A Reason to Wae Up

Since I was thirteen years old and realized there was something mystical about girls that I didn't understand and couldn't resist I had confused love and lust. I was sure I loved Julie Drinkwater. She sat one rom in front of me just to my left in Social Studies. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her and I had no idea why. I had been raised on old movies and with Cary Grant as my role model I was certain that what I felt for her was love. I had no clue it was nothing more than her having developed a full chest years ahead of the other girls. With age I came to be more careful. It wasn't that I didn't think I was in love with them, I just didn't tell them anymore.

Honestly. You can blame Josie's mother for that. We had fallen in love, I was sure. Back when we were seeing each other regularly we would meet three or four times per week. We didn't always sleep with each other. Normally we would just get lunch, kiss briefly in the parking lot, and go our own ways. The more we talked the more I felt that she was the love of my life and that ugly as it would be she needed to leave Martin and I needed to leave Anne. We would find a place to live. We would get something big. Shit, Josie still lived at home. I had planned to have Josie and her brother full time and my son on weekends. It went so far that I had actually started to check out the real-estate listings in the area. We wouldn't want them to change schools.

For a time when I told Sally I loved her she responded in kind but as I feel deeper and deeper into the abyss she fought her way out until we weren't just meeting for lunch anymore. She would still have me slip into her house sneak me back to her bedroom and let me take her any way I wanted but anything more, the part I truly craved, was fading from our relationship. I still didn't stop seeing her until she made me but I was hurt. It was to avoid that rejection, the emotional alienation that I had plenty of at home, that prevented me from whispering sweet nothings to my new young girlfriend as we wasted yet another afternoon in bed.

It's funny, but the more frequently you slip out of the office, the less anyone notices it and I yet again mentioned a few appointments with clients and wandered out just after ten. I stopped and picked up a bottle of wine - Josie wanted to learn, a bundle of cut flowers –she had pointed out that boys didn't buy flowers anymore, and headed to her small apartment. Her roommate would be out. She met me at the door in nothing but a robe and panties. I only knew about the panties because the robe was so short I could see the word Pink stretched out across her lean ass as she carried her presents to the small kitchen. "Go on back," she instructed. I made my way to her small bedroom. She was streaming a television show about zombies. I was starting to pick up more or less what was going on. It wasn't half bad. It was only 11:30 and it was far too early for wine but she had chopped a chunk of cheese into odd shapes and really, what more did I have to do.

"If I tell you I don't feel good, are you going to be mad?" she asked. I just smiled at her.

"Not at all, love. Should I go?"

"You better not. I've missed you. I hate weekends now." She slipped out of her robe. Her breasts were small but pert and I grinned at her. I had gotten over the awkwardness of our age difference. I was better able now to just relax and appreciate her for the exquisite creature she was. The weekends were too long. They had come to serve as repetitive excruciating sentences in solitary isolation. I was always happy to wake up on Mondays, bound out of bed and get out of the house. We had a strict rule; she didn't reach out to me on weekends. A single stray text read by the wrong eyes was dangerous. She was a good girl and waited for my first message of Monday morning before she began the barrage of text messages that was her primary form of communication.

"Maybe next weekend we can plan something." I told her. She had crawled into bed and was trying to get comfortable, her head bobbing up and down on my abdomen looking for a place to rest.

"You need to take off your dress clothes. I always feel like I am going to wrinkle something. Can we really do that? Can we get brunch?"

I stood and undressed. I hated that with my pants off my erection was obvious. She'd said she wasn't feeling well. Would it have been too much to ask for my dick to just take a day off? She stared at it. "I'm sorry. He sort of has a mind of his own."

"Come here. Lie down." Back in bed again she tugged my cock out of my boxers and slid her lips over it slowly. She sucked cock as if she was eating ice cream.

"You don't have to do that." I assured her.

"Stop. Just lie back. She said between long passes of her tongue up the shaft. "I've missed you." I ran my hand over her back as she pleased me. She managed to watch her show as she did it. It felt as if it went on for an eternity. She was selfless in her dedication to giving head and I always felt guilty. She waited for the episode to finish before she turned her body over and resting on her knees dedicated her full attention to finishing me. I groaned when I finally came. She sat up. Her body twisted in ways I didn't fully understand but it was delightful. She took my wine from me, took a sip and then nestled herself up against me.

