The funeral
On the morning of the funeral, I awoke drenched in sweat before daylight, dreaming about Dan. We were in the back bedroom at his grandmother's house. I was perusing the family pictures crowded on the wall, cornered into every conceivable space. There was an antique dresser and mahogany armoire. The four posted queen was covered in a soft, floral spread. A jade reading lamp with a mauve linen shade glowed on the bedside table.
"Shall we open the blinds?" I asked. Dan shook his head and maneuvered my butt towards the mattress. We kissed. His hands casually roamed over my body. "You're making me wet, baby. We shouldn't be back here. You know this isn't right."
"Let me decide where you should be, Meg." Dan rolled his wet tongue up the center of my throat, planting kisses down my neck to my uncovered clavicle. "I like this black, off the shoulder dress," he said. "Are you wearing anything underneath?"
I sucked in a breath, heart pounding in my chest. I had no idea what I was wearing... no recollection of dressing myself or even how we both got in that room. "I always wear underwear to funerals."
I wanted this time to be an exception.
Dan unzipped me from behind and slid the silky, smooth fabric down my body. I wore a strapless demi-bra with matching sheer panties which he admired in the mirror above the dresser. I ogled myself as he tested the moisture between my legs, his lips teasing the exposed skin on my back.
"We shouldn't," I warned, but I was soaked and submissive, abashed by the way he made me needy when we touched. He was going to make me come. I was going to watch him do it... his tantalizing fingers draping back the damp material that shielded my weeping crease. He knew I would scream and placed his palm across my face just in time.
I finished my climax by licking the deep lifeline that wrapped around the base of his thumb, the uninterrupted map of his predestination so deliciously intertwined with my own. "Let's get rid of these," he murmured, unhooking my bra and simultaneously dispensing with my panties. The rustic, pine floor accepted his intimate offerings that he carelessly tossed towards the door.
Dan bent me across the floral duvet supported by my elbows, my modest breasts dangling, swaying as he spread and entered me, roughly impatient, ready to paint me white with his turbulent artistry.
I loved watching him bang me in the mirror, the sheer energy of his thrusts, muscles flexing in his arms and chest. His dick was like a dagger, and I wanted to be murdered, made bloody with his raucous contempt for our secrecy.
Moments before his release - just prior to that final irreverent groan in front of all those framed faces on the wall, distant relatives who were watching our adulterous fuck - I heard the unmistakable clogging of her old lady shoes, and I was shocked at Dan's unfathomable apathy.
"We have to hide," I whispered urgently, her footsteps approaching. Dan ignored my agitation and gripped my ass cheeks with his preemptive masculine fortitude.
"I'm coming," he told me, eyes burning through the glass in our reflection. The slick heat made a hollow, wet sound... sloppy and penetrating, unmistakably sensual, the final muffled notes of my drummer pounding solo as he splattered my labia with semen.
I barely felt him pull me under the bed. Suddenly we were silent as the door creaked open, peering across the floor while she stepped in and surveyed the room. Though my dress was safely hidden, my lingerie remained piled inconspicuously beyond the half-light, uncertain to survive this unanticipated inspection.
She turned on a dime and exited unexpectedly, but from the dusty, drab emptiness of the hallway, she called out like a disgruntled ghost, "I'd like to see both of you in the kitchen when you're through."
I flipped over on my back and looked up at the boxsprings. Panic gave way to exasperated embarrassment. I felt tears dribbling out of my eyes.
"She'll get over it," Dan said. "She never liked Susan even after we married. She's always had a soft spot for you." He hauled me out from under the bed, sliding me between two bedposts.
"But Dan, your grandmother is dead."
"Of course she is," he smiled complacently. "What's your point?"
***
Standing in the shower, I let the warm water massage my face. I left Andy sleeping and folded the sheets back on my side of the bed, giving them ample opportunity to dry. I was saturated inside and out. I needed to clean up. I needed to prepare for the service.
Dan's father had died when he was young. His mother took off with some guy from Brazille just a year after Dan finished college. She infrequently called, and she never returned, not even for the funeral when she was contacted.
Dan was left to take care of his grandmother which meant he would likely inherit the estate. It didn't seem like much, but sometimes you might be surprised what frugal old ladies tuck away.
"I'd like for you and Andy to sit with me in the family section, that is... if you both would be willing. It's rather vacant of first-degree relatives, though nieces and nephews abound.
"We'd be honored to sit with you," my husband responded. Admittedly, I wasn't surprised nor upset by Dan's request. I was surprised, however, by Dan's seating arrangement with Andy and I positioned on either side of him. Dan squished me against the end of the pew to his left where our hips snugly pressed together.
As the service continued, he gently laid his hand on my thigh. I laced my fingers firmly into his powerful fist and smiled at him supportively. His eyes graced my body before coming to rest on my complexion. His finger drew circles in my palm. He was making me wet, and I was hugely apprehensive.
Even Dan could sense my throws of confusion. Had he known about my dream, he would probably have been even more aggressive.
At the graveside, I spotted her way in the back. She had come without Vic, dressed in a sleek, fitted mini that hugged her figure like black body paint, the hemline halfway up her thigh. Her blonde hair contrasted brightly with the ebony sheen, and her shoes were strapped stiletto sandals.
"Maybe you should go talk to her," I suggested to Dan after he looked at me inquisitively for the third freaking time. "I'm not saying it's appropriate she should be here, but she did make the effort to pay her respects."
Dan had caught Susan screwing Vic back in December, slightly more than eight months earlier. No one could have expected their relationship to be amicable by now. Still, there she was, looking hotter than ever, like a slut waiting for a ride to Vegas in the shiny stretch limo parked directly behind her.
"Come with me," Dan requested.
"Oh, I don't know. It's been a while since I've talked to your ex. I'm not sure it's such a good..."
"Come with me, Meg." Dan was adamant. He took my hand and marched me towards the cars lined up at the back of the cemetery. Susan posed suggestively against the front of the hearse. The vision had a lurid appeal.
"Hey, Dan." Susan stretched out her welcoming arms as he slowly withdrew from my grip. The two of them embraced, her fingernails tracing his perfectly curved spine and finally tangling in his hair as their hug dragged on more lasciviously. I felt like hurling across the hood of the car.
"I'm coming by the house with some food later on... deviled eggs. I know you like those."
"We're receiving guests at Clara's for the rest of the evening. It would be sweet of you to drop by. You don't need to bring anything." Dan touched her bare arm gently with cautious hesitation. I nearly lurched between the two of them to shove her away.
