by KUBOA
***
Frank awoke the next morning to find a vagina in front of his face. It was well kept, the tiny black hairs tapering to a dilated crevice. His eyes widened in sync with the hole before him. From above he heard his wife whisper, “Morning, Frankie” and before he could respond, Audrey thrust her crotch into his face, gyrating it against his mouth.
“Tongue it, honey!” she shouted. “Tongue it!”
Like Pavlov’s dog, Frank followed the instruction without question, lapping his tongue into the valley of skin with the expression of a Māori warrior performing a Haka war dance. Frank heard the muffled moaning and groaning of his wife through her thighs, sounds that were alien to him, save for when her IBS was playing up. He moved away briefly to ask if she was okay, and no sooner had his lips left hers, Audrey changed position and climbed on to all fours. It was then Frank saw the real change. Before him were two arse cheeks so perfectly rounded they looked like ostrich eggs. Audrey’s arse was usually much bigger, more malformed, like two huge scoops of cottage cheese set upon church candles. At the apex of both cheeks lay the end of her spine, sloping like a toboggan run down to the vale between her shoulders. As she exhaled, the fingers of her ribs pressed up against the skin as though two beautiful hands were holding together her innards. The Gene Wilder hairstyle had thickened and looked more sun-kissed and sexy. Arms were svelte and unblemished. And if not for her familiar masculine voice, which cried out with the directive to lick her arsehole, Frank would conclude this was not Audrey at all.
Frank remained between Audrey’s arse cheeks for an additional fourteen minutes. With his tongue cramping up and chin sodden with salvia, Audrey finally turned around and lay on her back, allowing Frank time to see her face. The tired eyes had life, smoky and with a menacing sparkle that could haunt the dreams of many men. She was still in her mid forties, but looked good enough to put to shame most twenty-year-old girls. Her chin was firm, nose less obvious. Lips were plumper and eyebrows so perfectly arched you’d believe they were etched by Greek sculptors.
“Fuck me, Frank. Fuck me like I’m a naughty babysitter.”
“But we don’t have kids.”
“Then fuck me like I’m jailbait!”
“I have to say, Audrey, this is all too much for me.”
Audrey opened her legs and Frank's eyes fell to the most beautiful vagina in the world. It was like a flower from an oriental garden that only bloomed every ten years and only for a day. It made him almost cry.
“For this one moment, Frankie, I’m not your wife. I’m your slave. You own every part of me. I am yours to command.”
Frank broke his gaze from Audrey’s vagina long enough to remember the barman and his words. Not many men get an opportunity like this. Frank moved to his knees and lurched over the perfectly formed effigy of his wife.
“My morning breath?”
“I love your morning breath,” she said.
And with that Frank kissed his wife, her tongue beating his into submission. It took a further thirty eight seconds for him realise there was a problem. Audrey looked down at the flaccid cock hanging from Frank.
Grabbing it, she said, “Where’s the lead, honey?”
Audrey’s hand needed to only brush his crotch in a supermarket and he’d be at half-mast. He returned back to Audrey’s face and gave a pathetic look of despair. Audrey interpreted this to mean he needed more help so shimmed down the bed and began sucking on it as if ciphering petrol from an old hose. She nuzzled her nose deep into his ball sack, allowing the warm rapid burst of air to pull tight the skin. She deep-throated and licked his perineum. She tea-bagged and spat spit out along his trunk before sucking it all back up. Nothing helped. Frank rolled over on the bed and looked to the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, Audrey. I don’t know what’s wrong, honestly. Maybe it’s the change in you that’s just thrown me off a little. It’s an adjustment thing. I’ll be right once I’ve gotten used to it all. I hope I’ve not disappointed you. Audrey?”
Frank turned and saw his wife on her back, hand a blur between her legs.
“No…Frank….I’m…fine….” she said between deep breaths. As her back arched, and her rubbing reached full pelt, Frank observed a stream of clear fluid arch from her vagina all the way to the headboard. Its power and trajectory made the Fountains of Bellagio look like a sprinkler system. Audrey screamed as though in an immense amount of pain. Frank craned his head around to see if she was okay, and in doing so nearly lost his eye to the violent stream. Two minutes later, Audrey fell back onto a sodden bedspread. The wall above the headboard had a Jackson Pollock design of water patches.
That evening Frank walked back home, taking the same route as he always does. He returned to find Audrey waiting naked on the kitchen table, a large cucumber wedged between her legs. Next to her was a carrot, and next to that a banana. Her right hand gripped tight a courgette, and the other held a leek. Frank dropped his briefcase and stood for a moment in shock. What if he wasn’t alone? What if the weather had taken a turn for the worse and one of his work colleagues had offered to drive him back home? But the weather was fine and dry. And if Frank was being honest with himself, he didn’t really know anyone at work.
“Audrey!” Frank shouted, “What are you doing?!”
Audrey never hesitated with the cucumber, and replied, “Getting my five a day!” And with that she arched her back and screamed so damn loud it almost burst Frank’s eardrum. They did not eat off the table that night, nor any night thereafter. Frank had to sand down the surface before he sat there again. Every evening when they got into bed, Audrey pounced on Frank, rubbing herself up against his flaccid penis. And no matter what she did or said, Frank couldn’t rise to the challenge.
