An Indecent Obsession. Mudrooroo

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СКАЧАТЬ checked the kitchen to see if there was an address there. She hung about in there a lot and in the sitting room, in front of the television no doubt watching the day soapies, like hundreds of other women without jobs and on Prozac that calmed them down and made them receptive to trash. I had gotten her the prescription; but it hadn’t settled her and I supposed that what might have done the trick was a baby. That usually worked. After we were married she had high hopes that she would soon conceive, though from the first we had not taken precautions. Stupid of me of course, but why we continued to do so she didn’t say. Perhaps she wanted to get pregnant for she was jealous of Elaine and wanted to have all that she had, including kids. Well, thankfully she had failed at that.

      I remember the time I was dragged with her to the Mater Hospital. As I had proved my fertility, she had had to check hers out. We waited and waited, while nurses came and went. Finally, they made her dress in a hospital gown and took her into another room to do whatever they did. They gave her an anaesthetic and did the needful. The results came after a few hours. Unfortunately they were a blow to her. Her fallopian tubes had suffered damage and were completely blocked up. No chance at all. This was another imperfection to add to her cockeyes and high roofed mouth. She was sterile and this relieved me somewhat, for I already had my quota of children and I did not want more, especially when our relationship was proceeding downhill even then. She mentioned adoption and even artificial insemination and I told her to wait. Once when she was sucking me, she took her mouth away, to tell me to save up my sperm. Why, as far as I could see, there was no chance that even if she was filled with sperm conception could occur, even if she had a major operation to open her up.

      It was after this that her back pains began and continued. She went to doctors and chiropractors and masseurs in search of a cure. She could not do any heavy lifting or even housework and I had to do everything. Even sex became a chore, though it seemed that she had always found it that, for after our marriage it rapidly diminished and I suffered and had no relief from my suffering. This drove me to talk to her doctors about her back problems. A Dr. Arclay informed me that she told him that she had a long history of neck pain. He added that my wife was angry and frustrated over not being able to get her application approved to study for her Ph.D. and he added, staring up at me though those half lens reading glasses he affected, ‘there are also personal problems.’ I replied: ‘Well, what is wrong with her exactly.’ And he answered as doctors do to lay people: ‘I presume there is an aggravation of her cervical Spondylosis due to muscular contractions secondary to her distress and posture.’ ‘Is that all,’ I cried. ‘Well, there are problems, she obviously is an unhappy woman and needs more attention.’

      I tried to give it to her and when I mentioned what the doctor had said, she retorted that yes, she did have neck pains which brought on terrific headaches and if I really loved her, I wouldn’t bother her so much. I did not retort that I helped around the house which meant doing practically everything, including the cooking. Her problems worsened after our little talk. Often I came home to find her lying in the darkened bedroom with a hot compress on her neck.

      Not content with Dr. Arclay’s professional opinion, I went to another of her doctor’s. Dr. Kettle. He too was given to jargon, but to the suffering husband he translated that she had come to him suffering from chronic lower back pain and that x-rays taken of her cervical spine indicated some muscular tension.’ ‘So there is basically nothing wrong with her,’ I replied. ‘Well, you can’t say that,’ he replied with a smile. ‘You know, women?’ And it was he that prescribed the Prozac.

      She had always complained of back problems and this meant that I did not try to get her to adopt difficult positions in the bedroom, or even simpler ones such as bending over while I fucked her from behind. She claimed that this was what she liked best of all which, in practice, meant while lying outstretched on the bed. I rapidly grew bored with this and to give myself variety I got her to assume the top position, which would not aggravate her supposed back injuries. The Kama Sutra described this position as the most enjoyable for men. I did find it more satisfying than sprawling on my hands and knees and banging away at her passive cunt. With her in the dominate role, I could also reach up to grab her breasts and even watch my penis entering and leaving as she raised and lowered her body. She became quite adept at this position, sometimes facing me and at other times turning towards my feet. In it she could manipulate her vagina as much as she wished to ensure the maximum pleasure, still she complained about my not being on top, though when I did assume the missionary position, she soon returned to the reverse. I couldn’t understand it, but then her back pain aggravated and with her headaches any positions were few and far between.

      It wasn’t long before she suggested that I sleep apart from her as she was too restless in bed with the pain and kept me awake. I protested, but she spoke in that little girl voice of hers she affected when she wanted a favor granted and I gave in, though being upset at being denied the marital bed. Elaine had never ever forced me from our bed. In fact, it would have been a sign that we were drifting apart, and after that last blow job, when I did sleep on the sofa, it was then that she told me to go. And now with Darlene , to please her I slept on the futon which I kept in my home office to have a rest when I needed to relax from my work. Now came an increasing lack of affection. Once, in the kitchen I caressed her behind in passing and she said that I had no respect for her. I even used to wander naked about the house and once, she told me to put some clothes on.

      Of course, all this did not mean that we gave up sex entirely. A few times, she led me to her bed and when I say led I mean it, taking my hand much like a prostitute takes the hand of her client. I found it somewhat distressing, but well, it was something. I tried to talk about our problems once or twice, but she had taken to eating her meals in front of the television, watching inane American sitcoms and there was no space for serious conversation.

      So this was the background to my marriage when I came home from work that Monday afternoon to find her gone. Our relationship was not of best, but still I became distraught and prowled the house like a caged beast. I imagined all sorts of things, mainly bloody. I rang the hospitals in case she had had an accident. I visualized her lying there inert and passive with drips entering her veins. No Darlene Davis and no one answering her description. I went back into the kitchen to make a sandwich, but couldn’t. How could I eat when my wife might be lying injured?

      Then on the kitchen counter, I saw the list she had made of the things to take on her camping weekend. I took it into the sitting room, sat on the sofa and studied it. There were listed: tent, sleeping bag, Rid (by which she meant insect repellent, a brand name), togs, shorts, sarong, mozzie coils, sunscreen and lastly hat. This certainly indicated that she had gone on the camping trip with her brother, or perhaps someone else. I couldn’t prevent the thought from arising. I examined the sheet further and saw a series of parallel lines around the list which might be the coast of the island, but below that was another doodle. A series of concentric circles around a raised centre which as I stared resolved into the head of a penis and the whole doodle resolved itself into a vagina about a penis. I studied it for what seemed hours. No doubt, but why? The way Darlene acted with me I had concluded that she was frigid as well as sterile. I pushed thoughts of infidelity away and rang the Stradbroke Island police again. No one had drowned and no vehicle accidents. This settled, I checked the yellow pages for camping grounds. Under Stradbroke Island, I found three: Myora, Dunwich and then two at Point Lookout.

      Everyone in Brisbane travelled to Stradbroke Island. It was where we went if we wanted a quiet weekend by the seaside. I had thought nothing of it, when Darlene had said that she wanted to go camping with her brother. It had been rather hot and humid in Brisbane and since I was to attend that weekend seminar, I had agreed as it would get her out of the house and hopefully into a better mood. Now the upshot of this was no wife. I got the street directory from my SAAB, stopping to give the deco a rub with a soft chamoiscloth, then although I knew where the camping grounds were, checked to be doubly sure. Myora was too far from the beach. Still, I rang Myora first. I’m an academic and do my research thoroughly. I gave the woman that answered her names, her married and single one then a brief description. No luck. I tried one of the others, СКАЧАТЬ