Aubade I
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
She had caught me in a private pity party. I was staring out of my apartment window, looking at the playground across the street. I was looking at the kids playing on the equipment, and I had singled out two boys in particular. One was around eight years old, the other was around four. The exact ages of my sons.
“Nothing you can really help with,” I said, “just missing my boys, is all.” I turned away from the window. Missing my boys. Missing my family. Missing my income. I shook my head. This was the chain of images that tempted me to consider the Solution of Messrs Smith and Wesson in the past. In that moment I was truly grateful my lady was with me.
“I know you miss them,” she said quietly. “I’ve met them, remember? They’re great kids. I miss them, too.” What a pair we were: she could not have children for medical reasons, and because of my divorce I could literally not afford to have any more. And we both liked my kids. Hell, we both liked kids, period.
“You love them, you send them cards, you buy them presents at Christmas and on their birthdays. And you spend as much time with them as you can when you do see them. What can you do if she won’t let them come? You know she always pulls this when you two fight about money.” She tilted her head and thought for a moment. Then she said, quietly, “Why don’t you tell me what really bothers you about the situation?”
I thought for a minute. “It comes down to this: I’ve lost everything I’ve ever had. I’ve lost my house, I’ve lost my kids, I’ve lost half my income, I’ve lost my credit rating, and I’ve lost my self respect.” I thought for another few seconds, “By the time I’m finished paying child support, I’ll be five years away from retirement. I won’t be able to retire, not when I have to hand my ex-wife half my paycheck for the next umpteen years!” I felt robbed. It had been two years since the divorce, and still I could not let the anger go. I was a senior engineer, and my take home pay was the same as a starting teacher. And it was not going to get better for a very long time, if ever.
“So,” she continued quietly, “the divorce robbed you of everything?” She touched my hand, took it in hers, and squeezed it.
I shook my head and smiled. “It did give me a few things, I’ll have to admit.” I chuckled. “Like a few grey hairs…”
She ran her other hand lightly up my other arm, and across my chest. “Anything else?” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“If you’re trying to use sex to get me into a jolly mood,” I said, “you are very close to succeeding.”
She wrapped her arms around me, but turned serious for a moment. “You are one of the most caring, decent, honest, funny, sensitive men I have ever met. It aggravates me when you forget that. You may have lost things, but you never lost who you are. You just have a problem believing in yourself. Give yourself a chance.” She then smiled impishly and began to slowly rub her breasts against my chest. “I’m certainly giving you a chance right now.”
I held her close. “Thank you,” I whispered, “and you don’t have to make love to me just to get me out of my funk. You’re the best damn thing to happen to me in a very long time. I hope you know that.” I was not entirely finished feeling sorry for myself, of course; nothing is ever fixed in five minutes. I would not let my situation spoil the rest of my day, though. She had given me that.
She nuzzled me, and said “I never have sex out of pity.” I gave her a stare. “Well,” she continued, “not usually. The truth is, though, I’ve gotten myself a little hot and I would like to explore that a little further. Like to help me?” She emphasized the word ‘help’ by placing little kisses next to my right ear. A chill raced up my spine when she did that.
How could I, as a decent, honest, caring, sensitive etc. etc. etc. possibly refuse a request like that?
Especially since she asked so nice?
She was not taking any chances. She broke our embrace, took my hand, and lead us to the bedroom. She popped Annie Lennox’s “Diva” into the cassette player and put the music on low as I closed the blinds and the door to the room. She unbuttoned the first three buttons of her blouse, then put her hands on her hips. She smiled, and said “Come on over here, lover. You’re credit’s still good with me!”
“Actually, I think I have enough to make a small deposit today,” I teased. She smirked and pointed to the condom on the dresser. “Just make sure you put your ‘deposit’ in the proper envelope, buster!” We both laughed at that one.
I crossed over to her and cupped her chin in my hand. Our lips met and danced on each other. I took my hand away from her face and wrapped both arms around her. She held me tightly and we kissed each other more deeply. I slid one hand back around and began to unbutton the rest of her blouse. I noticed she was wearing her red bra–which told me she was thinking of jumping my bones some time today anyway. I smiled. So this really was not pity. That made me hot. I kissed her again, and began to tease her nipple through the silky fabric of the bra.
She moaned, and gave me one of her “fuck me” looks through partially closed eyes. Nothing is sexier than a partner that really wants you. I took my other hand and began to scratch both nipples at the same time. She closed her eyes and her smile got wider. She took her hands and began to unbutton my shirt as well. Soon her thumbs were caressing my nipples, and my half-rigid cock suddenly became fully erect. I began to slide it against her crotch, stimulating both of us through our clothes. We both moaned together.
She was a hungry for me as I was for her. We lay down on the bed and let our hands and our lips explore and delight each other. I felt her tug at my belt, felt her get it open. She undid my fly, and I helped her as she removed my pants and underwear together. She quickly stripped off my socks, and took a moment to look at me.
I waited, almost holding my breath. She smiled, and gently ran her hand up my leg, across the inside of my thigh, and finally up my cock. I gasped in pleasure. I was a little surprised, too. Usually I’m the first to undo her pants, but then I like to eat pussy. I especially like her taste: very rich and musky.
“Would you do something for me?” I asked.
