Carole Wilson

Two sisters

CHAPTER ONE

Sybil slapped four slices of bacon into the electric frying pan. She could hear her husband Sid in the bathroom and knew that when he came out, he'd be ill-tempered because the alarm clock hadn't gone off this morning and he feared being late on this, his first morning tutoring the wealthy Dunlap sisters. If she had her way she'd be lolling in bed right now, instead of staring at raw meat and slimy eggs, but she'd made a vow long ago that she'd never force her husband into making his own breakfast – the way her mother had forced her to as a child. Not that he gives a damn, she muttered, stepping back to escape a sizzling spit of bacon grease.

"For Chrissakes, isn't breakfast ready yet?" Sid poked his head in the kitchen door, his fingers working at the buttons of his short-sleeved blue shirt. His eyes were still puffy with sleep.

Sid sat down at the table, throwing the morning paper to the floor and sliced a wedge of butter to scrape over the toast that Sybil had dumped over his shoulder and onto his plate. The irritating noise was torture to her as she was already beginning a sinus headache from the heavy Los Angeles summer time smog inversion that had settled over the valley, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at him. Wordlessly, she served him breakfast and sat down opposite him with a cup of black coffee. Sybil never ate breakfast; maybe because she'd cooked so many over the seven years of marriage.

"You wouldn't have to rush if you had the girls come over here, you know," Sybil put in, knowing her suggestion would be met with a barrage of negatives. Still, she persisted. "Certainly if the Dunlaps have that much money they could afford to send their kids over in a cab…"

Sid tacitly cursed her with one of his "don't tell me how to run my business" looks and chomped on the crunchy toast, then dabbed the crust in the yellow pool of egg yolk and raised it to his mouth. A tiny speck of yellow egg dribbled from his black mustache, and Sybil had to look the other way to keep from gagging.

He does that just to bug me, she thought, distracting herself by thumbing through the society section of the paper. The sinus headache put her in a rotten disposition, and when she felt rotten she spoke her mind. "Really, Sid, I don't understand why you made such a big deal of converting my sewing room into a classroom for you if you never use it…"

"Knock it off!" Sid grunted, wiping his mouth clean with a paper napkin. Sybil knew it was useless to push the point; you couldn't push Sid into anything. But it was time she started asking questions, she decided.

When Sid had come home from the interview with the Dunlaps yesterday he had, in answer to her questioning, admitted to being successful in being hired, but that's where the conversation stopped.

Then, too, she'd noticed how strange he was acting when he came home last night from his interview. He had a funny look in his eye, and she couldn't help but notice that there was an obvious bulge in his trousers. The way he kept staring at her, too as if he was debating or mulling something over in his mind and was trying to find the answer in her eyes. It made her uneasy… she'd been afraid that he'd try and make her do disgusting things that night in bed. But he had just rolled over on top of her, without so much as an "I love you…" and roughly spread her legs apart. As usual after seven years of marriage, she tried to be responsive and to show some sigh of arousal, but his coarse jabbing with his thick, hardened penis only disgusted her. She'd just lain there with her eyes closed, as he thrust into her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when, with a few heaving grunts, he emptied his semen into her. She could hardly wait for him to roll off her again, before she dashed into the bathroom to wash away the outward signs of their "lovemaking".

Sid broke into her painfully lingering thoughts with a curt good-bye and it was with a feeling of relief that she heard the door slam behind him.