Married Guy was late. I fucking knew he was going to be late, too. He was always late. He had everything planned out, as usual. The fantasy land in which he lives. Reality: he had a business lunch in Worcester from 1-2pm and would be in Providence at 3pm. Guaranteed. Even told me that the lunch would end before 2pm leaving us more than 3 hours before he had to leave for home.
I didn't want to see him; every fiber in my being told me NO. But the spell he had on me was too strong. I had left work early to meet him at 2pm. That would leave us 3 hours. Our time together was measured out carefully like Eliot's coffee spoons. Carefully and with fingers and toes crossed.
He called me at 2:45pm; unapologetic: the meeting had run late. OF COURSE IT HAD. I was so fucking pissed; mainly at myself for being drawn in once again. For being ultimately unable to say "no", at least out of bed. In bed it was always "Yes, more please."
I was so angry I told him not to come, that I didn't want to see him and that, this time, I meant it. He called me at the Mass Pike toll booth. The turn off to route 146 was minutes away...was I sure, absolutely sure, I didn't want him to come? I closed my eyes...and said "Okay". I know. What a fucking wimp. But with my eyes closed, I had thought of the curve of his eyebrows; the way he pushed me into the wall, lifted me off my feet and impaled me with his cock. That's right. That is how quick I went from "eyebrows" to "fuck me hard".
I was picking out cd's when he arrived, snuck up behind me, grabbed me by the waste, spun me around, and devoured me with hunger...so much hunger; as if he hadn't eaten in weeks...months. And...my anger dissipated. I know. The harder he fucked me, the more difficult it became to remember exactly why I was supposed to act petulant. Hell I wouldn't have been able to tell you the day of the week. Every nerve ending was stretched tight as a guitar string; each thrust more intense than the last.
I didn't want to see him; every fiber in my being told me NO. But the spell he had on me was too strong. I had left work early to meet him at 2pm. That would leave us 3 hours. Our time together was measured out carefully like Eliot's coffee spoons. Carefully and with fingers and toes crossed.
He called me at 2:45pm; unapologetic: the meeting had run late. OF COURSE IT HAD. I was so fucking pissed; mainly at myself for being drawn in once again. For being ultimately unable to say "no", at least out of bed. In bed it was always "Yes, more please."
I was so angry I told him not to come, that I didn't want to see him and that, this time, I meant it. He called me at the Mass Pike toll booth. The turn off to route 146 was minutes away...was I sure, absolutely sure, I didn't want him to come? I closed my eyes...and said "Okay". I know. What a fucking wimp. But with my eyes closed, I had thought of the curve of his eyebrows; the way he pushed me into the wall, lifted me off my feet and impaled me with his cock. That's right. That is how quick I went from "eyebrows" to "fuck me hard".
I was picking out cd's when he arrived, snuck up behind me, grabbed me by the waste, spun me around, and devoured me with hunger...so much hunger; as if he hadn't eaten in weeks...months. And...my anger dissipated. I know. The harder he fucked me, the more difficult it became to remember exactly why I was supposed to act petulant. Hell I wouldn't have been able to tell you the day of the week. Every nerve ending was stretched tight as a guitar string; each thrust more intense than the last.
0 Comments