After a Life

The water pounded down around us and I slapped Kayley's pretty ass, making her squeal and giggle as she threw it back on my dick. With both hands on the tile wall of the large shower stall, she pushed her torso down, almost horizontal, and I watched the water splatter on her back, pooling and splattering off of her skin as I slapped against her hips into her pussy.

Kayley's hips ground and swiveled, she was ready to wrap up, encouraging me to cum by locking down on my shaft and working it with her velvet sleeve. My hands dug into her hips, the sleek Pilates toned flesh of her ass strong, my cock buried in her to the hilt. I came into my wife's waiting pussy. Overwhelmed by the sensations of her, the slick tightness, the heat, and her gentle motions, she coaxed the last of my spunk into her hungry slit.

Slipping off of me, she turned and bent to kiss my softening cock, cleaning it up with her hand under the hot spray. "Now get out, Hemingway, I have to get ready for school."

*

Kayley and I were married at 26, those annoying people who'd fallen in love the moment we set eyes on each other at 19, together since early in the first semester at University.

We'd done all the young love things. We'd finished school, endured the months apart while she finished her practical teaching in a small reserve town in Nunavut, and I bartended my way through delivering a dissertation, and we had a shitty apartment with scavenged furniture.

After the wedding, Kayley worked as an elementary teacher, while I struggled with writing, still bartending at The Blue Whale, writing on my nights off, trying for any writing work I could get. Every so often, I'd sell a short story. Kay would hold me and kiss my neck from behind, promising me it would all work out.

She was a stunner, had been since she was a strange girl standing in my doorway in rez, daisy dukes and a crop top, shouting at me in my sweats for standing her up. Her long blonde hair had hung down to her butt, tied into a loose ponytail to fit the cowboy hat she wore. Bright blue eyes shone at me, red, kissable lips snarling locked my attention. I guessed she was five-five, maybe one-ten. Plump b-cups, a narrow waist, and an ass you could bounce quarters off.

I had no idea what she was talking about, never having seen the beautiful drunk girl before, but knowing that I'd never forget her. "You've got the wrong room, but I can make you a coffee if you'd like." Embarrassed, we'd sat in the hall and talked for two hours while she sobered up.

---

Eventually, I'd finally had to admit I couldn't bartend for Bob at The Blue Whale any longer and wait on my big break. I'd gotten a real job at twenty-eight. I still helped out here and there, and we went in for a drink. Bob and The Blue Whale had become family, the old Bloor Street strip near High Park a never-ending rise and fall of old businesses replaced by empty stores, and eventually a Starbucks or a chain pet food store.

Five years later, I was the manager of a technical writing team doing documentation and instructional videos for an app. It was a good job, we were making enough to think about a house. We'd been trying for kids, if only an egg would take hold. Our doctor was nice, but not hopeful. Kayley felt constant guilt about it, and I tried to assure her that it would be okay. We got a little frenchie that she named Baxter. He'd come to the office with me, riding in a little doggie basket on my bike when it was warm.

One night after a heartbreaking pregnancy test, we left Baxter at home and went for a drink. Bob insisted that I take the pint on him when he saw Kayley's downcast face. "Onna house, Wyatt," the white haired older man insisted. He'd always adored her, telling me I was like the son he'd never had, 'an' that angel is the wife you hit the lotto on.' He was over sixty by then, creeping to seventy, thin, working off his cheeseburgers through hauling kegs and slinging pints.

We'd sat making small talk enjoying those beers when a crash came from the kitchen. Bob had suffered a heart attack, a big one. Two weeks later, me and Kay are in a lawyers office with Bob's estranged son, Gregory. The lawyer looked at Gregory, a sour man a couple years older than me, confirmed his identity, and handed him the deed to the bar.

Then he looked at Kay and I, confirmed we were us, and informed us that Bob left us his house.

*

The house wasn't much to look at, but, it was a house. A detached house. In Toronto in 2016, that was a hell of a gift for a couple nearing their middle-thirties. Two bedrooms upstairs, a huge bathroom, a big downstairs with a huge kitchen and dining room, a nice little study with a fire place at the front, an addition at the back for a living room. It took six months to clean and fix up, getting the "old man spunk" smell out, as Kay called it, but it was ours. Oh, we'd had to spend a little money on fending off Gregory, but the will was rock-solid.

