Monday, July 27, 2015

A Most Unusual Gift

At his command she shimmied out of her panties and handed them to him.  Her cheeks flushed as he crumpled them in a ball, held them to his lips, and inhaled.  His eyes closed like he was enjoying a rose.  To him, her perfume was better and she loved knowing that.  She settled in, flinching at the cold vinyl against her bare ass.  He flicked on the headlights, lighting her way.  When she promised him anything he wanted for their anniversary, she didn't expect this.

"Get out," he said. She heard the excitement in his voice.

She tried to suppress her smile, knowing he was trying to be all big and bad, but it wasn't working.  She knew him too well; it'd been too many years.  She stepped out of the car, hiking her skirt as she sauntered towards the wall, her hips swaying the way they did when he first saw her.  The old car.  The stockings.  It was like she was a teenager again.  She felt the familiar warmth in the pit of her belly as he set up his phone on the dash.  She felt the moisture gather between her thighs as she pulled her skirt higher and leaned towards the wall, unsure what was next until she heard the car door.  Excitement speared her.  She tried to sneak a peak as his dress shoes clicked across the pavement, echoing through the alley.  His hands found her hips and he grabbed hard, digging in his fingers.  Claiming her in a way he hadn't in a while.

"Mine," he growled into her ear.  "I've never seen a finer ass.  And it's mine."

He reached down and ran a hand over her stocking clad calf then traced her garter with his rough fingertips.  A tiny moan rushed from between her lips and he smiled.  He knew they couldn't have very long, someone would stumble upon them.  He thought of his phone, of the evidence they could enjoy later as he unbuckled his belt.  He was so hard for her still after twenty years.

"Hands on the wall.  Feet apart."

He popped her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.  He reached around, dragging his fingers over her slit, brushing her clit until she whimpered.  Without preamble, he sunk deep into her pussy.  The moan he'd heard a thousand times sounded new.  Alive.

"Oh, God, yes," she muttered.  He smiled as they found their rhythm, her squeezing him tight in the glow of the headlights.  His hand on the small of her back pushed her  over further.  the damp chill air licked around their sweaty bodies.  Her cries echoed off the walls, like each grunt that sounded off with every thrust.  He was new.  She was new.  It was everything.

She tossed her head back the way she did when she came and he bit her ear lobe the way that made her crazy as he gave her all he had.  Slumped across her back he whispered private promises of more to come.

He was her gentleman again, lowering her skirt and escorting her to the car, thanking her with a searing kiss that curled her toes and made her want him all over again.  She climbed in and he placed a blanket over her legs, remembering now she wasn't just his lover but his best friend, the mother of his children.  She smiled at her gentle man, remembering the same.

"Happy Anniversary, baby." she whispered.

He said the same as their old car roared to life and they went back to their lives, video safely tucked away, her panties in his pocket.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

They Always Come Back

I stumbled out of the sun onto the weather beaten porch.  There's no way this place should be standing after so long.  The parking lot was riddled with tumbleweeds instead of stacked with sedans.  The "Free Lunch Buffet" sign had faded from red to pink and hung by one chain from the eaves.  She'd been gone for years, of that I was sure.  And if she wasn't gone that picture sure wouldn't be the same.  I shook my head with a sad laugh and shoved open the door.  I had to see.

Haphazard Christmas lights were strung along  piles of nostalgic junk.  A silent jukebox winked at me from the back wall.  Vinyl chairs with torn seats gathered around stained tables.  At the back stood a bar with a woman behind it.  A smile warmed her pleasant face.


I ran my hand over my face, trying to ditch the road-weariness.  I'd been on the road for hours before I saw the battered tin sign.  It was the same sign I saw fifteen years ago, the first time I saw the beautiful girl she was, not the exquisite woman behind the bar that she'd become.

"You were a Heineken guy if I recall."

"There's no way you could remember me."

"A girl always remembers her first."

