Lester Lyons climbed wearily from the truck. Hell, he guessed he was getting old. Just didn't seem to have the old snap somehow. He went into the utility room, sat down on the little bench and untied his boots. Bette Jean gave him hell if he walked on her clean kitchen floor in his boots. He took them off and dropped them.
He looked down at his big sock-covered feet for a moment. Lord he was tired. Boiler making was hard work, there was no doubt about that, but it never used to bother him. Lately he was tired all the time. Shit. He was beginning to sound like Bette Jean. She complained all the time lately, kept buying bottles of this and that, running to doctors all the time.
Lester rose and stretched. God damn it, there wasn't anything wrong with Bette Jean and there wasn't anything wrong with him. They just weren't getting enough fucking. He frowned, trying to remember just how long it had been since he'd gotten to her. Hell, must be at least three weeks or more. That God-damned woman could think up more excuses. Her head ached, she wasn't feeling well, his hands were too dirty. Hell. He looked down at his hands now. They were hard and grimy and callused.
Hell, he'd just take a shower before he went on in. Quickly, Lester shed his dirty work clothes. That's why he'd put the shower in the utility room anyway. He stepped into the hot spray and let the water course over his tired body. Soaping up and scrubbing he began to feel better.
Gary was over at the Herter boy's, so there was going to be no God damned excuse tonight. Christ. He was so horny the hot water and the feel of his own hands washing his cock made it jump a little in anticipation.
Bette Jean could hear the shower running out in the utility room. Lester was good about not tracking up her spotless kitchen floor. She set the table in the kitchen and put the coffee maker on so it would be all ready. Things had to look nicer than usual. Lester grumbled when she made him pick up but secretly she knew he liked the way she kept the house all shining for him.
A bowl of marigolds on the white table looked just right with the gold place mats. She adjusted the knives and forks slightly and stood back, pursing her full lips. Now what had she forgotten. Oh, of course. Lester liked homemade applesauce with his pork chops.
She stirred a lump of butter into the pan. Fortunately she'd made some yesterday that only needed to be warmed with some butter. Turning the fire very low, she adjusted the lid and wiped her hands on her apron. Abruptly she heard the shower cut off and a nerve jumped in her stomach. She could see in her mind's eye Lester's hard body, still lean and muscular at 40, hairy and masculine. She stared down at the stove and tried to calm herself. Just the thought that Lester might touch her these days was enough to get her jumpy and nervous. That, if no other reason, was enough to insist on separate bedrooms. It wasn't as if they were kids anymore. Even as kids when they were married, she'd never really cared anything about it. It was Lester.
At first she hadn't thought she could stand it. Aunt Dee had tried to make her understand and help her but Uncle Alf had made it clear that she couldn't come back home to live. He'd sided with Lester and said she was a married woman and she'd have to act like a married woman. So she made the best of it. A few years later, there was Bette Jean's baby sister, and there'd never been any money. The folks killed in that car accident leaving her a baby sister. It still embarrassed her that her sister was younger than three of her children. Aunt Dee and Uncle Alf had been so good to take the baby since Bette Jean had her own little ones to care for. Lester had been a miracle. Even offered to adopt the baby, but Uncle Alf and Aunt Dee had solved the family problem. Wanda was still with the folks, the aging aunt and uncle who'd been so generous.
"Hi honey… what's for dinner?"
Bette Jean whirled guiltily and tried to smile. The smile froze on her face at the sight of Lester, clean and shining, his grin crooked and familiar, dark hair combed, naked except for a bath towel twisted around his lean waist. He was standing in the kitchen, like that, grinning. "There won't be anything if you don't get some clothes on Lester Lyons! Honestly! Suppose the neighbors just happened to glance over this way! They could see you right through the kitchen window!" Bette Jean burst out nervously.
"Well, that's sure as hell easy to fix if that's what's worrying you." He went over to the window and jerked the shade down, drawing the crisp curtains over that. "Now." He turned, grabbing Bette Jean's hand and pulled her to him.
"Oh, Lester. Honestly!"
"Yeah… honestly, I need a kiss and a little more when I get home tired."
Bette Jean fought the sudden clenching of her stomach as he bent and caught her lips. She tried to wrench away the moment his lips touched hers but he strained her to his hairy chest, grinding his lips into hers. She could feel his hard white teeth beneath the flesh bruising her mouth, his big hands seeking her buttocks, pushing her belly right into the bulge of his thing under the towel.
This wasn't the way she'd planned things at all! Why did Lester have to continue to act like an old goat? Her head was really aching now and she pushed futilely against his nakedness. He was as hard and demanding and male as always. What was worse, his nakedness was sending unexpected little thrills chasing under the surface of her skin where the big brute held her. She could feel the big hands crushing the softness of her rounded buttocks under her skirt, her, breasts mashed into the hard chest, mouth captive under his punishing lips and his hot poker tongue darting in between her teeth. Small as she was, she tore herself finally from his arms and stood panting and disheveled against the counter edge.
"Stop it, Lester! Stop it this instant! Leave me alone. Just leave me alone so I can get the dinner on the table. You've given me a terrible headache… and you're acting like a maniac! I just… don't know what's gotten into you." Her hands patted her curls back into place and then smoothed nervously down her apron. They fluttered up to button her blouse even higher against her throat.
"I'll tell you what's gotten into me, woman! I'm horny as hell! You haven't let me near you for weeks. A man's got to have some fucking or he's no man at all!" Lester roared, wheeling and rummaging in a cabinet. "Where the hell's the booze? God knows, I need a drink!"
"It's right here, Lester. Here… I'll get it for you." Bette Jean pulled out the bottle of bourbon. Anything was better than having to endure his kisses and what came inevitably afterwards. Distract him. That was a better tactic. Maybe even get him a little drunk. Then maybe he'd want to watch television and would fall off to sleep.
God damned bitch! Acting like he was some kind of animal every time he touched her. Shit! What the hell was he married for anyway if she was going to act like some damned prig. A man couldn't even touch his own wife anymore.
"Where the hell's another glass?" he roared.
"But I just gave you one." Bette Jean answered meekly.
"I know that! I need two. You're going to have a little drink with me, baby. Maybe that'll loosen you up a little!"
"Oh, Lester, you know I shouldn't. The doctor said I should take it easy." Her voice trailed off as Lester poured the glass half full and chunked two ice cubes after the liquor.
"Here… maybe that's what you need, baby. Loosen up that clenched ass of yours!"
"Oh, Lester… please don't talk like that… I thought we were going to have such a nice evening… I have a good dinner in the oven… it's pork chops the way you like them… and… I thought we'd talk after dinner… I went to the doctor today… that new Dr. Madson I told you about… and…"