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"Helen!" The psychiatrist's voice was imperative.
"You must calm down. Now remember everything we discussed in my office
last Thursday."
"I do remember!" The pretty blonde thirty-five year old ran her fingers
nervously through her hair. "But it doesn't do me any good remembering at
the time. I'm telling you, Stan. I just don't know what I'm going to do! I
feel like killing Adam. Either killing him or killing myself!"
"Now, that wouldn't solve much would it?" Stan's voice was calm now, more
like the voice he used in the office with his patients unless some other
tone was called for.
"It would solve everything!" Helen was sitting in the bedroom of the
apartment looking toward the big mirror that hung over the dresser. In it
she could see herself, still pretty save for the expression of anxiety on
her face. Her disheveled blonde curls hung to her shoulders which were
naked except for the thin strand of the straps of her gown. The distressed
wife hadn't even gotten dressed that day, and it was nearing dusk now. Her
own words seemed to echo in her head as she stared at her reflection
across the room. Then her attention went back to her analyst. He'd been
talking for some time, she realized, and she didn't have the faintest idea
of what he'd been saying. She was pleased to note, however, that she had
brought out that "concerned" tone in his voice. He always sounded extra
careful when she got to talking about killing herself. That would teach
him, she thought. If I really did it. That would teach Adam, too!
"Helen, you've got to understand that you must help yourself. In this way,
you'll be helping Adam, too. You see, you can't change him before you
change yourself. He is responding to the old person in you, not the new
woman you wish to be."
"I'll help him, all right! I'll strangle him next time he comes home and
falls asleep on the sofa! I'll strangle him!"
"That's just the kind of thing I'm talking about, Helen!"
"Why do I have to be reasonable? I'm sick and tired of being reasonable.
What's it gotten me so far? A tired old man for a husband! No sex, no one
to talk to, no nothing!"
"Adam is a very distinguished scientist. That's something."
"But what about me?" Helen vehemently pointed to herself while looking at
her negligee-clad form in the mirror.
"You'll have to make your own way, Helen. That's what I've been telling
you. Now as far as sex is concerned, you've got to realize that you can
find sex outside of marriage. This might be just the thing to bring a
little life back into the marriage."
"Oh, for crissakes, Stan. Where am I going to find a lover?"
"Other women manage."
"Are you trying to bring me up or put me down?"
"Neither, I'm just trying to point out what the trends are today. There's
nothing sinful about sex, Helen, and more and more people are finding this
out every day. One day you, tool will realize it."
"I'd love to realize it, but with my husband. That's why 1 married him. I
didn't realize that it was going to be all over after the first two years.
I mean, if I didn't know Adam, I'd swear he had another woman!"
The prospect brought out such a rage of jealousy within Helen that her
hand shook on the telephone. She was brought to her senses, however, by
the thought. No, she would never commit suicide and let Adam find another
woman to marry. Another woman with whom he might be happier than he was
with her! No, she'd never let that happen!
"How about you, Stan? Why don't you make love with me, since you're such a
liberal type?" she asked tauntingly.
"Well, I don't think that would help your analysis, really," Stan
answered. Helen hated him sometimes, and this was one of them.
"You're rejecting me," she told him. "Don't tell me you've never made love
with one of your patients!"
"I didn't say that."
"GO TO HELL!" Helen slammed down the telephone and threw the entire set
across the room. It made a satisfying noise of bells and thick plastic as
it hit the wall, and the low hum of the dial tone reached her from where
she sat. "What good is analysis anyway?" she asked herself out loud. Once
more she contemplated never going to see Stan again. She couldn't see that
the psychiatrist was doing her any good. But then she wasn't sure of that
either. It was hard to tell. She certainly didn't agree with half the
things he said to her. But then he was the doctor, and she was the
patient. He was just about the only person that she talked to, and the
thought of starting out all over again with another analyst was depressing
to say the least as was the thought of trying to muddle through her life
on her own.