"If I fall asleep, wake me up." She said.

"Okay." I promised her. She drifted to sleep almost instantly and I held her there, her soft flesh warm against my skin. I waited till I was sure. I wanted her to be sound asleep and not just drifting off before I said it.

I felt her breathing change. Her whole body seemed to swell with each full inhalation and just to make sure I ran my fingers down her spine. She didn't react in anyway and so with my heart racing no different than when I had been young and foolish I proved men truly don't ever change and as softly as I could manage it I spoke to her. "I love you, Josie."

She startled me, taking in a deep breath just then as if she was going to speak but she just let it out in a long slow warm breath I felt across my chest. I held her closer and closed my own eyes.

One night, years ago after seeing a particularly disturbing move about adultery Anne and I had debated marital infidelity in an abstract way. I believed at the time we both knew what we were really talking about. I argued that it truly wasn't about the sex. The sex was the initial draw for either Michael Douglas or Richard Gere, I don't remember which of them it was now, but it was only the match that lit the fire. The real allure of the other woman was in the intimate moments when they weren't fucking.

"Bullshit." Anne called. "No one has affairs with little old ladies."

I admit, she had a point but I was not nestled into a small bed in a small apartment close to the University to get the blowjob. I don't mean I didn't enjoy Josie physically, I did. But I didn't need to. What I needed was a woman nestled up to me, her breath tickling the hairs on my chest as her ribs slowly swelled in my hand each time she inhaled.

It was a little before two when she woke me up. She was on top of me, straddling my hips. I felt my cock; it had been awake before I was, pressed against her. She rocked in a mock humping motion. When my eyes opened she began to kiss me. We wasted at least another half-hour like that. I was going to be late. I had planned to leave at one. I put it off until two, but now, with the young woman rubbing her body over mine I figured if I left at three I could get back to the office for a bit before leaving for the day and it would be enough.

"I wish I had tits. Will you buy me tits?" She had rocked back and was sitting up. She was cupping her small breasts, one in each hand.

"No."

"I thought that was, like, a requirement. Isn't there a rule or something, you have to buy your trophy wife tits."

"Josie!" My response was too firm. I felt badly for speaking so firmly.

"I'm teasing. Relax."

"I didn't mean."

"Shh." She said. She kissed me again to shut me up. I was supposed to be the mature one but it is a fallacy any time a man says he has control. Women are always in control. At least that was how it was for me. I suppose some men beat submission into their woman. I didn't understand it. Neither physical nor emotional abuse seemed to make any sense to me. It was far better to let them be in charge. I knew intellectually that women are just as clueless as we are but it doesn't seem like it and I prefer to live in the world I have created then the reality we all suffer in. I kissed her back. I wanted her. I pressed my hands beneath the small cotton panties. She smiled as she kissed me. "Do that thing?" she asked. It was our code word. I lifted her easily and rolled her to her back. I loved the way she could extend both long legs straight up in the air so that I could pull her panties directly up and off of her legs. I nestled in between her legs and went to work. I concentrated on the task at hand. It was my hobby and my therapy and as much as she moaned and then eventually shrieked, covering her face in a pillow I knew I enjoyed it even more than she did.

When I had her gasping for breath and pressing my head off of her I tugged myself free of my boxers and moved over, on top of, and inside of her and we giggled and bounced and enjoyed a quick romp on her squeaky mattress before I had to leave.

I didn't get out of her apartment until well after three and the stop at the office was a little silly but I made it anyway. I gathered up enough work that I could make a show of doing something that night at home and wandered home.

Anne and I stuck to our routine and ignored each other for the most part. It was only as we settled into bed that we actually had a conversation. She reminded me of the doctor's appointment the next day. I told her I would be there. She said she would meet me. She rolled over away from me to go to sleep and I sat up against the headboard going through my emails. I cleared most of them with short responses but stopped suddenly at the one from Sally Mae Giordinno.

The email was short.

"Why are you ducking my calls? Tomorrow morning. I better see you first thing." But it wasn't the message that concerned me it was the subject line. "You Bastard! I know!"

