The Ex-Mermaid

The Ex-Mermaid, Part 3.

I wandered into the kitchen and pondered what to cook. It's a hobby of mine. There was a two-pound package of chicken in the fridge that would be "best by" tomorrow. That, an onion or two, and the remaining veggies would be the basis for a good stir-fry.

I cut up the chicken and put it in a big bowl with a half-cup of Sesame Ginger salad dressing for a mini marinade. Covered, back in the fridge. Then I washed everything very very carefully and wiped knife, cutting board, and counter with a disinfectant towel. Maybe it's paranoid, but I've internalized my mother's fear of "germs".

It was nice to return to the simple domesticity of cooking. Chopping, slicing, peeling. Sharing food with people you love. It was a ritual from the ages, the first hunter-gatherers with flint knives and wild roots. And the automatic nature of the process was meditative. I could relax after a stressful day at work, or contemplate weekend plans.

Today, of course, I was thinking about Mike. My weekend plans had been engineered better than a NASA Mars rover. Abby, my housemate, had teamed up with our friend Cathy to get me together with Mike. Mike was friends with Bill, and thus with Abby. That Friday night's Halloween party was the first time I saw Mike. Now I was pondering my life with this man, with whom I had made love for the first time but far, far from the last.

I finished prepping and cleaning up. It was too early to start cooking, so I went upstairs for a nap. Mike was at my desk, tapping away at some kind of computer code, multicolored text on a black background. I shushed my lips with a finger and gave a sneaky tiptoe to the bed. Mike looked over at me and held up a finger.

Pretty soon he finished typing, and turned to me with a smile.

"Hi. How are you doing?"

"Great. I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood for Wednesday afternoon. I didn't want to bother you, but you're welcome to come with if you have time."

"So that means..."

"It means we have ten condoms left, and four days to use them up." I started unbuttoning my shirt. Mike said, "I'm at an OK stopping place, lemme just make a few notes." He scribbled a few things in his notebook, dropped his pen like a mic drop, and stood up.

I peeled back one side of my shirt to flash a (small but pretty) boob at him. Bras were an un-necessary annoyance at work, but I'd never liked wearing them and often went without. It hadn't made much difference unless it got cold.

Mike echoed my move exactly, showing me one side of his modestly hairy chest. Of course I had to open the other side. Our flirtations were in synch, not the first time. Mike was so smart, and so aware of others, that he picked up on my games and went along with them. Words were unneeded.

As if in a mirror, Mike opened the other side of his shirt. I sat up and slipped one arm out of a sleeve. Ditto. I reached across my chest with my bare arm, as if to shuck off the other side. Mike copied, but then he smiled and pulled his hand back to stroke one of his little man-nipples.

I had to copy, of course. It was hypnotic. Mike licked his fingers and returned them to his chest. I did, too. He traced around outside the areole, then moved in and circled the tiny point of his nipple. I did so too, and escalated by undoing my fly. So did Mike, but since I wasn't wearing a belt, he couldn't do it as effectively.

I saw my chance at victory. Raising my butt, I slid my pants to my knees. Mike struggled to copy, but he was going to have a tough time slipping his still-buckled belt over his hard-on. That sight was almost enough to get me giggling, but I knew the rules. I held it.

Finally Mike gave up. "You win." He undid his belt and dropped his pants.

I beckoned him within arm's reach. "I like this game. Now, let's see. What was the penalty when I lost? Oh, yeah. A blowjob." I stretched the elastic out, freeing his long-suffering cock.

"But that was when I lost." I pulled his briefs down and he stepped out of them. "You have to remove my panties, and then you have to lick me till I come."

"I don't know if this game is more fun to win, or to lose." Mike obeyed his penalty, and began to kiss my calf, slowly working up.

"Hey, my pussy's up here." I tried to imitate the sound of someone telling a man to quit staring at her boobs. Mike's snorted chuckle blew a tiny raspberry on my leg. That gave him the idea to blow a bigger one on my inner thigh, and we both cracked up.

I pulled him up to lie next to me, and hugged him. His penis was pressing against my hip-bone, so I rolled back and grabbed a condom from under the pillow. (Hey, what can I say. I'm a planner.) I tore open the foil, but hesitated.

"I shouldn't assume anything. What do you want to do?"