Kay spent months taming the back yard. It'd been overgrown to the point that we had no idea how deep it was until she'd cut back decades of vines and weeds. Bob had pretty much just sat on the deck drinking beer and barbecuing, but never even mowed.

The house itself was just south of Bloor street, one of the main east-west corridors through town, a few blocks before the outer edge of High Park began. It was like a Hobbit house in many ways, at least that was what Kay called it. We loved it, slowly settling in.

It wasn't long until Kayley was running naked through the house demanding that I catch her. When I did, I'd take my time with her, torturing her for her crimes, glad that we didn't have neighbours who shared a wall as she was a vocal prisoner when her pussy was eaten or fucked. She particularly objected to being bent over the couch in the front room where my study was, and being dick-searched for contraband.

Her fantasies would get pretty out there and schlocky, and I was right with her for the ride.

*

Three years later, we were both thirty-six, and the winter was in full swing. "Have you heard back from that publisher yet," she asked me that morning after the shower.

"Nope, you know how it is, now that they've talked to me, they'll ignore me until they need pages for the next issue or for some collection they're putting together," I told her pulling on my pants. I kind of hoped I wouldn't hear from the publisher today. I had employee reviews all day, and I'd be in a meeting non-stop. I'd become a reliable source of short stories to fill page counts. A good hand, but not fated for a marquee. It helped pay bills, and kep me honest, though.

"I'll probably just give them some choices from the slush drawer." She rolled her eyes as she checked her hair in the mirror.

"Wyatt, come on, give them something new. The new stuff is fresh." I thought on it, my writing had slowed since I got a real job, it was harder to find time to come up with ideas, but they still trickled through sometimes.

"I'll try," I promised. She kissed me, walking to the door.

"Good! You'll do great," she kissed me and ran out the door.

That was the last time I saw my wife of ten years.

---

I was in a performance review, trying to explain the HR team's latest grading fever dream to a staff member when my boss came into the room without knocking. Surprised, I turned to her with a comical frown, "hey Cam, we're just in uh..," I'd trailed off watching the look on her face. Cam was a badass executive with a long black ponytail, she was usually driven and focused, but also a really great boss. Today she looked shattered, and I could see she was holding back tears. It occurred to me that the company might be folding.

"You need to call this number back," she held my phone out to me. It'd been sitting on my desk so I wouldn't get texts during my reviews. "They called the main line when you didn't answer."

I took the phone and tapped the number that had called me five times in a row, putting the phone to my ear. A tired voice answered.

The car that hit Kayley was driven by one of her students. He'd been showing off for his friends while she crossed the road to the school, hustling the seven blocks because I'd made her late by taking too long in the shower.

Kayley saw the car coming as it hit the patch of ice, and they told me she'd almost ducked out of the way, but the kid was an inexperienced driver, and his eyes had locked onto her, and in his fear, he went right for her.

===================================

Life sort of tunnel-visioned after that, skipping to events with very little that I can recall in between.

Mike, an old buddy from the bar who'd worked under me, now ran a programming team at the office and had gotten me the job, waited outside the meeting room. Our coworkers all knew something was up.

My sister, her big pregnant belly comically in the way, getting me from work. I wanted to drive, but she wouldn't let me.

Kayley's parents, her sisters, in my house, holding me and crying. Her father hugging me. My mom mooned around the house for three days, telling me what a tragedy this was until my sister finally forced her to go home.

The funeral. All I remember are snapshots in my mind. I think I spoke? I don't recall. Every day was like molasses. Every day was a blur. Every day felt like I was walking through fog.

The company gave me two months to get myself together. They could afford to pay me that long as a long-standing manager. I thanked the CEO and head of HR when they told me, Camilla holding my gaze with her pretty almond-shaped eyes.

I stayed at home mostly. I walked the streets at night with Baxter, just thinking, watching my little dog snuffle around the world.

The second month I wrote. Loss and loneliness drove my fingers to dance on the keyboard. Something had to make sense, so it was stories. Baxter would sit in his bed in my study - he had a bed in almost every room of the house - and would occasionally whine to remind me to feed both he and I. As the month wound down, I was in the yard enjoying the fresh late-March air, playing fetch with him one day when a voice knocked me out of my haze.

"Wyatt?"

