Chapter 23: “Now!”

July 22, 1985, McKinley, Ohio

“Mike! OK! Enough!” Elizaveta groaned as I tongued her through another orgasm just past 4:00am.

We’d arrived home at 10:00pm the previous evening, and for the following six hours, either my tongue, fingers, or dick had been in her pussy.

“What?! Do my ears deceive me?!”

“Of your tongue ... I need you to fuck me!”

I laughed and moved up, gently sliding my rock-hard shaft into her slick, silky tunnel. Elizaveta wrapped her arms and legs around me, we exchanged a soft kiss, then did our best to fuck each other unconscious. In reality, it wasn’t that difficult, as we’d been awake for twenty-two hours. When I came for the fifth time, of which two had been in my wife’s mouth while we engaged in sixty-nine, and Elizaveta had a very good orgasm, I simply collapsed on top of her and we both fell asleep.

When we woke, just before 10:00am, we were snuggled together, as at some point during the very short night I’d moved next to Elizaveta.

“Love me?” Elizaveta asked impishly.

“As in, do I? Or as in make love to you?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, I love you!” I replied, lowering my lips to her left nipple.

I suckled my wife’s lovely breast for a few minutes before turning my attention to her equally lovely right one, then kissing my way down between her legs, and teasing her clit. The taste of her juices had always made me rock hard, and this time was no exception, so I moved up and slowly slid into her. We kissed softly, then began the lover’s dance, slow and sensual.

“I don’t think it’s fair you have four or five orgasms for each one I have!” I protested, looking deep into her eyes and sporting a silly grin.

“Bummer for you for being a guy!” she teased.

“I’m not sure you should say that just now!”

“Maybe not,” she giggled. “And perhaps I could make it up to you.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“When I get my period this time, I’ll give you as many blowjobs as you can handle!”

“If you expect me to turn down THAT offer...” I grinned.

“But you get a swat for each one, because you’re a boy!”

“One day...” I threatened.

“What?”

“I’ll think of something!”

“What do you think Nik and Tasha are doing right now?”

“Is that a serious question?” I asked, kissing her nose. “The same thing we are!”

“I bet not! They’re driving to New York this morning!”

“True,” I chuckled. “Though I suppose Tasha could play with his stick while he was driving!”

Elizaveta laughed softly, “That could get really messy!”

“Unless...”

“May I be totally inappropriate?”

“We’re alone, in bed, and making love, so, yes.”

“Tasha was a lot of fun, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And do I measure up?”

“Surpass! You’re my wife! It’s impossible for there to be better sex!”

“Another totally inappropriate question, but did you do things we haven’t?”

“Just one. Turn over on your stomach and I’ll demonstrate!” I said with an evil grin, making my meaning very clear.

“No way!” Elizaveta gasped. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it!” she demanded. “Now!”

“Kitten...” I protested weakly.

“Don’t you ‘Kitten’ me,” she said feistily. “Now!”

I didn’t have any of the lubricant that Tasha had bought, but we did have baby oil, which had been suggested as an alternative. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I couldn’t imagine Elizaveta yielding on this topic once I’d revealed that I’d done that with Tasha. Knowing I’d never win the argument, I gently pulled out and got out of bed.

“Mike?” Elizaveta asked worriedly, obviously thinking she’d upset me.

“We need lubricant,” I replied. “I need to get some baby oil.”

I padded naked and barefoot to the bathroom, got Elizaveta’s bottle of baby oil, then returned to the bedroom to find her lying on her stomach. I got back into bed and moved to kneel between her legs, very much enjoying the view of her very sexy butt. I poured baby oil on my hands and started massaging her butt cheeks.

“Just relax completely,” I said. “Take deep breaths and let them out slowly.”

I massaged her cheeks for a few minutes until she seemed fully relaxed, then poured a good amount directly on the cleft between those cute butt cheeks, and then poured some into my palm. I stroked my shaft to cover it with baby oil, then poured a bit more into my palm and generously applied it to my glans. I set the bottled aside, leaned forward, and pushed the tip of my glans between her cheeks at the right location.

“Relax now, Kitten,” I soothed.

I pushed a bit until the tip of my glans came into contact with her anus. She tensed a bit, and I waited until she took a few deep breaths. When I felt her relax, I pushed forward firmly, popping my glans past her sphincter.

“Oooommmmppppphhhhh! Unnnnnggggghhhhh” she gasped and groaned.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Just ... do ... it ... Mike!” she growled, breathing hard.

I waited a few seconds, then pushed forward, slowly entering her very, very tight rear. Elizaveta groaned with each inch until I was fully embedded. I pulled back until just my glans was inside her, then pushed forward again. Elizaveta groaned deeply, and once I was fully in, she panted, trying to catch her breath. I waited for about a minute, then pulled back and began moving with long, slow strokes, each one met with a grunt or a groan.