"I want to use that condom. First, I want to roll it onto my penis and second, put it in your pussy. Step three is to make you come, and then for step four I will come into the condom." God, he was delivering the lines as if he was wearing a lab coat and standing in front of a chalkboard. But then he returned to his normal voice. "Other than those basic steps, I'm open to ideas."

I put on my business-meeting voice. "Well, I'm glad to see we have the framework of an agreement. However, there may need to be a few points of detail that will need emphasizing." While speechifying, I had dipped a finger into my vagina to wet it. "For example, this point right here." I rubbed my slick finger over the hot tip of his penis.

"That is a good point, and I hope to prove it to you again and again." Mike palmed my mound and tickled a finger through the hair and into the fold.

I bucked upward so his finger slid over my wetness, and he began moving up and down, slicking his fingers in my inner lips and sliding them up over my clit.

"Oh... oh... oh... Mike, I can't focus to put the condom on you. I hate to say this, but stop."

Mike's hand was gone immediately. I gave him the condom and he rolled it on. I spread my legs and lifted my knees, and Mike entered me, carefully aligning his cock and pushing gently until he was well in. I gave him a welcoming squeeze. He put his arms around me, laying on his elbows, then kissed me as we began our slow hip rocking. I stared into his eyes, kissing all over his face. My hip motions were beginning to speed up and he matched me in pace and intensity. I could feel that he was following me, letting me lead and watching my responses. I found that timing a hip grind to his thrusts caused my clit and G spot to pulse together. We got that working in synch, and I soon began to grip him with my orgasmic contractions.

Mike's hips bottomed out and I could feel the first surge. I gripped his butt and pulled it in for the next three distinct surges, which were echoed by my own little cries and the rippling muscles in my pelvis.

"I... I didn't mean to come so fast." Mike wrapped the used condom in tissues and threw it away before lying back down.

"Fast can be good, Mike. You may have noticed I came just as fast. Don't fret, your dad's rule is unbroken. My orgasm started about three strokes before I felt you come."

Mike mumbled something, and closed his eyes. His arm was still across my stomach, and he cupped a breast, lazily circling my nipple. The circles grew slower as his breathing calmed, and he dozed off.

~~~~

Mike's big, loving, boisterous family had given him a very sane and healthy attitude toward relationships with others - sexual or not. His dad had given him two rules. One, mutual respect. Two, ladies first. Yes, Mike's father had clearly told him that he should make sure his partner is satisfied before allowing himself to orgasm.

I couldn't imagine my parents giving me sex advice. They tolerated each other, staying together and being civil "because Catholics can't get divorced." When I was about fourteen, I asked my mom why they still lived together.

"We are a family, in the eyes of God, the church, and the Internal Revenue Service. The last one I don't care about much, but I would rather do my time here without any more mortal sins."

"Oh, Mom, you make it sound like a jail sentence, or Purgatory."

"Maria, child, I'm sorry to burden you. It's not like that. Your father is a kind man and a good provider. And he's a good father to you."

I wasn't sure about that last one, so I just murmured, "I guess."

The next time Mom talked to me about men or relationships or anything was when I started going out with my friend Brandon from theater club. That was the scary one. Mom told me how horrible it was, being pregnant and horribly nauseated all the time. It was a shotgun wedding, Dad having to 'do the right thing' and 'make an honest woman out of her.'

She told me to be careful not to let "passion lead you into temptation and sin". That took a fair amount of unraveling with my therapist.

I was so looking forward to meeting Mike's parents and siblings. His stories were about having a sibling playmate whenever you wanted, about family games and adventures. He grew up knowing he had a secure place, and that he was accepted and loved unconditionally. The clever teases, games, and rituals they had together gave him strong verbal dexterity, and prepared him for my flirty games.

~~~~

Mike snorted and opened his eyes. "Oh! Did I fall asleep?"

"You are so cute when you sleep. But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes."

"Mmmm. Love you, Maria." He snuggled close to me, but kept eye contact as I smiled at him.

"Love you too, Mike."

It was well after five. I wanted to drift off in his arms, at peace with the world. But my stomach announced that it had other plans.

"I felt that." Mike sat up. "Hungry?"

"You guessed it. I set up for a stir-fry while you were doing homework." I got up and dressed. Mike went into my bathroom and washed his dick before dressing.

He saw me watching him and shrugged. "Just wanna stay fresh for later."