Turning, I stared at the fence, Baxter bolted to the woman, yapping excitedly in his rusty little voice as Camilla stepped into my back yard. I reminded myself to smile, watching her kneel on her sensible lifts to pet Baxter, cooing at him, telling him she missed him. He was a ladies man, and would spend entire days at the office wandering desk to desk of every woman there, mooching treats, pets, and of course bestowing the honour of being his work mom. Camilla had won that one a little too often for Kayley's liking too.

Camilla wore a fairly typical outfit for her, knee length grey boss skirt, black top that showed just enough of her modest chest to be appropriately sexy, light jacket. Her strong calves flexed as she knelt to pet Baxter, her thick butt resting on them. "Hey Cam, I... did you call me," trying to remember if I'd missed a call or text from her.

She looked up, little nose on her round face, the slightly pointed chin and wide lips twisting to a slightly lopsided smile. "I did, but you never answered," she replied, standing. She was only five-three, black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, highlighting lightly tan skin that lit up into a golden tan when she was in the sun, a strange quirk of her Cuban ancestry.

The blouse she wore today was tucked into the skirt, set high on her wide hips. "I've been wanting to check on you, see how you're doing." She looked around the yard, seeing that it was cut and clear, "also... well.... if you're ready to come back next week?"

I frowned, "next week?" Camilla gave me a chaste co-worker hug, holding her big bag out on one arm as her other wrapped around me, hand clutching my shoulder. Out of habit, I responded with a matching one-arm hug.

She looked up at me the eight-ish inches between us, not breaking the hug "yeah, next week. Five days." Cam put her hand to my chest, looking at me with big, worried eyes. "Wyatt, I know you're not okay, but are you eating? You're skinny. We can maybe do something to extend-"

I stepped back from her, the warmth of her hand reminding me of Kayley putting her hand on my chest when I'd had a bad day and was ranting, calmly staring at me until I wound down. "Uh, shit, no, it's okay, I kinda want to get back to work, to be honest. I need something to keep me on a schedule." I forced a smile.

Camilla smiled wanly, nodding slightly. That was one of her little tells to let you know she smelled your bullshit. "Uh huh."

Suddenly desperate to prove to her that I could handle going back to work, I glanced at my phone, a reminder to make dinner that went off at 5:45 dinging and held it up, "see? Remembering to eat." I looked at the house. "I was just gonna have a burger on the barbecue, maybe grill some veggies with it? You want to hang out?"

She stepped back from me, smiling and looking at the ground, "oh, oh, I can't." I saw a flush that Kayley had spotted once and I'd ignore many times. We'd had a housewarming, and Camilla and a few folks from work had come. After, Kayley had been climbing into bed with me and I asked her what she thought of my team. 'Your boss has a crush on you. She giggles when you talk to her," she'd said, turning her back to me. I'd been confused, I'd never believed it.

"C'mon," I cajoled Cam, "you're worried about me, and I'm not okay, yeah, but I can still grill dinner. I'm just spacey because I've been cooped up."

Cam pushed a few stray hairs that framed her pretty face behind her ear and looked up at me with her dark eyes. I'd always known she was pretty, beautiful even. I'd never let myself notice, but her hand, no longer on my chest, it's heat burned there still. "I..," she thought, shaking her head, "sure, okay."

---We headed inside, and I got to cooking while Camilla browsed my bookshelves, a tallboy dangling from one hand.

"What's with all the magazines," she pointed to a stack of random journals and magazines that were laid out on the dining room table. I'd been going through my published stories, convinced I could find the Rosetta Stone in the ones that editors chose.

I shrugged, glancing at them, "oh, those are the magazines I've had stories published in. I've been writing a lot, trying to figure that out." She picked up a men's magazine and grimaced at the cover, looking at me questioningly. "Trust me," I laughed, "that wouldn't be in this house if I hadn't gotten something printed in it. Kayley would've never let it in the door."

"Pretty cool, though," she said, flipping it open to find my story, "I didn't know you were, like, a really real writer."

I formed a hamburger patty, wondering if the bbq would be up to heat yet. "Yeah, well, as much as the odd short story can make you one. It's hell to get published that way anymore. Has been since the internet ate up all the magazines, and I can't seem to get a manuscript picked up."

She poked her head in the kitchen, "wait, you have books you wrote? Like actual books?"