Slowly, Helen rose and began to slip out of her black lace gown. It had
been bought with the idea in mind of tempting her husband into some kind
of interest in her. But it had not worked, of course. Tears brimmed to the
blonde wife's eyes as she uncovered the smooth creamy planes of her naked
body. Her large breasts were just as firm and attractive as ever with
their rosy tips that were thick and pouting, just waiting for Adam's
fingers or even his mouth. She blushed at the thought. How long had it
been since he'd made love with her? Really made love? It had been two
weeks now since he'd touched her, and now as she thought about it, Helen
realized that he hadn't actually touched her. No, he'd made a few in and
out motions, his penis fitted snugly inside her, and then he'd cum and he
rolled off to the side, and that was it. He'd never once kissed her or
felt her breasts or anything else for that matter during the entire brief
operation.
She just couldn't go on like this! The golden blonde area of her pussy
caught her attention in the mirror. Her thighs were full and long, and the
smoothly rounded mounds of her buttocks were just the right size. Why then
couldn't she manage to attract her own husband? What was wrong with her?
She knew that Stan would say, "There's nothing wrong with you, Helen. If
anything there's something wrong with him, but that is not the point. The
point is to approach the problem from an entirely different angle."
Well, tonight, that's what I'm going to do! Helen resolved. I don't care
what, I'm going to get him to pay some attention to me!
* *
Adam Randolph pulled his Ford Pinto into the apartment house garage and
got out. He left it at the entrance within the building, knowing that
Howie would come and park it for him in the space allotted to him. Then he
took the elevator up to the 12th floor and stepped out. His briefcase
contained the precious notebook in which he had begun the notes on his new
experiment, including the short questionnaire which he had had Betty
Johnson fill out for him. He was looking forward to rereading it all in
his study once he entered the spacious apartment. He lived in one of the
few old apartment buildings left in New York, a spacious apartment with
high ceilings and seven rooms was a luxury that the professor fully
appreciated. Of course, he had gotten the apartment through a friend when
he'd gotten the post teaching at the University. He and Helen had moved
from New Jersey seven years before and settled into the apartment. For a
while Helen had grumbled about the hectic city life and the fact that they
knew hardly any of the neighbors, but eventually she'd seemed to get used
to it, or as used to it as she ever would. In any case, there was no
question of moving for the professor. His work was here in the city, and
his position was a coveted one among his colleagues. He taught several
classes, lectured two times a month, and had unlimited use of the
laboratories at the school. What more could he ask?
Randolph chuckled to himself as he fit his key into the lock and turned.
Now he knew what more he could ask, all right! It was late, and the
professor expected his wife to be in the bedroom sleeping. He would go
directly to his study and reread his notes. By God! His loins were still
throbbing at the thought of what he'd done to Miss Johnson! He couldn't
wait to go over the whole thing again, verifying his experiment.
With a spring in his step, Adam went into his study and flicked on the
light. To his surprise, he saw that his wife was sleeping on the sofa!
"Helen!" he gasped. "What the devil?"
Helen sat up, blinking her eyes. She clutched the sheet up to her neck,
remembering that she was naked beneath it. Now she didn't feel nearly as
bold as she had earlier when she'd decided to waylay her husband in his
study, the place where he spent most of his time when he was home. No, now
she was just sleepy, and she felt foolish to say the least. But her
husband stood looking at her so incredulously, his mouth gaping fish-like
at the sight of her that Helen grew suddenly angry and defiant. Why did he
look at her like that? How stupid he looked standing there with his
briefcase wearing that same old overcoat and that hat that she hated. Was
she such a stranger to him, so little a part of his life that the sight of
her in his study would shock him so?
"I thought I'd wait for you here," she said tersely, "since you hardly
ever get to bed anymore!"
'Well, really, Helen!" Adam moved at last, placing his briefcase carefully
upon his big oak desk and turning on the small lamp on it. He slowly
unbuttoned his overcoat and took it to the closet and carefully hung it up
the way he usually did
Watching him, Helen grew more and more distressed. "Are you going to
continue to ignore me, then?" she asked.
Adam turned toward her. "Why, I'm not ignoring you," he said. "I'm merely
hanging up my coat."
This only infuriated Helen all the more. "Hanging up your coat! Huh!" she
grunted, playing for time, trying to think of what tack to take now. The
pretty blonde woman had visualized it all quite differently, and now she
was forced to deal with a reality which was growing more and more
confusing.
"I ... I thought we might talk a little!" she declared, her blue eyes
glinting with anger.
Adam sat down behind his desk. "Talk? About what?" he inquired as though
she had said the strangest thing in the world.