I didn't sleep well. I felt guilty. I had hurt Sally, that was obvious, but late at night and into the early morning the mind has a way of exaggerating problems till they feel like nothing short of a crisis. I imagined the blonde sitting across a table in a restaurant telling my wife about my affair with her daughter. I imagined the small apartment I would end up living in as I drank and smoked myself to an early death. I imagined not even making it that long as I placed Marty my friendly neighborhood New Jersey gangster into every bad Ray Liotta movie. I imagined my kneecaps would be only the first things he broke. It was good I had gotten in a nap that morning because the minute the first signs of the sunrise plied their way in the blinds I was out of bed and making coffee. I was showered before Anne was out of bed and she had only started to wake up as I slipped towards the door. "Don't forget Dr. Lew. 11:00," she mumbled as I stepped over our sleeping dog to make my way down the stairs and out the door.

I had hours to wait and spent the time as self destructively as I possibly could. I stopped at a service station and bought a pack of cigarettes, one of those tiny bottles of Jack Daniels that are as sad as they are adorable and a twenty-four ounce cup of coffee that was apparently some hybrid caffeine injected concoction as the label was a fierce looking lightning bold striking an angry yellow jacket. I smoked two cigarettes lighting the second off the burning stump of the first. I poured the bourbon into the coffee and drank it as I drove through the early morning traffic down to the university where I trolled Josie's apartment complex and let my terror slowly build. I felt my heart racing in my chest. A nice solid heart attack would solve all my problems. I gave up on the idea she might come wandering out of her apartment and put me at ease by smiling at me and instead pulled back out onto the busy street and headed to see her mother.

I drove past Marty and Sally's house for no reason. It would look the same whether he was there or not, the large garage that held five cars hid if he had left yet. I made my way to the end of the street. The desert stretched out endlessly from their block westward until it came to an end at the California coastal Mountain ranges. It was calming to stand smoking contemplating the vast sandy expanses. I finished my coffee and my hands trembled as I chain smoked my way through half a pack. I wanted a shower. I wanted a nap. I wanted to be home in bed with my plump little brunette wife and nothing to worry about. I even would have been happy to be sitting in my office flirting with the little red haired girl from Accounts Receivable.

I watched the time tick by slowly until it was nine. 9:00 was the magic hour. It always had been. I left my car where it was and walked back down the street past the perfectly groomed lawns and oversized houses. I knocked quietly and waited. I stood a step further back than usual just at the chance it would be Marty on the other side of the door and he would be holding a baseball bat.

She left me there longer than normal or at least it felt that way. I could feel my pulse in my neck. I was not healthy. When finally the door opened I expected a hydra to reach out and snatch me into the depths but instead it was familiar and welcoming warmth. She smiled at me broadly. Beneath the sheer robe she favored she wore a chemise of black lace and pink satin.

"I'm not ducking your calls, Sal'," I said. She stepped back letting me inside. I didn't kiss her. We needed to talk. She kept smiling at me. "What was that email all about?" She turned from me and as she turned down the hallway she let her robe slide off her bare shoulders. Her ass giggled alluringly as she walked. I loved the muscular shape of her thighs. I followed her.

"We need to talk." I told her as I crossed the doorway into her bedroom. She refused. Instead she walked on until she came to her bed. She lay now, first on her belly, and then rolled over. She spread her legs. It was vulgar how she presented herself.

"Sally. Please." I said.

"Do you talk to her before you fuck or after?" She said. She didn't have the slightest bit of anger or animosity in her voice. She purred.

"Sally."

"No. I bet she sucks you first. She suck your dick first? Girls these days. We used to make you wait for that."

"Sally." I was a broken record. She moved her hands between her legs. She spread herself.

"I bet she loves when you go down on her. I have to admit, you have a gift." She was not going to let up. She licked her finger - her middle finger. I figured it was intentional. She gave me the finger then she lowered it, she made small circles at the crown of her parted lips. There was not the slightest sign of hair between her legs. She was always diligent in her grooming. She was wearing me down.

"We should talk first."

"I'm fine with that." She purred. "Tell me how she likes it. Tell me what you do to her. Watch me get off on it. Lets see if you can make me come."

She had done this kind of thing before. Even when I was telling myself I was in love with her she would do this. She would be rude, vulgar, overly aggressive with her sexuality in a way she knew I didn't like that I liked.