Her frustration came out in many ways, mostly hurtful remarks. She'd often say she was going to find a real man to satisfy her, and other times she’d recline beside Frank with the sole intention of shoving various objects into all her nooks and crannies. It got so bad that Frank would wear latex gloves to pick up anything in the house that was phallic looking. Every day, Audrey got hornier and Frank, desperate to assist in any form, found himself more and more turned off.
One afternoon, at work, the small hole that distributed paper didn’t send out any envelopes for Frank to fold. He waited and waited and nothing happened. He left the small room and went to find his foreman who then told him there was a problem that couldn’t be fixed until the next morning. “Go home,” said the foreman. “Spend a little time with that wife of yours.” And Frank, never one to question anything at work, took his small briefcase and went back home. He entered the hall to the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. A distant moaning that was all too familiar drifted out from the living room. Frank removed his coat and hung it up on a peg, placed his briefcase down and sighed deeply in preparation of seeing his once meek and mild wife getting herself off again. He entered the living room and first noticed the television playing a retro porn movie where two overly hairy lesbians were locked together, crotch grinding to the sound of a wah-wah guitar. For a second, Frank was relieved that maybe the noise was not that of his wife but from the television instead, but that quickly changed when he looked over to find his wife’s head buried between Sally Honeywell’s legs, their neighbour’s daughter. Sally was eighteen, fresh back from college for the summer. When Frank looked down, he noted her eyes clenched tight with passion, the young frame heaving and shuddering as Audrey’s tongue whipped and rolled around the unflawed vagina. Audrey was dressed in pull-up stockings and high heels, and strapped around her waist was a harness that housed the biggest dildo Frank had ever seen. He cleared his throat, assuming the noise would be enough to arouse them from their state of rapture, but both bodies remained juddering and jolting in unison. Frank coughed, loudly. Sally was the first to open her eyes. Lifting herself onto he
r elbows, her faced flushed, the colour matching perfectly with the sex rash upon her chest and neck. She looked down to Audrey who was still munching away and pushed her head up. Audrey caught Frank’s look of contempt. Frank observed Audrey’s lips glistening as though she had just finished eating a doner kebab.
“Hi, honey,” said Audrey. “Wasn’t expecting you home so soon. You know Sally, don’t you?”
Frank found himself offering his hand in a polite greeting, which Sally hesitantly shook before returning into a mortified state of catatonia.
“Audrey, I think we need to talk,” said Frank.
“Can it wait? Sally here is so close and I hate to disappoint.”
“No, it won’t.”
“Honey, you’re embarrassing Sally.”
Sally got up to leave but Audrey clamped her down by shoving three fingers inside and wiggling them up and down. Sally gasped for air and reclined back onto the couch, breathing gaining a healthy and audible rhythm again.
“I’ll be five minutes,” said Audrey, and Sally raised two fingers in the air. “I’ll be two minutes,” Audrey restated. “Once I’ve done Sally, we’ll talk, promise.” And with that Audrey began grazing on Sally’s vagina again. Frank stayed for a moment before turning his back on both women. He waited in the kitchen, listening to the women groan and moan, scream and yelp. He made a cup of tea, prepared a sandwich and ate it while reading the morning tabloid. Nearly two hours elapsed by the time he heard the front door close and Audrey walked into the kitchen, wiping her chin.
“We need a new couch.”
Audrey went over to the refrigerator and took out a bag of frozen peas.
“This is unfair,” said Frank.
Taking off the strap-on, and placing the bag of peas between her legs, Audrey replied, “You could have joined in whenever. Sally wouldn’t have minded.”
“I’m less concerned about a threesome here. We’re married, Audrey. We took vows.”
“I know that, honey, but the problem is, I’m constantly horny. You know how many times I masturbated today before seducing Sally? Eight times. After we stop talking, I’ll likely go upstairs and bang one out again.”
“I have to say, I do not like this change in you.”
“I thought you would have loved it.”
Frank thought his inability to get an erection was a transitional thing. The sudden change in Audrey had taken him by surprise. He had tried to stimulate growth when away from Audrey; once in the toilet at home, and once again at work. Nothing helped. Frank had no desire for sex at all. If a pretty woman walked past him on the street, he gave a cursory glance before feeling indifferent towards her tight young body. During the night, he had awaked to Audrey’s moaning and felt no twinge or stiffness from within his pyjama bottoms. His libido was lost, and in contrast, Audrey’s was on fire.
“It’s stress.”
Audrey walked over and placed the peas on the kitchen counter. Her hand fell to Frank’s crotch and she began slowly rubbing the small bulge residing there.
“I have a great way of reliving stress.”
Frank had had enough. He removed Audrey’s hand and left the house, slamming the door behind him. He arrived at the pub fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later. As before, it was empty, save for the barman gleaning a glass behind the bar. Upon seeing Frank, he raised his head and began pouring another drink.