He gripped the cold bottle in his hand and went back in his mind.  His buddies had kidnapped him for an impromptu bachelor party and brought him here.  The club was hopping back then.  Girls danced on a stage that seemed rickety even then.  The serving girls wore high heels and cowboy hats, not a stitch else.  He laughed and said he'd have a few beers and be out the door.  But then he saw her by the jukebox.  Dark curls framed her angelic face.  Her lush mouth begged for his cock.  Her body was perfection.  He had to have her.  He did, in the back of the bar on a beat up old sofa she gave him everything.  He'd never forgotten her.  Through countless rounds of self pleasure in the shower and the flaming destruction of his marriage, this girl never left his mind.  And she was here.

"I own the place now.  Not that it's much of a place.  Some of the girls still dance on Fridays.  I leave my clothes on these days."

"Sad shame," I said with a smirk.

She smiles and sets me up with another beer as I drain the first.

I remembered the first night.  The way she felt beneath me.  Her sweet taste.  The sound of her voice.  The music thumping in the bar as I pounded into her in the back room.  The reality that never lived up to her.

I shook my head and did what I came to do.  I took off my ring and left it on the bar, there in the place I'd lost so much else.  I never had a chance.  I wanted a repeat, a second shot, but her faraway look told me I'd never get it.  I tipped my bottle in her direction and threw a handful of bills on the bar.  it was the ring she grabbed.  I watched her pull a glass jar from the bar and toss it. It disappeared among so many others.  How many, I wondered.  How many like me had she ruined?

I stumbled back out into the sun, somehow finding peace.  At least she'd remembered me for a moment.  At least I hadn't faded in asking the masses.  I may have been her first. I sure as Hell wasn't her last.

Not like she was for me.


A day late and way too long.  Forgive me this one, it's a bit tablet.  More of a concept than a story.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Trading Places

She waited for me.  Well, almost.  Her black panties dangled from one delicate foot. Her strap slid off one perfectly curved shoulder.  This is what I'd prayed for when I'd given her the room key, but I never thought she'd come.

She was the aggressor.  She didn't do soft and delicate.  But this one time, because I'd asked her to, because of what was at stake.

She remained quiet as I took off my watch and lay it on the cheap, hotel table, then unbuttoned my cuffs and my shirt.  Finally divesting myself of my slacks, shoes and socks until I stood before her in my boy briefs and simple cotton bra.  She tensed as I knelt at her feet, my hands resting on her taut thighs.  I nudged them open, my eyes focussed on the fine wisps of downy soft hair that covered her mound.  She fought against me for a moment, but I raised an eyebrow.  It was my turn. And she was exquisite.  I nudged her thighs apart and pressed my lips to her sweet flesh. Her fragrance assaulted me like it did every time.  Nothing made me want her more.  I swallowed hard.  This time I would taste her.  I would give her what she gives me.
I could feel her uncertainty.  Her vulnerability.  I glanced to the costume of her clothes that I had worn and understood.  Her watch.  Her slacks.  And now she lay bare to me the way I have a hundred times to her... but to me it comes easy.  She was the aggressor.  She didn't do vulnerable.

I traced my tongue along the seam of her pussy, gathering droplets of her nectar like honey.  She squirmed beneath my kiss.  Gasped.  Moaned.  I splayed my fingers across her soft white belly and held her down, deepening my kiss.
"Stop," she says.  "I can't do this.  I can't take it."

"Hush," I whisper.  "Be me. Just once, let me make you feel good."

A whimper. A twist.  Her head rocked back as I explored.  Tasted.  My hands rose to her full breasts and she thrust them against me.  Once.  Just this one time.  A tear slipped down my cheek as a flood of moisture hit my lips.  She said my name as she came.

She came for me.  She actually came.

"Stop," she said, curling on her side. 

Tears flowed freely down her face.  In ten years I'd never seen her cry.  Ten years and I'd never tasted her.  Seen pleasure twist her face..  Seen so much pain.

"I'm not you.  I'm me."

I took a deep breath, her taste still on my tongue.  The first time in ten years and it had to be the last.  If I loved her, I had to love her for who she was and nothing more.  Quietly I slid the boy shorts from my hips and handed them to my wife.  My lover.  My all.  I laid down beside her and told her the only thing she needed to hear.

I'd never ask again.