would have a real co-conspirator in the game of life, love, and sex.

The opposite of Edwinna.

And more his speed than Myrtle.

Later that morning, Patrick drove to work in his yellow, German-made VW. The radio played his favorite band, The Grateful Dead. The song playing had been released in 1970, and was considered a classic of vintage rock:

The Dire Wolf

Six hundred pounds of sin

was grinning at my window

all I said was come on in...

Patrick turned into the employee parking lot, heading for his usual spot. As he wheeled in, driving on autopilot, he had to suddenly jam on the brakes. Another car was parked in his space, a Volvo station wagon.

Don’t murder me

I’m begging

you don’t murder me

pleeee-ease

don’t murder me…

“Who is that?” Patrick said aloud, as he maneuvered his vehicle into the empty slot beside the Volvo.

Parked, Patrick went through his personal effects before heading inside. His pack contained everything he’d need for the day. He sat in his vehicle for a few minutes, pondering the previous night. It had been satisfying. Every night for the past month now he’d been having sex with Myrtle, and there was still another week to go.

Then Myrtle was off to Jefferson City for her job and it was unknown if they’d see each other again. Or maybe they would. A long-distance lover would suit Patrick fine. He’d broken his vow about avoiding relationships but consoled himself by remembering that Myrtle wasn’t in Newport for much longer. After that, who knew?

Only seven more nights, he thought. Patrick climbed out of his vehicle and went inside, stowing his pack under his cubicle’s kneehole desk and settled in for another work day.

The desk was solid oak, manufactured by inmates of the state prison system, as was his chair. Patrick rather admired both pieces of furniture. They were comfortable and super-sturdy. A hallway led from his cubicle and several others to an outer area where interview rooms, reception, and a client lobby were located.

Patrick gazed longingly at the paperback book he took from his pack. This was Farewell, My Lovely, by Raymond Chandler. He virtuously placed the book on the desk beside his phone, not succumbing to a read. He had paperwork to complete. He plugged his earphones into his handheld and riffled through the play list until he brought up The Grateful Dead:

Truckin’, got my chips cashed in

Keep truckin’, like a dew-drop man…

Patrick began by finishing a complicated Bob Edwards-ordered case review before tackling a baffling hairball of a child care reimbursement request.

He’d entered the information and was hitting Save when the hallway door opened and into his cubicle walked Bob Edward, accompanied by a stunning blond woman.

***

At work that day, while the movers were at Myrtle’s cabin packing up her belongings, she was questioned by a woman friend, another librarian and divorcee, about why she was looking and acting so chipper.

This was Ivy Lynn.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a boyfriend,” Ivy Lynn smugly noted.

“I do have a boyfriend,” Myrtle confessed. “Very young and pretty, too, thank you very much.”

“Damn, I’m jealous,” said Ivy Lynn, herself a frustrated fortyish matron, albeit with zero prospects in sight. “I hope he’s not like my ex, who never did it in me more than once before he rolled over and started snoring.”

“No,” Myrtle said, smiling and shaking her head. She held up three fingers. “Just last night, he did it in me thrice. And then we cuddled and kissed until we fell asleep.”

Ivy Lynn’s face looked wistful, and Myrtle added no more detail. Just where and how her young lover “did it” in her was privileged intelligence.

Ivy Lynn asked no more questions.

Myrtle went on about her business, sailing through her day. At 10:00 AM, Myrtle pooped out, along with the usual fecal ingredients, the digested remnants of Patrick’s semen. This occurred in the restroom reserved for female school employees, in a clean, tapered movement with little odor. This had been a frequent habit during the time of Myrtle’s affair with Patrick, as sexual relations with him required her to consume a continual quantity of semen, usually washed down with a dry, white wine.

Myrtle nevertheless wiped carefully, determined not to stain her new pink panties.

Leaving the restroom, Myrtle felt… well, wonderful.

***

Close to the time Myrtle left the restroom, Patrick was getting up from his chair to greet a new co-worker.

“Pat,” said Bob, “I’d like you to meet the woman I hired to replace Marge. This is Michaelene Austin. And this is Patrick Accuardi.”