"Fuck." I said finally.

"That's better. Tell me about her. Is she a ripe little blonde? She have that sweet little peach fuzz on her cunt? Does it taste like strawberries?" She was moving her finger rapidly. "I bet she's heavy. You like 'em like that don't you. You like to fuck her and watch her tits bounce. She's a ripe little younger version of Anne Marie, isn't she?" She started to slip her thin finger inside of her cunt. "God it makes me wet to think about it. She's in college. I bet she's bi. You wanna share her?"

Whatever she thought she knew she didn't know the truth. I don't know if she picked up on it but I was almost smiling. I felt the tension I had been experiencing for twelve hours release.

She slipped her finger back in her mouth. "I am so wet. You want to taste."

I hated myself for it but I said it. "Yes."

"Come here." She said. She gripped her legs at her ankles and in a move she probably had picked up from yoga she spread herself open for me, her strong legs spread straight and wide. I went to her. I buried myself in the dripping wet folds of her excited cunt. As my tongue slid slowly over her clitoris she moaned. "Mmm. Maybe it's Josephine. Are you fucking my daughter, you bastard? She's a bit of a slut, I bet she would fuck your dick off."

I couldn't help it. I bit her. Not anywhere critical, just on the pale mound above her clit.

"Ouch." She squealed delicately, not really in pain.

I went back to what I had been doing.

"You bit me! Do that again." She groaned. I pressed the delicate nub of her clit against my teeth with my tongue.

"Harder. Like before. Like when I mentioned Josephine."

I did. This time on the plump purple flesh of her lip. I bit firmly. She gasped through clenched teeth.

"You fuck! You fuck my little girl?" I bit again. "Ahhhhhwwwch." She squealed. "She the one teach you to bite." I did it again but this time shafted her with my finger. She released her ankles and her legs folded down, kicking me in the small of my back with her heels. "Do it." She grunted. I took her clit this time in my teeth and pulled and pressed my middle and fore fingers as deep into her as I could. She shuddered. I released her clit and licked at it quickly, sharply. She closed down on my fingers. "Muaaahhhhhhhhh." She moaned gutturally. Her body shook. I reached for her tits and was stopped by her chemise. I yanked my hand from her dripping hole and gripped her gown in both hands. I had never contemplated the tensile strength of satin before but I had to pull far more intensely than I had planned and even then it came apart at the seams.

I rose and looked down at her.

"What does she call you? Fuck me Mr. Waller. I can hear it." She held her arms out straight, her body, spread wide across the bed every way it could be, her breast peaking out from the torn garment called to me. She sneered at me. "Or does she call you Daddy. All those years of therapy I paid for because she hated her father and all I had to do was lend her you. Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me right here."

I dropped my trousers and boxers but didn't even go so far as to take off my shoes. If only to shut her up I fucked her. Why she was doing this I didn't know. I couldn't ever love her again. I didn't even want her anymore. I didn't like being there. I wanted to leave. I didn't leave. I fucked her. I fucked her hard. When she still wouldn't shut up I held her mouth closed. She bit at my hand. I pressed three fingers into her mouth and she bit down. I felt pain in my knuckles. It didn't stop me though. I fucked her. When I was done fucking her I rose up, pulled my shirt off my chest without unbuttoning it, up over my head. I rolled her over. I pressed myself into her ass. She liked it in the ass. I fucked her till I couldn't fuck anymore. It was a torrent of slapping flesh and groaning. "Fuck my ass, Daddy." She groaned in a deep womanly voice and I did. I fucked it until I came and then fucked it more pressing my cum into her tight hole.

My back ached when finally my cock gave up on me. I half lifted and half shoved her up further into the bed and collapsed on top of her, one hand was wrapped beneath her, a tit firmly pressed in my palm but it was unimportant. The other hand, my right hand, my dominant hand, the hand with the strength to do something was wrapped about her throat. Pinned beneath me I reeled with the horror of the thought as it crossed my consciousness. If I chose to do it, she would be helpless to stop me. I don't know how long I lay on top of her contemplating murder, it was ghastly and abhorrent and I think seconds drug out into hours, or the other way around. I wasn't capable of it. I knew I wasn't. But it would have been so easy.