The wench jerked his head back by his hair, her yellow hued eyes glinting in the near darkness as she smashed her lips against his and said: "Goodbye, darling" and was gone.
He yelled "Come back Cathy...Rebecca ...Suzie..."
In Luke's dreams the sexy women never had the same name.
His penis jerked and his wife Anne beside him called, "Are you all right darling?"
And then yelled "Yuk - there's cum everywhere. You're having another one of those supercharged wet dreams. I'm off to the spare room."
Luke Arnold had been married for ten years to Anne who he still calls 'Dream Boat' in nostalgic moments or when angling for sex or handing over her birthday present. They have two children - Maggie six and Tommy eight.
Clearly Luke is the epitome of a modern well-heeled suburban man with a model nuclear family, good job, fat income, great house, single figure golf handicap, 54ft sloop and great health.
He wanted for nothing; that is if you believe him.
Deep down, Luke Arnold has long felt he'd never been fully aroused sexually. Perhaps that's not a big miss in a man's life, but Luke has thought about it so often it now troubled him.
During college days he had so much sex that at times his eyeballs felt about to pop and since marriage he'd had an affair or two or three. When he met Anne their early days of sex left them both with bite marks and bruises everywhere and sexually exhausted.
However...
However what?
Perhaps there was another step in sexual experience, maybe more he'd not taken which only a handful of people ever attained.
Luke was not thinking increasing frequency or duration or banging away in extraordinary places or knotting limbs in unbelievable complex positions. He was thinking of ejaculating heavily into an adorable woman who would be cresting the wave with him perfectly, their minds in tune, discharging juices simultaneously to reach the climax of a mutually satisfying ultimate fuck of astonishing fulfilment.
Was a man asking too much to seek such a peak in sexual enjoyment?
He'd wished he could have ventured there with Anne, but sexually she'd slowed down before her time, becoming quite perfunctorily about it but smiling and going through her routines happily enough because she knew her participation was deeply appreciated.
But that's was it had become for her - routines.
A year ago he'd voiced that opinion and she'd been shocked and crying ran off to the guest bedroom which she locked.
Next morning over coffee she listened, red-eyed and mouth agape, when he suggested she ought to either go to sex counselling or take on a lover to re-fire her enthusiasm.
"You bastard, to talk like that you must have affairs. To me sex is not everything in life - in fact I could almost get along without it."
She gritted, "Have you had affairs?"
Ah there it was, out in the opinion and hanging for possible discussion.
Luke studied the ceiling, keeping his mouth closed, and ten minutes later she was gone.
He assumed she'd cleared out to her parent's home.
Unworried about her absence, he arranged for his work hours to be altered to allow him to look after the children until it was time to take them to school and to collect them in the afternoon and then to take them through to bedtime. He'd then cook some crappy food for himself which he ate watching TV - something he usually was never permitted to do.
Anne returned home on the third afternoon of being away - she'd phoned the children each evening and morning as a good absent parent should, and bought home a bottle of Luke's favourite whiskey and as soon as the children were watching TV with after-school snacks she bundled Luke off to bed and they had really great sex.
Afterwards she burst into tears while telling him she'd never cry in frustration again. Luke patted her on the back and kissed her wet eyes telling her he understood without really knowing what she was on about.
"Should we go again?" she asked, spreading her legs.
He gaped as this was so rare but Luke was not one to let rare opportunities go to waste.
Luke was chief executive of a chain of bookstores and every morning went across Fletcher Avenue for coffee at 11:00 at which time the mid-morning rush had died.
On this particular morning he had called in some of his senior managers for a strategic planning meeting at 11:00 and went for coffee half an hour early. He managed to find a two-seater and was eating a piece of cherry pie when a woman in an unfashionable short skirt and plunging neckline asked would he mind if she sat with him, that it was the last vacant seat.