Patrick stood up quickly, withdrew his earbuds, and shook a proffered hand.

“How do you do,” Patrick said.

“Very well thank you,” Michaelene said. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, as she regarded him.

“Same here.”

“Michaelene was first offered a job in Jefferson City,” Bob said, “but since we’re so short-handed, Admin said she could start here. It was coincidental her husband Todd was already working at the Marine Sciences Center. I’m hoping you could assist Michaelene in get oriented.”

“I’d be delighted,” Patrick said. The woman standing in front of him was literally breathtaking. Never had he been in the presence of such an attractive a fellow employee.

Dressed in a figure-flattering brown and white sweater with matching skirt, Michaelene wore heels that made her taller than Bob Edward, but not quite as tall as Patrick. The slightest whiff of lavender clung to her and the shoulder-length coif she wore shouted natural blond.

Patrick’s overriding goal in speaking to Michaelene was to ensure that he did not embarrass himself.

“Well,” said Bob, as he headed towards the door at the end of the hall, “I’ve got a phone meeting, so I’ll leave you two alone. Patrick, thanks for helping out.”

“You’re welcome, Bob.”

The manager left, closing the hallway door.

“Here’s the empty work station,” Patrick said, crossing to the empty cubicle across from his own, “and that is mine there. It was suggested to me when Marge Hemheimer left that I could take her former space, but you can have mine if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you, no. I like it that this one has a window.”

“Yes, this cube is considered the superior cube. Marge was still here when I arrived but I didn’t move after she left because I was already settled in.”

Michaelene sat down in the state-issued chair in front of her new desk and swiveled around to face Patrick.

“This is fine,” she said.

“Do you drive a Volvo station wagon?” Patrick asked.

“Why yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I noticed it in the parking lot earlier.”

“I see.”

Patrick crossed back to sit in his own chair, swiveling to face Michaelene. As was his custom with attractive women, he put on his imaginary X-Ray Specs and pictured what she would look like naked, from her beautiful face, down her rather broad shoulders, to her shapely breasts, narrow waist, rounded hips, prominent bottom, and long, slender legs.

Then he imagined the deep cleft between her legs, with a swath of pubic hair, natural blond in color—for sure. And the delicate folds of her lavender-perfumed, exquisite labia. Mmmm. Patrick wondered additionally what it might feel like to enter Michaelene, his rod going up inside her.

That made for a pleasant thought.

She meanwhile studied him with an bemused interest, as if already reading his mind.

“Have you worked in a welfare office before?” Patrick asked.

“No, I worked in the administration office at Michigan State University for three years before we moved out here.”

“We?”

Michaelene displayed the simple gold band on her ring finger, which featured an odd symbol. “My husband Todd is a PhD candidate in the University of Jeff Marine Biology program. The university has an annex in Newport. I don’t expect we’ll be here long. We’re moving to Jefferson City next spring when Todd receives his doctorate.”

“Hmmm… Todd. Marine Biology,” Patrick said.

Michaelene swiveled her chair around again, turning her back to Patrick.

“Are you married?” She asked.

“Um, no. I was married, but I’m, uh… divorced.”

“I’m sorry. Any children?”

“An eight year-old daughter. Kirsten.”

“Do you and your ex get along?”

Patrick coughed. “About as well as can be expected,” he said. “Do you have any children?”

“No.” As Michaelene spoke, she jerked open the middle drawer of her desk.

“What is this? This metal tag?”

Patrick came up and looked over her shoulder, past the sharply pointed cones of her breasts, down into the drawer. A copper plate was set in the front left corner.

“That’s the ID for our agency the state prison industries uses. They manufacture the furniture and mark the products for each agency with copper plates.”

“It says Public Ass.”

“That’s short for Public Assistance Division,” Patrick replied. “It’s what this outfit was called before we became the Human Resources Self Sufficiency Program. Our desks are not new.”

“Hmmm. Yes, I see.”

Patrick glanced at the clock above Michaelene’s desk.

“I’ve got an intake at 8:30. Do you want to come along and observe?” Patrick asked.

“Sure.”

***