"Anything. About anything!" Helen spat out. "I'm a woman, Adam! I need
companionship. I need ..." Her voice trailed off and a crimson shade
colored her features. She grappled and twisted at the pink sheet she had
[brought in from her bedroom, feeling more naked than she'd dreamed
possible underneath. Why hadn't she just gone to bed as usual? It was
Stan's fault that she had attempted this confrontation!
"Yes?" Adam looked at his wife inquiringly. What was it anyway? Why didn't
she leave him alone? Of all times to come bothering him, just when he was
at the commencement of a very important phase of his life and his work.
"SEX!" The word slipped from Helen's lips and seemed to hang suspended in
the room. Helen was aware of all the books on the shelf behind her
husband's back. She felt mortified. How could she have said such a thing?
She had, of course, intimated as much in the past, but never had she come
right out and said it!
Adam regarded his wife and realized for the first time that she was naked
underneath the sheet. His first reaction was to look down at his briefcase
as if to ascertain that it was still there. Just looking at it gave him a
raging erection, and the middle-aged scientist could feel his penis
throbbing with life again.
"Sex?" he repeated, dumbly.
"Yes!" Helen felt she might as well brazen it out now that she'd started
it. "You'd think you'd never heard of the word!"
Adam patted his briefcase absent-mindedly. "Oh, I've heard of it. Yes,
I've heard of it."
Helen could stand it no longer. Suddenly, she jumped up and let the sheet
fall away from her. There she stood, completely unclothed, her naked body
lovely and trembling in need before her husband. "I'm not so bad, am I?"
she asked. "I've got eyes. I can see myself in the mirror. I still look
pretty good!"
"Yes, yes. You look fine!" Adam hastened to reassure her, noting that
Helen was on the verge of becoming hysterical. That was the last thing he
wanted. It was so disruptive.
"Beautiful! Say I look beautiful!" Helen spat out. "SAY IT!"
Funny how now that Helen was standing there in front of him stark naked,
he was thinking of Miss Johnson. He would have to make a note about this.
Nevertheless, Adam felt a definite excitement growing again inside him. If
it was sex that Helen wanted, he supposed that he could accommodate her at
this particular moment. Anything for a little peace and quiet. Couldn't
very well have her going around screaming half the night when he had work
that he wanted to do.
"Beautiful. Yes, you do look beautiful," he said compliantly.
"Oh, Christ, why can't you ever say anything on your own?" Helen cried,
disheartened. She felt ashamed and reached for the sheet to cover her
body. "I'm leaving. Get on with your work!" she said.
"No, don't go, Helen. I've got a little time." Adam got up and came toward
her. As he drew near, the scientist could see that his wife was trembling
and that she was extremely upset, and yet, he kept thinking about the
voluptuous Miss Betty Johnson and how she had responded. "Come on, Helen,
let's go into the bedroom," he said, taking his wife's arm gently.
Helen felt a surge of hope. A feeling of lewd excitement stirred in her
loins despite her misgivings. Meekly, she accompanied her husband through
the living room of their apartment, a room that was hardly ever used, to
the bedroom. Once there, Adam headed her toward the bed while he began to
undress. Helen slipped under the covers of the bed and watched her husband
of ten years as he took off his clothes. Her breathing was shallow,
guarded, and her eyes were half-closed as she waited for him. She dared
not make a prediction about what was to happen or to think too much about
just how her plan had apparently worked.
But when the thick knob of Adam's hardened penis came into view, Helen's
heart skipped a beat. "Oh!" she gasped. She hadn't seen him look like this
in years. Deep down inside, the blonde wife felt a sensation of impending
happiness. She watched him coming toward her and felt a slight moistening
down there between her legs. How she wanted him! How she loved her
husband, still, despite everything! Soon he would be holding her, loving
her. Perhaps he had finally seen just how much she needed him, needed to
be loved by him.
She accepted him above her, felt the adjustments of his body to hers, the
stomach that had thickened with the years pressed against her softness,
her breasts touched up against his chest. Without too much ado, his knee
spread her leg to the side.
"Oh, Adam, darling," she sighed.
Then the round head of her husband's penis touched at the soft,
hair-trimmed entrance of her vaginal slit and throbbed against the
quivering length of the moist little furrow. Experimentally, Adam moved
his rock-hard cock up and down in the seething heat of his wife's yearning
pussy until on one downstroke, it was worming up against the tight
entrance of her vagina. She felt it pushing against her and spread her
legs hungrily, wanting the full, hard length of him way inside. She felt
as though he'd never been so hard! She had to have him up inside her.
