Michael started his car the way he had done every other workday that month, after kissing his wife goodbye, he simply walked out of his house, locked the door, slipped into his car, inserted the key and turned. The car sparked to life, revving slightly as he pumped his foot for a moment and then quieting as he pressed his brake, put the car in reverse and then began backing down his driveway. Everything was the same as any other normal day yet it was all a lie.
"Well, it's not really a lie yet," Michael thought to himself as he backed onto his street and then put his car into drive, heading out in a different direction than he had ever taken when going to work. It simply wasn't a lie until he "crossed the line," he thought as he pulled up to a stop sign, confirmed no one was coming and accelerated onto the highway. He headed south instead of north, but it still wasn't a lie.
No, it wasn't a lie months earlier when a casual exchange of messages and emails started getting personal, when dreams and failures were shared and lamented, when he began thinking of a stranger as a friend. It wasn't a lie when simple messages became fictional exchanges, romantic stories leading to hurried, frantic typing as imaginary fingers roamed, tongues entwined and bodies responded.
Michael didn't consider it a lie when he first heard her voice on the telephone, the husky, sensual way she said, "Good morning," when he called to wake her. Later as she described in almost poetic detail what it felt like as she slid her fingers into herself, wetting them before touching her clit, it wasn't a lie. No, even as he listened to her come, stroking himself until he spurted his hot cum into a tissue, whispering to her, it wasn't a lie.
Even as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, picked up the key from the front desk and walked to her room it wasn't a lie. His hands nervously opened the door and he peered across the room to the bed, where her cigarette glowed in the darkness. Michael quickly unzipped his pants, eased them and his underwear over his erection and let them fall to the floor. He stepped out of his pants while unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on a chair.
Naked now, he crawled onto the bed as she stubbed out her cigarette and still it wasn't a lie. Michael moved closer to her as she asked, "How long do you have?"
He savored her husky voice for a moment, remembering how she sounded on the phone so many times before, how it lilted higher as she came. "I've got all morning; my boss is in Austin and won't be back until after lunch."
"Good, I didn't want to have to rush this," she replied.
"After all this time, I know," he replied, leaning forward and touching his mouth to her lips. His tongue slipped into hers but the taste of cigarette froze him for a second. Pulling back, he began kissing her face as his hands moved down to her breasts. He kissed down to her neck as his hands began to explore something familiar, but so delightfully different. Her breasts were larger than his wife's, but her nipples felt smaller. Even as he moved his mouth down and suckled them he noticed that, while they hardened, they were not as big.
"Let me touch your cock," she whispered.
Michael moved so she could reach him, excited by what she had said. He felt a jolt of pleasure as she grabbed him, but quickly turned his attention to exploring her body with his fingers and tongue. He moved down under her breasts, tasting a bit of saltiness as he lifted them and kissed where they rested on her stomach. The taste was invigorating, encouraging him to move down her stomach and through the thick patch of her pubic hair.
The softness of the hair surprised him. His wife kept hers trimmed and it always seemed to feel a bit wiry, but now, the soft curls wrapped around his fingers and tongue like satin. Michael could smell her now, the damp, earthy scent rising as she opened her legs wider for him. He hungrily plunged his tongue into her, wanting to finally taste her. Languishing between her legs, he circled his tongue inside her, lapping up her wetness, letting the sharp, almost bitter taste flood him with her.
Even as he noted how much stronger she tasted than his wife did, Michael was convinced it was still not a lie. He fucked her with his tongue, plunging in as far as he could, his lips disappearing between her flowery labia, his nose buried in her slit. Withdrawing, he gasped for air and then dove again, pressing deeper and deeper feeling her finger's pulling on his head slightly, he sensed she needed more.