Warning: the following story contains scenes of an explicit (and Freudian) nature.
When Alex arrived home, he could contrive no excuse for his weakness. No sooner was he in the door than he broke down and confessed all – making it seem all the more sordid. The tale upset Angela so much that she began to cry, a thing she rarely did in anyone’s company. In the end Alex had to help his distraught and inebriated wife to bed, stripping her naked and tucking her in.
It was as he performed this operation that he discovered something about her that he had never noticed before. Half way down her spine, there was a small imperfection, a tiny fissure in her marble back. Alex rubbed it with his forefinger. It was soft and fleshy, and as he prodded the opening, his wife began to moan. He covered her up and went next door to play his old 45’s. He always did this when he was drunk, but tonight the cacophony of noise brought little relief and the blemish began to play on his mind.
Returning to the bedroom, he found his wife fast asleep, the air gently vibrating in the back of her throat. He pulled back the covers and carefully rolled her onto her front, pausing a couple of times to let her re-settle. And when she was flat on her stomach, he relocated the aperture. In the half light, he couldn’t quite focus on it. He switched on the bedside lamp and angling the shade, the broad intense beam captured the pale white curve of her back. Once again, Alex began to rub his finger back and forth across the dark fleshy line. It widened and deepened, and on each side, the skin puckered and rolled back, pink and glossy in the light. He watched it glisten for a moment. It was beautiful. How could he have missed this wonderful anomaly in the centre of his wife’s spine? The question began to bother him. It occurred to him that although he had dated Angela for six years and that they had been married for three, he didn’t really know her at all, and the fact that he’d overlooked such a glorious feature was somehow another cruel reminder of his failings as a husband.
He bent down and put his face to the gleaming fissure. It had a wonderful musky smell. ‘A pearl, he thought, ‘a beautiful pearl.’ He drew the tip of his nose across the fatty flesh and inserted his tongue. It was warm and damp. How stupid he had been to doubt his love. He pressed his lips and nose into the gash and she let out a sigh. He wanted more, and pushing his head a little further in, the gap opened up.
It swelled to consume his head and then, as he pushed, drowning in the warm moist blanket, he tucked his shoulders in. From there it was easy going. Levering himself gently with his toes in the soft of the bedside rug, his whole body was soon engulfed. The crack snapped shut behind him, giving him a tight squeeze that helped him pull his ankles and feet through. Once inside, Alex felt safe and warm and wanted to stay there forever. He was free at last from the guilt, in a place where his wife would forgive him and the outside world could no longer intervene.