"Good. Come on down when you're ready."

~~~

I warmed the big frying pan and put in a quarter-cup of olive oil. As the oil heated, I gave the chicken one last stir in its marinade, then poured it all into the pan. The sesame-ginger dressing sent up a plume of sweet-smelling steam, and I stirred the chicken around to spread the oil and make sure every side was cooked. While the chicken was beginning to brown, I added one tablespoon of minced garlic, a half-teaspoon of dry ginger, and two tablespoons of garam masala. I stirred it in, then added the remains of the veggie tray. All those vegetables take different times to cook, but New Maria threw caution to the wind. I covered the pan to steam the veggies and dug around in the back of the fridge, finding a half-can of coconut milk that I'd saved. It was still good, so I stirred that in.

When I turned around, Mike was standing in the doorway. He sniffed the steam and came over to hug me. "That smells fantastic."

"I love to cook for my friends. Some people are fantastic friends and deserve fantastic smells. And speaking of fantastic friends, how hot do you like your food?"

"I can tolerate pretty spicy, but usually go for medium-spicy. The beef you got from Phong's last night was about right, or maybe a notch more heat."

I added one and a half teaspoons of red pepper flakes to the pan and stirred them in. "That ought to do it." I opened the rice cooker, which had just clicked off. "Can you go round up Bill and Abby? If their door is closed, knock before you go in."

Mike disappeared and came back momentarily with my hungry housemates. We dished up and sat to eat. This was the closest I had ever felt to being part of a family.

And I even got tucked in. Briefly.

~~~

The next day was a Monday. I woke to the alarm on my phone, as usual. I had to go to work, Mike had classes. For eight billion people, it was a completely unremarkable day. For me - I had to endure an unremarkable day when my weekend had been quite remarkable indeed. Mike was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He had some gym shorts on, but nothing else. I was looking at him side-on, and I could see the round bulge of his penis showing he wasn't totally limp, but not exactly ready for action. This could be fun.

I got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, still nude.

"G'morn, mike." I mumbled, stepping into the shower.

"Umm, (spit), good morning, Maria." I wanted to hear him say that every day. Maybe not spitting toothpaste in the middle

every

day, though.

I turned on the water and angled the spray head to keep it well inside the tub, leaving the shower curtain partly open. Mike was rinsing his toothbrush, looking at me in the mirror. I could see that no matter how he tried to play indifferent, he would be betrayed by the growing bulge in his gym shorts.

Using way too much body wash was a great way to make suds, so I lathered up my torso and began swirling my hands around my breasts. Mike had brought a small toiletries kit along, and put his toothbrush away. We made eye contact in the mirror, and I slid my soapy hands down my torso to my crotch.

Mike continued the game, slowly taking a razor and a little can of shave gel from his kit. His face was deadpan, but his boner was straining his shorts. He squirted some shaving gel into his hand and started rubbing it into his cheeks and chin. I turned sideways and put one foot on the edge of the tub, and started soaping up my naughty bits for real. I glanced over at the mirror. Mike was still holding the razor, which didn't look like it had any foam on it yet, near his face. I was glad he wasn't actually trying to shave, because he'd have cut himself and ruined the game. He was leaning forward on his other hand, looking down at his shorts. Finally he put the razor away and wiped his face down with a wet washcloth. He turned and faced me. "Can I call a time out for a rules question?"

"What?"

"It's fair, if everybody agrees." I nodded, and Mike continued. "Okay, I know we've played this before. But what are the stakes? Oral sex again?"

"Oh, afraid you're going to lose? You're being betrayed, you know."

"You didn't answer the question. I just wanted to know before I decided to give up." He glanced down. "Mind of its own, as the stereotype goes. Not that I disagree, of course."

I rinsed, then turned off the water. "Hand me a towel, please?". He did. "Thanks." I had kind of been hoping he'd start drying me off like I had him. It was the day before yesterday, or it might have been a life time ago.

Then I caught on. If he did, he'd lose the game. But if I tried to suggest anything, I'd lose the game. Not that the penalty would be horrible, it was oral sex after all.

I finished drying and hung the towel back up.

"The judge's decision is game called on account of horniness." Neither of us wanted to lose, but we'd both lose if we carried the game so far that we actually went to work without sex.

