This is the fifth chapter of the Libidinous series. Please read the first four chapters before getting into this one. I do not anticipate getting back to this series any time soon, for I have many stories I want to write and need to set this aside while I get to the others.
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I woke Saturday morning the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon. Stretching as I got out of bed, I contemplated whether I wanted to work out or not. I decided a trip to the weight room to get some treadmill time would indeed be in order. I had the feeling it would be a long day, Ben's party was tonight; if I did not show up, all hell would break loose.
That was exactly what I was thinking about doing; however, no showing.
After dressing, I went down to the apartment complex's weight room. Getting on the treadmill, I started slowly, warming up. Eventually, I worked my way up to a jog, plodding away until I worked up a nice sweat. I am not what you would call a graceful jogger. Despite the years of karate, the occasional work out, and absolute devotion to steam saunas, when I ran, I plodded along. Each step landing on the treadmill sounded like someone beating on a kettledrum in time with my stride. Struck by the contrast between my lumbering stride and at the fluid easy gait of Tara on the treadmill, I drudged through 30 minutes on the contraption. As I cooled off, sweat poured from me like Niagara Falls, soaking through my clothes so badly that it felt like I had run through a smelly vat of water.
After the thirty minutes of the dreadful din, I headed into the steam sauna. Cranking the time to 60 minutes, I lay down in my customary spot to relax. I discovered it was nice to have the place to myself; it was calm, woman free all until the ding of the timer. My heart was hammering away in my chest for a long time, jogging was not exactly something I did frequently. Eventually I settled down which allowed me to enter that semi-conscious dream state where time slows down considerably, and your senses heighten just enough that the condensation dripping from the ceiling of the wet sauna was as loud as a cloudburst unloading on a tin roof.
I laid there thinking of what Tara had said about my not being ready for a commitment. I knew she was right. Hell I had said the same thing to Bianca and Ginny not an hour previous to her repeating it to me. Although I did not like it the least, I knew she was right. I had to get out of my marriage before it was even fair to anyone to think about a relationship. I also knew that my current wants and needs ran excessively lascivious about any chick I saw in general.
Sighing, I left the steam room after the timer went off. I headed toward my apartment to shower, dress, and then face the day. After the shower, I fixed breakfast, which I took into the bedroom that I had converted to a home office. I ate while checking emails, websites, blogs and tweets to catch up a little.
There was a PM from Sarah on the one website. Clicking on it showed a photo of Sarah kneeling naked. Head bowed down, legs spread wide apart. Sarah's hairless pussy was glistening; the labium was swollen, open wide, ready for a cock to invade her. I reacted predictably to the highly erotic photo. I sat there staring at her, focusing primarily between her legs. Sarah had that secretive little smile on her face again, or maybe still. Her arms wrapped around her back, thrusting her glorious tits forward. One of my favorite positions. After all these years, she still knew it, and assumed the position naturally.
Grabbing my cell phone, I pulled up the texted photos that someone sent me of her pussy. I knew they were different vaginas, but verification is always good. I was surprised that there was a new text. It came in during the wee hours of the night. Two small hands were spreading the labium wide, allowing the photograph a good shot of the opening to her core. There was no commentary to this photo unlike the prior ones, but she was clearly excited.
Putting the phone aside, I turned back to the photo of Sarah. I cannot -will not- deny that seeing her made my heart beat a little harder. I sighed heavily, thinking that I was too damn old to be having all of these pubescent thoughts. All of the good times she and I had, flooded back into my memory like a flashflood. The first night at my apartment, making her beg at the door for forty minutes because she was 20 minutes late, started it all off. By the time I finished reliving that one particular event, my cock was quivering so badly that it was vibrating like a tuning fork in my boxers.
What the fuck, I decided. I typed a message back to her that merely read, address. I left the Inbox up for the website while I turned back to the phone and looked at the text message again.
I looked at the sweet pussy pulled wide open, then I replied back, "Let's meet, tonight." I also gave her the address to the mall. It was a long shot, but after several texts of her pussy, I was dying to meet her. The phone was halfway to the desk when it began vibrating again. I opened the text, my mouth watered instantly.
It was a close up of her clit. The lens could not have been more than a couple inches away from it when the photo was shot. You could see the pores of her labia, the slick glistening of her inner skin. It was incredible. The message that came with it was interesting. It read, "Are you willing to beg for it?"
I snorted in response, thinking of a reply. I settled for, "There are roughly 3.1 billion pussies to 2.9 Billion cocks. You beg!" I had no idea if I could get control of the situation this way or not, but I was going to either succeed, or push her away. Either case is a win, really.
I put the phone down. Leaning back in the chair, I pondered what I was going to do with my day until I decided whether I was going to Ben's tonight, or not. I got up and finished dressing in Dockers and a golf shirt. Might as well get a haircut, it would kill a little time, besides, I needed one anyway.
Arriving at the mall, I went into one of the salons, which got me put on a wait list for about forty minutes. Having some time to kill I wandered around the mall until I found the bookstore where I bought one novel, and three political books. I had plenty of crap at the apartment to read, just no time. Adding to the pile somehow did not make sense, yet I did it anyway. I suppose I could stop chasing so much pussy, but when you get down to it, I am a philogynist. Politics earned me a great living, but my love was for the female body, in all its wondrous shapes and sizes. I would much rather screw a woman than anything else. For that matter, doing anything in the presence of a woman was better than not.
Especially if the woman involved is not your soon to be ex-wife.
Sitting in the incredibly uncomfortable chair at the salon, I began reading one of the books. I became so engrossed in it that I did not hear her approaching me until she cleared her throat. I looked up and a cute woman stood before me. Her body was a near perfect hourglass; her hair was stylish, a little on the short side, and black as a raven. "Shane?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I am Apple; I will be your stylist today."
Before I could stop myself, and heard my voice playfully ask, "Tart, pie, or fresh off the tree?"
She giggled, and said, "Well, I would guess pie." She turned and started heading back into the depth of the salon and said over her shoulder, "Follow me."
My eyes stuck to her ass swaying as she sauntered along thinking, "Gladly." She had a tight trim body, no excessive fat anywhere. It appeared she had small pert tits, and I imagined that they fit well within each of my hands. My mind immediately came up with the analogy of apple sized breasts, and I barely stifled the moan at the mental pun.
She stopped at a chair and I sat feeling the back of her knuckles on my neck as she put the nylon apron over me. One hand on my shoulder, she ran the other hand through my hair, asking, "What am I doing with it today?"
I stifled the moan that threatened to rise and said, "Whatever you want, if anyone asks who did it, I will give them your name."
Apple giggled again and tugged gently at my hair, "Oh the pressure," she quipped.
She grabbed a pair of scissors and began working on my hair after wetting it with a spray bottle. I asked, "Been here long?"
"No, just about a month, I was upstairs for a year before a spot opened here."
Haircuts can be one of the most sensual acts in the world. Two people in close proximity for twenty to thirty minutes; in my mind, it could only be better if both parties were naked through the process. Body parts always seemed to press against you while in the chair, and I can never help imagining what could happen. I guess you could call it a fantasy of mine to have a hair stylist seduce me while she was cutting my hair.
"More money here?" I asked eyes half closed.
