I went inside and found a pay phone. I really missed cell phones! They had just started coming out this year, and we had bought some stock in Motorola, but the phone was the DynaTac system, and about the size of a brick. I was thinking about getting one and simply keeping it in the rear of the car. It would be a few more years until they came out with something a lot more portable. Once I found a pay phone, I called home and told Becky that we wouldn’t be home for several more hours. I was taking Mrs. Buckman out to dinner and we probably wouldn’t be home until after dark. I promised her a nice tip, and she laughed and thanked me, and said she would call her mother and let her know. I hung up, and contemplated the rest of the day.
I gave an evil laugh as I climbed back behind the wheel. “I just called Becky to let her know we were going to be home late. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Give me a break!” laughed Marilyn.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” I put the car back into gear and headed out of the parking lot. Marilyn just laughed some more.
I decided to drive up the Jarrettsville Pike to Jacksonville, and then head west on Paper Mill Road until I got to the Harrisburg Expressway. Once we got on the Jarrettsville Pike I looked over at my wife and smiled. “Ready to start the Carl Buckman Experience?”
“What? Here? Now? I thought it was something you did in bed!”
“Oh, no, no, no! The Carl Buckman Experience isn’t something that can be mass produced and distributed! No, we at the Buckman Group have developed highly customized tools and systems to bring the full experience to each client on an individualized basis! It is different for each client!”
“Yeah, right! You are so full of crap!” laughed Marilyn.
“So, are you ready?”
“Sure.”
“Do you trust me?”
At that she looked over at me. “What?”
“Do you trust me? If you don’t trust me, the Carl Buckman Experience can’t be fully savored.”
Marilyn rolled her eyes, and then said, “Sure, I trust you. What now?!”
“Okay, that was your final warning. There is no turning back now.”
“Whatever! You are still full of crap!”
I shrugged. I let it go for another mile or so, and then as we approached Jacksonville I told her, “Okay, take off your panties.”
“What!?” she protested. Her head whipped around towards me. “Is that what you used to do with those girls?”
“I told you, each customer gets their own unique experience.”
“Now I’m a customer? Don’t think I’m going to be paying you!”
I laughed. “Trust me, by tomorrow morning, you’ll be taking out full page ads praising the service you’ll be getting!”
Marilyn laughed at that, so I reminded her to take off her panties. She laughed some more, but then agreed. She unbuttoned her skirt almost to the waist, and then reached under and shimmied them down off her hips and legs. I noticed they were simple white nylon bikinis, nothing too extreme. “Toss them in the back.” The 380 really didn’t have a back seat, just a small area with some fold down seats that nobody ever used. Right now it simply had my sport coat and my cane.
“Happy?” commented my wife. She tossed them in the back, and then began to button her skirt back up.
“Hold on there. I didn’t say anything about buttoning back up. In fact, finish unbuttoning your skirt.”
Marilyn’s eyes opened wide at that. It wasn’t the first time we had done this, but up until now it had always been late at night when we were alone, or maybe taking a parents vacation. She reversed course and undid all the buttons on the skirt, and laid it open, so that she was now naked from the waist down, except for her high heeled sandals.
“Now, lose the camisole. That’s what you have under your top, right? A camisole?”
Marilyn turned back to look at me, but I just gave her a serious expression and nodded. “I can’t do that! People will see!”
“Not my problem,” I told her.
Marilyn gave me a dirty look, but then pulled her peasant blouse top up from her waist, and above her boobs, and then pulled her arms out of the sleeves, leaving it around her neck. She repeated this with the camisole, then managed to put her arms back in the sleeves of the blouse, pull it down, and then pull the camisole up and through the top of the blouse and over her head. That went behind her. “Happy now?”
“We are only just getting started!” I told her. I looked her over closely as we stopped at a light. She looked pretty good there! Marilyn blushed as I inspected her. The peasant top wasn’t sheer or tight but it was obvious she was naked beneath it, and her nipples were beginning to stiffen.
As we started up again, I said, “Now begin to touch yourself.” She looked at me oddly at that, and I nodded. “Go ahead, you know what to do.” Marilyn stiffened slightly as she slipped her hands between her legs. Her back arched slightly as her body began to respond. “Now, I want you to tell me what all the ladies were saying was the Carl Buckman Experience.”
“That’s cheating!”
“That’s market research! We need to make sure that your experience is different!” I smiled over at her. “Be explicit. Be very explicit!” I reached over with my right hand and tweaked a nipple through her blouse; Marilyn moaned and arched her back in response. I pulled my hand back and said, again, “Tell me!”
“You’re mean!” she answered. It was difficult for Marilyn to talk about such things to me. I would often tease her when we were making love, and my wife was perfectly content to writhe and moan beneath me, but not happy when I made her tell me her fantasies or desires. Still, she would when sufficiently prodded, and I kept prodding her.
It always astonishes me that women will talk among themselves about stuff that if a guy talked to them about, would have them calling the cops! It seemed that what most of the ladies at the table had mentioned to Marilyn had to do with one of two topics, my willingness to eat them out (which for quite a few of them was something completely new) and the fact that I knew so many different positions. In retrospect, I wasn’t surprised, since that sort of thing only comes with practice, and let’s face it, I had a hell of a lot more experience than they did back then.
I also tormented Marilyn during the drive by frustrating her. After a few minutes, when I sensed she was getting close to orgasm, I said, “Stop! Put your hands on the dashboard!”
Marilyn stopped and turned her head. “What? What are you doing?”
“I said to stop!” Marilyn was still playing with herself, so I reached out and tugged her hands away. “Now, behave and stop.”
Her eyes widened and she gave me an angry look. “You are just plain mean!”
I laughed at that. By then we were on the Harrisburg Expressway driving north. After about five minutes, I relented. Reaching over, I flicked her nipple through her top and said, “Back to work!”
She groaned, and put her fingers back on her clit, slumping down and spreading her legs wide. There was a definite aroma of her musk in the car. I kept driving north, past our normal exit to Hereford, and Marilyn was out of it; she never noticed. A mile or so later I ordered her to stop. I heard a half muttered, “Bastard!” from her.
When we hit the Pennsylvania line I allowed her to start again. Marilyn hissed at me, but put her hands back between her legs, and asked, “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise!” To me, too, since I wasn’t sure what I was up to, not at all! I just wanted to do something memorable for her. I kept letting her touch herself for a few minutes, and then stopping her until we hit the outskirts of York, and an idea came to me. I pulled off the highway and said, “Put your skirt back on.” Marilyn hurriedly moved to comply, but I stopped her after a moment. “No, only button the top four buttons.” I pulled into a small strip mall that had a drug store.