The Hungry Husband

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David Fortune was having a wet nightmare. To wake up shrieking and ejaculating at the same devastating split-second was petting rather wearing on the nerves. Luckily, he and his enchanting blond wife Linda believed in the militant hygiene of twin beds. Consequently, she never got a peek at his swimming sheets until the next morning, by which time both the Fortunes and the sheets were comfortably dried-out and starchy looking.

But tonight the sweet agony of his cries had awakened her, which meant that he had to be ready with a few consoling lies: sweat plus anxiety, old paranoid fears about losing their magnificent home, his brilliant career as an insurance executive, neither of which were the product of his own initiative, but had been generously forced on him by an overloaded father-in-law.

"Oh David, don't tell me you're having that same nasty dream again," said Linda, slipping out of her bee and rushing to his side. Her high, pendulous breasts wobbled gorgeously beneath her silken nightie, and as David eyed their crests, he wearily wished she hadn't sworn such fervent allegiance to the Health Department on the day they'd taken their vows.

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