The pressure on my shaft was intense, and I didn’t fight my rapidly increasing urge to cum, and two minutes later, I pushed all the way in and came hard, pumping Elizaveta’s sexy but full of my cum. When my orgasm passed, I gently pulled out, and got out of bed, leaving Elizaveta limp and gasping for breath. I went to the bathroom, cleaned up, and then turned on the tap to fill the tub with very warm water. I added some bubble bath then went back to the bedroom. I scooped Elizaveta from the bed, carried her to the bathroom, put her in the tub, and got in after her.

“That wasn’t even remotely pleasurable,” she said. “People actually like that?”

“I suppose there are some who do.”

“You?”

“Not particularly; I strongly prefer everything else we do. And I would never have asked you to do it.”

“But you asked Tasha?”

“No, I didn’t ask.”

“Tasha is certainly not who anyone thinks she is!”

“You know you can’t share this; I probably shouldn’t have shared it with you, though I almost felt I had to. I don’t think Tasha will be upset, given what she’s already shared with you and the other girls when Nik isn’t around.”

“I’m not exactly an expert, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if he’s really a good match for her.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, having a good idea what she meant.

“If he’s expecting a properly demure, prim and proper, traditional girl, there is going to be a huge conflict! I think I understand now that she was behaving differently around him from how she did around you. I’m pretty sure Clarissa noticed as well.”

“I’m reasonably sure that Tasha knows how to gently lead Nik to the place she wants him to be.”

“Maybe,” Elizaveta replied.

“Do you think you can lead ME to the place you want me to go?”

Elizaveta giggled, “Obviously!”

“Starting on the bench in front of the church?”

“Duh!” she giggled again. “But seriously, you came into the marriage willing to change almost anything for me in exchange for me accepting the conditions of your medical training.”

She had a point, though I had my ideas of how she needed to change. I knew that I had to take indirect and subtle approaches, having watched my mom, her mother, and women at the church, not to mention the time I’d spent with Tasha.

“Can I ask you something? And get a totally truthful answer?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you want to get married?”

“Because I wanted to fuck!” she giggled.

“I said truthfully!” I replied.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Well, if it was, then you’ve certainly achieved your goal! Repeatedly! But I suspect it had more to do with wanting to be more in control of your life.”

“You mean my dispute with my mom?”

“Yes. And I’m OK with that. I didn’t exactly have the best of motives.”

She shifted and turned, “Being ordained is absolutely the best of motives! And I knew you would need a wife. And yes, it was a way to escape my mom, if you want to call it that. And it meant I would get to fuck without anyone being able to complain!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I should have wanted to!” she declared feistily. “I mean, yes, I knew it was part of being married, but I sure didn’t know how awesome it would be!”

“That might be a good thing,” I chuckled. “That was Tasha’s problem.”

“And now I understand why you said Tasha’s virtue wasn’t safe with Tasha!”

“You were getting to that point,” I replied. “You figured it out after we’d been dating for a few months, and that was about the same age as Tasha when we first were allowed to have dinner.”

“And Sasha.”

“Yes. Remember what I said about the matchmakers at church?”

Elizaveta laughed softly, “They know all the teenagers want to fuck like bunny rabbits so they try to get them paired off and betrothed as quickly as possible once they hit puberty!”

“Did you use that word before we got married?”

“Never! But I can say it to you, because you’re my husband! But, husband, if you EVER try to put your dick in my butt again, I’ll feed it into the food processor we received as a wedding gift!”

“I’ll remind you that you demanded that I do it once you found out Tasha and I had done it!”

“You are a pain in the butt!” she teased.

“Well, if you’re going to complain, at least complain about something I actually did!”

“You did put it in my butt!”

“Again, only because you demanded that I do it! Perhaps there’s a lesson there!”

“Hmph!”

When the water cooled, we got out of the tub, showered, dried off, and then went to the bedroom to dress. I noticed Elizaveta moving a bit gingerly, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to upset her on what was potentially, I suppressed a chuckle, a ‘sore’ subject.

“Brunch?” she asked. “And then go over to the church to fit your cassock and vestments?”

“Sounds good. I’ll call Doctor Mercer, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

We both went to the kitchen and while Elizaveta began preparing brunch, I dialed Doctor Mercer’s office. Unsurprisingly, she was with a patient, but her receptionist promised a call back before noon. I did the one pre-meal chore I was permitted, and set the table for two, then got my guitar and practiced until our food was ready. We ate, and had just finished when the phone rang.

“How was your vacation?” Doctor Mercer asked.

“Very good,” I replied.

“And things are going smoothly?”

“Minus the parental troubles. The ones on Elizaveta’s side seem manageable; the ones on my side are in the hands of the priests, and potentially the bishop. I was actually calling to find out about Angie.”

“All things considered, she’s doing OK. She had a fairly emotional two weeks after your wedding, but that actually was basically the best I could have hoped for. We didn’t need to increase her medication, which I think is a very promising sign. I’ve given her permission to come to your ordination next Sunday morning.”

“Thanks. Are you going to be with Angie?”

“No. Her mom will bring her. I don’t see the ordination as likely to trigger a break of any kind.”

“And seeing me?”

“I don’t think so. I would suggest you not call her in advance, but it’s absolutely OK to talk to her when she’s at your church.”

