In the bright light of the bedroom Mark could clearly see his wife Jamie's face as she sucked him. He was lying on his back and she was on her hands and knees. She was rhythmically moving her head up and down his shaft and at the same time moving back and forth. There was someone behind her. As the movement continued her eyes closed and she seemed to go into a trance. Then she contorted her face before she released Mark's dick and loudly said "Mark I'm cumming." As she was cumming Mark started to look up to see who the person was behind her. As his gaze reached the face he realized that it was no person at all. It was the face of a manikin...porcelain white and without expression.
Mark opened his eyes. The brightly lit room was dark. He looked around and saw Jamie next to him asleep. It was a fucking dream he thought. It seemed so real that the emotions he felt in the dream were still present and his erection was still there.
Mark started to turn to Jamie to wake her and take care of his erection but paused. She looked so peaceful he hated to disturb her. Their normally active sex life had hit a speed bump. She had been working late these past couple weeks. Not only that, she had been acting so strange and secretive recently. He had always trusted her these three years and was sure there was an explanation. Mark was glad the two of them would be going on vacation in a couple days. Then they would be alone together. Even with her busy work schedule Jamie had insisted on making all the plans.
As he looked at her he began to think about how they had first met at a party. He no longer remembered who held the party or why. There she had been standing alone across the room. She was blonde and average height and build. She was the perfect girl next door candidate. Mark did not share the American fascination with blondes, but he had nothing against them either. To Mark dark haired girls were sexier. He especially liked dark haired Mediterranean types. They were mysterious and exotic. Add an accent and Mark couldn't resist them. As for red heads, Mark found that those he had gone with had a temper that he could not get along with.
Mark noted that the blonde was pretty but not perfect. She had a birthmark above her right lip. In another age women would have added that to their look, but Mark assumed this was real. She was thin and small breasted. Not like a fashion model but not buxom. Mark liked that she was not perfect. Real women have flaws. Women without flaws are fantasies. She was, he suspected, about his age. Mark had opportunity to meet and go with younger women at conferences to which he was invited, and at lectures he was asked to give at numerous colleges. Now nearly 30 he no longer found them interesting.
As the blonde strolled to the bookcase he thought of how sexy she was. Sexy in his mind was not a question of being buxom or hair color or how short of a skirt was worn. Sexy was not dependant on what was outside but what was inside. It was an attitude. As she walked to the bookcase she appeared confident and poised, as if she owned the room. For Mark she did.
Mark started to move to meet her trying to think of how he might start a conversation. What would she select off the shelf? Perhaps she would pick some current fiction or maybe a classic. As she scanned the shelf she selected a thin volume. Mark recognized the cover. It was "A Coney Island of the Mind" by Ferlinghetti. It was a selection Mark was familiar with. To him the name always sounded like an Italian sports car...Lamborghini, Maserati...Ferlinghetti. A she opened the book and read he approached her.
"What are you reading?" he asked her.
Without raising her head she said in a low voice "Ferlinghetti."
"Oh, are you interested in Italian sports cars?"
She looked up at Mark as if he were an alien in a sci-fi movie. Then she noticed the smile on his face. She smiled back. "Of course isn't everyone?"
They both laughed.
"Mark" he introduced himself