"I'm not going to appeal that, because the judge is too appealing." He dropped his shorts, revealing the spy that had given him away, but also lured me into a tie game. He turned and took one of our condoms from his toiletries kit. "Bed? Or did you want to try in here?"

I answered him by parking my butt on the edge of the sink and opening my legs. Mike got the condom on and stepped forward. I was a little too low, so Mike had to bend his knees to get his cock in position. He glanced at me and I nodded, so he straightened up and slid in.

I leaned back on my straightened arms, and put my legs around Mike's back, as high as I could. The angle was incredible. His thrusts were pressing along my G-spot, and our torsos angled apart enough for him to get a thumb on my clit. His circles swirled, I shook, and my pussy grabbed him and squeezed with all my abdominal muscles helping. It could barely have been a minute or two of sex, but Mike's fingers had learned what I like. And a lot of flirting foreplay helped too. Somehow, that really worked for us.

Click. The circles of sexual compatibility, according to Abby's model, were clicking together just like those of intellectual compatibility and physical attraction.

Why did orgasms sometimes put my brain into overdrive? I didn't know, and it wasn't always. But I was still overthinking, and during sex even.

Thankfully, Horny Maria was able to recover the situation, with the help of Mike licking my nipple. I arched my head back and let out a long sigh as the sensations finally overpowered me. Mike sensed my release, and let himself go. With the way I was leaned back, I couldn't really feel him filling the condom. But the butt-clench, the shiver, and the surge of his urethra pulsing were signs I had learned.

Mike withdrew, and I saw that he hadn't actually put out that much volume. I didn't say anything then, and later figured out that I had just drained him dry over the weekend. That was a reminder of how little I knew of real male sexuality. I hoped Mike would be forgiving and patient with me as we learned about each other.

I hopped down and saw my butt in the mirror. There was a huge red line across it, where I'd been sitting on the edge of the sink top. I turned around, bent over, and wiggled it at Mike. "Look, I'm a baboon in heat."

Mike laughed out loud at that, and hugged me close. "Nice view, though." I kissed him, softly, gently, tenderly. We could go from goofy to passionate to sappy-romantic in the space of a minute.

I stepped back, leaving my hand on Mike's cheek (which wasn't too stubbly on my palm. I wondered how it would feel against my inner thighs.) "I need to get dressed and eat breakfast. The rest of the world thinks it's Monday."

"Yeah, I have two classes, and then I gotta work on this programming project."

"Usually Bill cooks on Mondays. When he thinks about it, he's a pretty decent cook. But when he doesn't plan, he usually just gets delivery."

"So, should I get into the household chore schedule? We need to talk logistics and practical stuff some time."

"We'll talk about it at dinner. It will have to be a house decision."

We went down to the kitchen. Once again I was thankful for the automatic start on the coffee maker. There were still bagels from the other day, so I sliced a couple and started toasting them. "Mike. Butter or cream cheese?"

"What kind of bagel? It matters."

"This one's raisin"

Here we were, having a normal domestic breakfast time. And I could still feel the line the bathroom sink had made across my butt. That was our secret, concealed from everyone else. Even though it would fade, I knew I would get a little thrill this morning knowing that mark is there, the reminder of our passion.

Well, a more or less normal domestic breakfast, except for that. The toaster popped and I slathered cream cheese on the bagels. I passed the plate to Mike, who took one side and bit it hungrily. I started the second bagel, also raisin, and ate the other piece of the first. Of course the O'Connors would eat just half a bagel and share half. It was the logical thing when you had five kids who were too little to be patient.

~~~

We finished our breakfast. It was time to go to work. Back to normal, and I could do normal. I fired off a text to Cathy. "Lunch?"

I felt my phone buzz with her reply as I walked the mile-plus to work. I wasn't going to check yet - walking with your phone on a concrete sidewalk is asking for a broken screen. Plus, it was always good to be aware of your surroundings. So I pulled the phone out after I'd gotten to work, and got Cathy's message. It was an emoji of a plate and a question mark.

I started working on some of the lower-criticality stuff that went to the new person. That was fine, it helped me learn on easy stuff before getting to more important files. And this morning I was not giving 100%, so routine tasks were best for me today.

My phone buzzed again. I was on a roll and didn't want to break the pattern. It wasn't as good as cooking, but the flow state of bulk busywork was helping me think.