Spontaneously, the excited wife placed both her hands on her husband's
back, sliding them down toward his naked buttocks and holding on tight.
Then spreading her legs around his body, she bent them obscenely around
his back and pulled herself up brusquely, forcing his lust-stiffened
hardness to slide directly up into the passion-drenched pit of her hotly
waiting pussy. At first the tightness of her vaginal channel was a
restrictive force, but then the delicate tissues accustomed themselves to
his hard, male girth, and he was swallowed up to the tip of her womb.
Helen thought she would burst with love for him as her lust grew minute by
minute. This was the way it was supposed to be between them. Whatever had
gone wrong before would be miraculously tightened by this act.
"Adam, I love your love you," she murmured into his ear. Helen moaned,
open-mouthed, as the tip of her tongue swirled excitedly within her
husband's ear. The snug feeling of his warmly throbbing hardness up inside
her quivering cunt gave her the sense of completion that she had missed.
But all that was over now. They would make love often after this night,
she just knew it! He was going to fuck into her with long, even thrusts,
burying the head of his penis harder and harder each time. She was going
to cum so incredibly against him!
Randolph held her like this for a long moment, making a mental note of his
wife's impatience. He could feel his testicles dangling in the upturned
crevice of her spread ass-cheeks, and a surging tingle swept through him.
"Nnnugh ..." he groaned, his thick cock bucking uncontrollably inside the
tightly clasping passage of his wife's desire-tautened pussy. His sperm
broke forth without warning, jetting in sporadic jerks between the milking
muscles of Helen's vaginal passage, splashing against the sensitive
surface of her womb.
"OOohhaaah!" He cried out, as overwhelming sensations of orgasm traversed
his jerking cock and sent chills of delight throughout his entire body. He
was thinking of his work, of the many women he would study, of the success
he would become. The book which would be on the best-seller list week
after week. His picture in the Times, on the cover of Newsweek and Time.
It was good! He collapsed heavily onto his wife's still body, oblivious to
the soft warm feel of her nakedness.
"Mmmmmm," he sighed, and then came the regular cadence of his breathing.
Helen was so stunned that she scarcely had time to realize that it was
over.
"Oh, God! Oh God, no!" she said. Bitterness and frustration rose within
her, mixed with anger and self-pity as tears began to form in her eyes.
She no longer felt beautiful. She felt used and ugly!
Brusquely, she slid out from under her exhausted husband and, getting up
from the bed, fairly ran into the dining room where she found a bottle of
wine in the cabinet and opened it. Hastily, she filled a glass and drank
it down. She carried the bottle into the living room along with her glass
and sat heavily on the couch in the darkness, drinking down the white
liquid until the bottle was almost 3/4 gone.
Alternately, the distressed wife began to sob and laugh, and then scarcely
aware of her own actions, her hands moved furtively to the heavy swelling
of her full, well-rounded breasts. Her nervous fingers began to stroke the
hardening nipples automatically. A growing current of warmth ran through
her veins as if her own touch made up for her husband's lack of interest.
With breathtaking clarity, memories of how Adam had made love to her on
their wedding night came back to her. She could almost feel the way his
then-muscular body had enveloped her, feel his soft yet firm caressed and
the hardness of his blood-filled penis as it inched upward into her
eagerly willing pussy. Her eyes were closed now as she thought of all this
and of the hours that they used to take in their love-making. Mindlessly,
the pretty blonde wife ran her hands over her nakedly quivering body,
desperately trying to soothe her loneliness and assuage the aching
emptiness she felt.
"Oh!" the sharp gasp could not be suppressed as Helen felt a ripple of
strong desire steal over her. She lay out on the living room couch,
feeling her anguish building as her hands began to cup and caress her
warmly tingling breasts. The distressed wife was painfully aware of the
aching void down there between her legs. The wine had only served to make
it worse. Suddenly clamping her erotically trembling thighs together,
Helen struggled to suppress the insidious longing that crept throughout
her loins, but the increased pressure only fed the impulse and
strengthened it into a tightening knot of shameless arousal.