“Why not call in advance?”

“We don’t know if that will set her off or not, and the last thing I want to do is have to tell her she can’t come to your ordination. We’ll see how she is after that, and then perhaps you and your wife can visit Angie.”

“Whatever you think is best,” I replied.

“You know it’s a bit of a guessing game, but I’m reasonably sure this is the right approach.”

“Has she been going to church?”

“Yes. And I’ve spoken with a martial arts instructor about lessons.”

“Which form?”

“Aikido,” she replied. “It was recommended because it focuses on physical fitness, flexibility, and mental discipline. The goal is, of course, to find techniques that reduce or eliminate the need for drugs.”

“And your take?”

“She shows all the signs of needing long-term medication, BUT the lower the dose, the more she’ll be able to do for herself, and the longer she’ll be able to live a productive, fulfilling life.”

“Minus the one thing that would truly make her fulfilled,” I replied. “And before you say it, I know, I know, it’s not realistic. But it’s real for HER.”

“It is, and that’s the point of our counseling - to help her come to terms with her limitations. We all have them, in one sense or another. The difference with Angie is her limitation directly impacts her quality of life and her enjoyment of life. You’re going to run into situations like this in the future, where you have to discuss potential reduced quality of life with a patient. It won’t happen too often, as you’ll be working in the ER, but from time to time it will. Clarissa and your other friends will encounter it much more often when they have to explain treatment options. You’re mostly going to be trying to patch someone up enough to either send them home or move them to another service.”

“That sounds like what you called a ‘psych consult’,” I replied.

“And it’s why I want you to do two psych rotations - patients respond much better to their own doctor than what amounts to a random psychologist or psychiatrist. Yes, you’ll need those specialists at times, but understanding how people respond and how they think will help you to be a good advocate for your patient and help you guide them to the best decision for their situation. I do need to get going, but I’ll speak to you after your ordination about seeing Angie.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” I replied.

“You’re welcome.”

We said ‘goodbye’ and I hung up, then relayed the full conversation to Elizaveta while we did the dishes together.

Once we finished, we did our midday prayers, then headed to church so she could check the fit of my new cassock and vestments. We spent about an hour at the church, and the end result was that Elizaveta would move the collar buttons about an eighth of an inch to loosen the material around my neck just enough for comfort. The ryassa, having a looser fit, did not need any alterations. She brought the cassock with us when we returned home.

“You should probably have a second cassock,” Elizaveta said. “If this one were to get dirty and there wasn’t time to wash it, what would you do?”

“I actually hadn’t considered that.”

“I can use this one as a pattern and get the necessary material from the fabric store. Are there any restrictions on colors?”

“Not really, though blue and black are most common. Gray is perfectly acceptable, but any other colors, such as red, we’d need to check with the bishop.”

“But a different shade of blue is no problem?”

“Not for me.”

“Then let me figure out what I’ll need and we can go to the store. I have to get thread to match what was used for this cassock no matter what.”

“You can do that? I mean, use the current one as a pattern?”

“Sure. I know how to measure and cut the material, and how to sew it so it fits properly. I’ve made dresses and blouses before; in fact, the blouse and skirt I wore on Friday evening were ones I made.”

“Then I’ll leave that in your capable hands!”

She took the cassock to the small bedroom and I contemplated turning on the TV, but decided instead to put an album on the turntable of my stereo, and got a book from the bookshelf. Nearly an hour and two full albums later, Elizaveta was ready and we left the house to go to the fabric store.

“Mind if we stop at the record store?” I asked.

“No. I guess you have a list of things to get?”

“Actually, no. I already have the things Johnny recommended back in March. It’s time to find out what I missed and what’s coming soon.”

“Missed?”

“Johnny listens to basically every album that comes into the store. Some stuff he knows in advance I’ll like because of the band; other stuff is because he listens and knows my tastes, which actually are pretty eclectic.”

We went to the fabric store, which was actually a craft store, and had all manner of things beyond fabric and sewing supplies. Elizaveta spent about twenty minutes checking various fabrics and talking to a clerk before asking for two bolts of fabric, which would be enough to make two cassocks, one a slightly darker blue, and the other one gray. Another ten minutes were spent picking out the thread and buttons. Finally, she picked up some packets of what looked like tracing paper from kindergarten. I paid for everything and we went back to the car to drive to the record store.

“Mike! How’s married life?” Johnny asked when we walked into the store.

“Very good! Johnny, this is Elizaveta; Elizaveta, this is Johnny.”

They greeted each other.

“Any recommendations?” I asked.

“Yes. Le Parc by Tangerine Dream and The Dream of the Blue Turtles by Sting. Both are on CD and vinyl. In September, Standing on the Edge by Cheap Trick. And Zappa has a new album out in November. You going all CD?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “Tangerine Dream is electronic, so I think a CD is best for that for sure. Do you think the CD has staying power?”

“It seems like it,” Johnny replied. “According to the industry rags, any future changes would lead to players which were backwards compatible. In other words, new players will be able to play older discs.”