I pointed to my study, "yeah, above my desk, all the ones with the plastic binding."

Camilla disappeared into my study with Baxter at her heels, and I tried to not watch her firm bottom groove back and forth in her skirt as she zipped away.

---We ended up eating on the deck so that Baxter could play and show off for Camilla. She was curious about what little of a publishing career I had. We'd always gotten along well. In the five years I'd been on the job, I'd had three heads to report to before her, but since she joined up, she'd owned the gig, which was particularly impressive for such a young woman. Most execs were forty and up.

She'd once asked me why I didn't go for her job before she'd come in, and I shrugged and told her I didn't want it, which was true. I'd gotten to my level, I was paid well, and didn't feel the need to rise higher. Seeing my stories, I think she finally understood. We sat down on the deck, digging into burgers and grilled veggies, chatting idly a lot like we did at work. I got us a second round when I saw her can was low and there was still food on her plate, my bartender instincts kicking in. We'd been chatting for a while when I glanced over and saw she'd emptied her second.

"D'you want another," I asked, pointing to her drained beer. My own was empty, and I wanted an excuse to run inside and hit the washroom quickly. It was nice having someone to talk to in person. My sister had been checking in non-stop, my mom occasionally, but she was a month away from a baby dropping and had a lot on her plate.

"I probably shouldn't," Camilla told me, "it's getting late." It was all of seven, but I understood. At a certain point a low-key hang between two people of the opposite sex starts to toe the line of a date no matter what you do.

I raised my hands in defeat, "no worries. It's been fun to hang out and chat."

Camilla smiled, not a closed-lipped smile, but a big open one, "yeah, it has. I'm glad we did this."

I stood, waving my hands over the table, "listen, I'm about to burst, just let me run in quick. I'll take care of this after, you just chill. I'll grab your bag."

Running in, I spotted her bag on the couch in the extension, and ran upstairs, relieving myself quickly. I came back down to find her in the kitchen, rinsing plates. "Hey, whoah, I said to leave that for me," I reached to take a plate from Cam as she rolled her eyes at me.

"Like I'd leave you to clean up after you cooked," she pulled the plate away from me, laughing lightly as she reached for the platter I'd picked up to stop her cleaning, "give me that."

Camilla's hand brushed on mine as she pulled the platter from my hand and she locked eyes with me. Her ponytail had loosened, more of the shorter hairs from her bangs loosely hanging around her wide, high cheekbones, and her smile was playful. I couldn't help hold back my laughter as I stepped back, still holding the platter, "no way, boss, let me-"

Not letting go, she tipped, her low heels twisting under her awkward stance, eyes wide as she tilted, "shit!" The platter fell from our hands, landing safely in the dishwasher between us, and I grabbed her around the waist to stop her fall.

"Whoa!" I pulled her close to prevent her from falling across the open dishwasher front, "you okay?"

Camilla stared up at me, and then slowly down to my crotch, pressed firmly against her own. The bulge of my erect cock was hard against her, the lightly knit fabric of her skirt not enough to hide that, I hadn't had much of a sex drive since Kayley had died. I'd barely even rubbed one out in the nearly three months since... and Cam was so warm down there, lips parting just a bit to invite me in... I could feel it through my cargoes, and I could feel that old nervous, hungry tingle in my balls.

A shuddering sigh escaped Cam's lips, and she moved her hips against me, my engorged crown caught against her shallow valley. Her mouth opened as she pressed to me. "Oh... um... Wyatt," Cam tried to steady herself, I didn't let her go, holding her to me, frozen. She didn't break eye contact with me. "Oh fuck it."

Camilla pressed her lips to mine as I hauled her close, grinding my cock into he, she responded, pulling her body to mine so I could pick her up. The skirt too tight to get between her legs, I pushed her into the wall, her lips locked to mine as our tongues frantically explored the other's mouth.

"My skirt..," she breathed. I pulled it up her thighs, grabbing her ass to lift her onto my hips. The round globes of her cheeks felt so good in my hands, warm, muscular, the heat of her pussy through the sheer fabric of sensible panties lit me on fire, and I pressed my bulging cock in it's prison against her hard.

"Ahhh oh my god," she gasped as we dry humped against the wall, tongues duelling. Cam's sensible blouse went over her head, exposing her pert breasts to me, bouncing pointed nipples, brown and erect.