“What?” she said.
“I would like you to use your hands this time,” I said. “I don’t want to come that way, but I do want you to use your hands.”
“I have a better idea, if you’re game,” she said. I nodded. I had a pretty good idea of what she had in mind.
She took off her blouse, and unhooked and removed her bra. She got a tube of KY jelly and handed it to me. “Warm that up and put some on my breasts.” I poured a generous amount onto my hands and smeared some onto my palms. When the chill was off, I began to lightly apply the jelly to the area between her breasts. I massaged some into her nipples for good measure. She smiled as I did this, but finally she pushed me down onto the bed, and climbed over me. She took a breast in each hand, and placed herself so my penis between her breasts. She pushed her breasts together, and began to slide my cock between them.
The sensation was intense. I don’t know what it is about being [tag]tit fucked[/tag], but it drives me wild. I began to move my hips. I whimpered. I clutched the bed. And all the while my lady was giving me this deliciously possessive look. Every time my cock would peek out from between her breasts, she would rub the tip with one of her fingers.
After some minutes of this delicious torture, she said “I want you in me.” I nodded and cleaned myself off, and toweled down her chest. I began to play with her as I wiped KY jelly off of her. She moaned, but managed to say “Please, I want you in me,” again.
This was a little odd, too, since she loves to be eaten, but I stopped rubbing her and put the condom on. In the meantime she had rolled onto her back.
“Are you sure I can’t…” I started. I really do like to eat pussy.
“Come on over here,” she said. Well, she did ask awful nice.
I climbed on top of her, and she guided me in.
“Oh, god, I love this,” she sighed, and she began to make little cooing sounds as I began to make love to her. I always love the feeling of being inside of her; hot and smooth and tight. We were both on fire. She called my name as I picked up the tempo. She screamed and her hands clutched the bed sheets as she came.
“Don’t hold back, baby, come for me,” she said. I obliged and concentrated on the feeling her pussy was giving me, changing my rhythm slightly. This is what she wanted, because she started to moan as soon as I established the new rhythm.
“Oh, god, yes! Don’t hold back! Don’t hold back!” I began to whimper as I neared climax. I finally came, screaming, my hips jerking into her so hard I could hear our bodies slap.
We lay still for a while, holding each other tightly. I lifted myself up, took hold of the condom, and slid out of her before I became limp. I cleaned myself off quickly and returned to bed. We climbed underneath the sheets and held each other in the subdued light of the room.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” I said. “You can make me feel better like that anytime! How about you?”
She purred and held me closer. “I love you,” she said after a while. Her voice was strange. I could feel the gears in her skull whirling away.
“I know. I love you too.” I was still for a minute. “What are you thinking,” I said.
“You’re not angry with me, are you?” she asked.
I tried to give her the most loving “Are you completely insane?” look I could manage. “Not in the least! Why?”
“I’m always a little afraid that you’ll blame me for making you move away from your children.”
This is why I try to keep my little morose episodes under control. “My move was my choice, you know that,” I said. “This is a beautiful part of the country. I was thinking of moving here anyway. You were just the incentive I needed to get off my ass and do something. Listen, hon, my ex-wife is always going to play games with the children. Always. My coming down here was one of the ways I tell her that I refuse to play her game. I refuse to be held hostage by her.”
She nodded. She’s heard this before, also.
“I miss them, but I have to do things that make me happy, too. And children eventually leave home. I’m looking for something a lot more permanent. You know that.”
She nodded again.
“Do you want me permanent?” she asked.
One of the most terrifying things you can ask a divorced person to think about is remarriage. A good percentage of remarriages fail. Most divorced people will tell you that one divorce per lifetime is more than enough. Unless, of course, you’re my Uncle Zeb. He turned personal divorce into a growth industry: his ex-wives payed *him* alimony, but that’s another story.
The only thing more terrifying than a second divorce is the thought of growing old alone. Which is why a lot of people get remarried anyway.
I fell back on the old Irish trick of answering a question with a question. “Is that a proposal of marriage?” I said gently.
She was quiet for a long time. Finally, she said “I’m not sure.”
“Neither am I, dear. I would like to be your lover until one of us is sure. I want to be your friend forever. You already know my timetable.” Two years is enough time to figure out if you’re going to make it or not. Long enough to stop being on your “best behavior” all the time and find out what the other person is really like, short enough that if things don’t work out, you don’t feel like either party has wasted a lot of time.
In other words, enough time to have one or two big fights, just to see how you both handle it. To date we had not had a big fight. This is what I was waiting for. I was not going to pick a fight just to see what would happen. It had to be something that was real to one of us.
It scared me a bit to realize that if she had proposed, I probably would have accepted. Impulsive, emotional behavior is what got me into trouble the last time. And I was so in love with her.
I felt her nod. “I agree, you know that. I don’t want to get burned, either. It’s just…”
“It’s just that the ambiguity gets you down?” I said.
“Yeah. It drives me a little crazy wondering, sometimes.”
“Me too,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere, though.”
“I know,” she said, “I’m sticking around, too.”
And as our morning slid into early afternoon we held each other, and talked to each other, and loved each other. Our fears, for the moment, were held clutched close inside; a little less fearful for having been brought out into the daylight for a short time.
–end–
anonymous author