“Not for me,” Frank shouted as he approached the bar.
The barman stopped and placed the pint back down. Frank puffed out his chest and slammed his hands on the granite surface. His face was ruddy, a deep vein protruding from his left temple.
“I don’t know what kind of voodoo magic you’re into here, but I want none of it.”
“Things not working out?”
“No, things are not working out. My wife is a sex maniac. She wants it morning, day and night and every bloody minute thereafter and in between!”
“And your problem is?”
“My problem is I let you talk me into turning my wife into a nympho. You know I got home today and she was between the neighbour’s daughter’s legs?! She’s half Audrey’s age.”
“Nice.”
“No it’s not nice. It’s anything but nice. Audrey was this sweet woman who liked to read quietly and wouldn’t say boo to a goose. I’ve never known a woman eat so quietly. On the weekends, we walked through quiet woodlands and drank tea from a thermos. We talked, but not too much. Just the salient points of her life and mine. She was perfect, but now if she’s not tonguing some young girl’s hole and screaming the bloody house down, she’s sat on the thermos frigging her herself mental!”
“Why not just help out. Get involved more. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“I would but…”
“But what?”
“You know.”
The barman shrugged.
“I’m 180 degrees shy of heaven.”
The barman’s brow puckered.
Frank shifted his weight, cleared his throat and motioned towards his pants with his eyes. “Do I need to spell it out? I’m serving boneless pork.”
“Ah, well,” said the barman picking up another glass to clean, “there is one way out of all this.”
“And that is?”
“You can return Audrey back to how she was.”
“That can be done?”
“Yes. All you have to do is go back into the room, find the picture of Audrey, and as you take it off the wall, repent your wish. Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.”
Frank was so happy he wanted to reach over and kiss the barman.
“You can’t believe how bad I’ve been feeling towards Audrey. I really thought it was the end for us.”
“I still don’t see the problem, but hey, each to their own.”
“No. I’ve realised that my wife was perfect the way she was.”
“Okay then.”
The barman put down the pint and walked Frank back to the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he asked, “You sure about this?”
“One hundred percent.”
This time Frank didn’t need a nudge or push from the barman; he willingly entered the darken room with great enthusiasm. He passed the table at such a speed he knocked over the hammer and a mason jar filled with nails. The tiny nails scattered themselves all over the floor, the hammer making a clanging noise like a church bell being struck. Frank stopped and knelt down to pick the nails up. He could only see those that had made it into the light closest the back wall. The jar must have held about a hundred. He began picking them up, one by one, and placing them back into the jar. When he reached the back wall, he noticed the bottom layer of photographs. Some were old Polaroid pictures where the person in shot was out of focus because they were too near the lens. Others were from photo booths where a string of four pictures with the same faces, all looked on solemnly. Frank found thousands upon thousands of them reaching so far up the wall they seemed to go on forever. And it was about five layers up he noticed a face very familiar to him. Frank got to his feet with nails clenched tightly in his hand. Behind him he heard the footsteps of the barman approaching, but was so transfixed by the photograph of himself he didn’t turn.
“I never worked at a stamp factory, Frank,” said the barman arriving beside him. “And I never saw your nametag. I know your name and where you work because they were told to me.”
The barman placed his hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“I would have told you, but it’s not good business to divulge any information about clients. You understand, right, Frank?”
Poppy shapes formed on the floor as blood dripped from Frank’s clenched fists.
“I was hoping you’d find the picture while placing Audrey’s on the wall. That�
�s why I told you to use the back wall and not the sides.”
“You knew all along?” asked Frank, his voice low and beaten.
“It’s not like I expected you to walk in that night. You surprised me. One minute I’m hearing about how much this woman really wants her husband to stop pestering her in bed, and the next thing you walk in. Weird, eh?”
Frank turned around to face the barman, glassy eyed and flushed skin.
“She hates me.”
“No, Frank. She loves you. It’s just the sex part was getting in the way. It’s quite ironic if you think about it. She came to me to have your libido turned right down, and you ended up turning Audrey’s right up. Can’t you see the funny side of that, Frank? The strange thing is, it took a nightmare for you to realise you had the woman of your dreams all along.”
The punch was unexpected, even to Frank. He’d never hit a person before in his life. It hurt like Hell, but to see that barman’s nose open up the way it did, and him fall to the ground, made up for the dislocated knuckle he later had fixed at the local hospital. Stepping over the body, Frank found the picture of Audrey, and like he was told, removed the nail and repented his wish. He then gave one final look at the picture that sat a little lower down. He remembered the day it was taken. He and Audrey had just come out of the Orfield Laboratories in Minnesota where Frank had spent two minutes in their anechoic chamber; a room within a room. That previous summer it was awarded the quietest place in the world by The Guinness Book of Records. While in there, Frank could hear his heartbeat, blood pulse and the sound of his ear buzzing. In those two minutes, he lost all sense of space and surroundings and was completely detached from this world. It was one of the happiest days of his life because when he returned to Audrey, she never asked what it was like or if he enjoyed himself. She knew because sometimes silence speaks volumes.
Gutterball’s Labyrinth