Tentatively, Helen pinched the throbbing tips of her nipples and moaned as
rippling sensations of warmth spread quickly from their sensitively
hardening flesh. Lewd images kept coming to her mind, the obscene hope
she'd felt at the sight of her husband's desire-thickened penis haunted
her. She pressed her open palm over the hair-covered mound of her wetly
pulsating cunt. She pressed harder, seeking to contain the passion that
seethed unchecked within, but only making it erupt within her love-starved
body. Helen's finger stole gently into the pulsing folds of her moistly
heated cunt, and for a split second, her middle finger brushed against the
tiny nub of her clitoris, making her moan aloud from the sudden searing
contact.
The lewd temptation of the forbidden act was too much for the disappointed
housewife, and she felt the final vestiges of restraint giving away. With
a savage moan of desire, Helen frantically rubbed at the source of her
passion. Moaning softly, she allowed her caressing fingers access to the
hair-trimmed surface of her desire-filled pussy. Breathing in ragged
gasps, Helen propelled her fingers into the famished center of her cuntal
mouth. The soft, vibrant feeling that came over her grew stronger as she
lay there, lovely and naked in the dark, her fingers groping obscenely in
the warm folds of her seeping vagina. Of its own will her finger, the
middle one, sought the hard tip of her clitoris and teased and tormented
the little nerve ending into a vibrant imitation of an erection.
"MMmmmm ... Ooooohh!" she sighed in bliss as the tips of her fingers
grazed her hotly moistened vaginal inner lips and then dipped hesitantly
down to the tight opening to her femininity. With agonizing caution, the
frustrated wife guided her trembling digit toward the sensitive little
orifice and then with bated breath felt it sink into the silken sheath of
her own desirefilled vagina. A jolt of pure unadulterated pleasure shot
through her belly, and rays of pleasure emanated from that tender friction
between her finger and the warm membrane of her wetly clasping pussy.
Eagerly, the blonde wife explored deeper inside her own womanhood,
reveling now in the self-given delight. She could feel her own fleshy
vaginal walls as they closed in avidly around her penetrating finger, and
suddenly it was clear that one finger was not enough!
It was a desperate need, and Helen could not resist plunging one and then
two more fingers into the moistly heated opening. Testing the pleasurable
results, the good-looking blonde began to swirl and revolve all three
fingers within the hungering depths of her wetly clasping cunt.
Helen's other hand began to massage the upthrust mounds of her breasts as
bit by bit, her crazed lust took more and more control. It must happen
again! Her body must become used to, accustomed to the full passionate
ministrations of a warm and loving male! She just couldn't go on like
this! Her wine-dazed brain desperately sought the answer to her dilemma
even while her fingers brought a semblance of the satiation that she
needed.
In the darkness, Helen could make out the dim furnishings of the living
room, the bookshelves, the paintings, the overhead chandelier, the
tasteful sculptures upon the cabinet. When her eyes had remained fixed on
one particular sculpture for a few seconds, Helen knew that it was when
she had been looking for. Somewhere in her subconscious, the memory of
that lewd abstract piece of art had remained. Long and cylindrical, its
smooth shape was reminiscent of nothing so much as a male phallus, and a
male penis was exactly what Helen Randolph wanted and had to have. It did
not matter at the moment that it was far from real, for even as the drunk
and distraught wife staggered up from the couch, she knew that it would
feel better than her pitifully inadequate fingers in the tormented
fire-pit of her shamelessly pulsing cunt.
"AH!" Helen grabbed at the object and felt an immediate surge of joy as
the thickness of it made itself felt in her palm. She knew right away just
how it would feel rising high inside her tormented vagina! Rushing back to
the couch with the sculpture in her hand, base and all, Helen recalled
with a certain amount of maniacal glee that her husband had given the
sculpture to her one Christmas many years ago. Little had he dreamed then,
that she would make such a good use of his gift! Already the absolutely
smooth glistening wood called 'Tribute to Space' was touching the
quivering surfaces of her outer cunt! Helen manipulated the work of art
skillfully, almost as though she had done it before, even though Helen
could not remember masturbating since she was a girl of thirteen or
fourteen. But it was easy now to hold the thing by the base, and as she
lay with her eagerly trembling thighs spread out wide to place the rounded
tip of it at the wetly tingling opening of her pussy. Now all she had to
do was push!
A vague nagging doubt lingered in the young wife's brain. What am I doing?
Have I gone mad?
