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.