The lascivious image that she must present, lying there naked in the
living room while her husband slept peacefully in the nearby bedroom made
Helen falter for an instant. Then just as suddenly as it had come, the
image went, to be replaced by that of her husband, Adam, snoring by now no
doubt in the bedroom. Blind fury took control of the inebriated blonde
wife, and taking hold of the base of the wooden penis, she thrust it
inward, forcing the tip-end of it between the gaping split of her
sensitive vaginal lips. It rose upward, thick and full and hard within the
tightly clasping channel of her cunt while Helen began a muttered chant,
her voice tense and feverish:
"His fault! His fault! It's all because of him! He's made me do this!"
Helen sobbed and grunted alternately as the penissubstitute filled her
sensuously pulsating pussy and as she relentlessly forced the long, hard
shape past her wetly quivering vaginal lips up into her belly.
"Oh, God!" she sighed finally in relief. It was embedded right up to the
mouth of her womb. Automatically, her loins began an involuntary gyration
against the lewd object which was a copy of an original work to be found
in the Modem Museum of the city. Warily at first, but with a growing
assurance of what she was doing, Helen began to slide the big
phallus-shaped object of finely polished wood in and out of her gratefully
accepting channel.
"Oh, it's good!" The frustrated scientist's wife could hardly believe how
well the thick girth and the satisfying length and firmness fulfilled her
great need. New and more reassuring waves of a once familiar pleasure
washed over her.
Within moments, Helen had begun to twist and turn, her legs moved crazily
about on the sofa, one frequently hanging off toward the thickly rugged
floor, the other sometimes climbing up to the back of the cushion. Wide,
wide, wider! The naked wife gyrated lewdly, obscenely beneath her own
self-fucking, as if she were seeking to win some kind of prize for
lasciviousness. Helen's loins ground up eagerly now, her mouth working
grotesquely in an incessant stream of passionate mewls.
Then with appalling suddenness, she was on the verge of her longed-for
release. It was too soon, and yet not soon enough. How long had she waited
and wanted this moment? In her fury, the professor's wife jammed the
elegant sculpture, the thick wooden pole of her lust, harder and faster
into her churning cuntal depths.
Helen's face flushed with a pink moistness, her expression twisted so that
she had a look of utter insanity as she strove to fulfill both the roles
she had given herself. She was both giving and receiving the hard,
thrusting fucking. And then a low, almost mournful wail slipped from her
throat as the first shudders of her long awaited pleasure began to
convulse her. The golden strands of her hair spread in an iridescent
tangle about her head as the excited wife began to spin in the wild vortex
of her orgasm. Colors and feelings molded into one behind her tightly
closed eyelids. The wet, sluicing sounds of her shameless masturbation met
her ears and increased her excitement at this moment of intense climax. In
and out, in and out, the substitute penis worked upon the sensitive
tissues, bringing her a joy she's almost forgotten existed. What Helen
wanted, she gave herself with the help of the lewdly shaped piece of
sculpture. Moan after moan escaped the harried woman's lips as the
pseudo-cock fucked upward between her widespread thighs until finally a
whirlpool of desire grabbed her and spun her about until she had lost all
sense of time and place until she had forgotten just who she was and why
she was nakedly sprawled upon the living-room sofa.
"I'm there! I'm there!" she called into the darkness as the acute
sensations reached their impossible heights. Body trembling and glistening
with perspiration, Helen hovered at the peak of her pleasure and then fell
back, plunged into the dark unconsciousness of oblivion.
It was hours later when the exhausted wife awoke to find herself trembling
with cold, still lying on the sofa. The gray light of dawn was filtering
in through the sheer curtains of the living room.
Mortification and guilt struck her and clung like a heavy fog as she
looked at the obscene object that lay beside the couch. With a gasp of
horror, Helen jumped up and tried to clean off the statue. She did the
best she could at the moment and then hid the thing in a far corner of the
cupboard. Trembling with shame and cold, Helen ran into the bathroom
adjoining the bedroom she shared with her husband. She stood under the hot
shower for as long as she could, and then total fatigue, both physical and
mental, made her stagger out, dry herself and cover up with a thick
terry-cloth robe. The bedroom had a depressing look about it as, still
clad in her robe, Helen got in beside the lump that was her sleeping
husband. She refrained from touching him as she fell into a restless
sleep.
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