CHAPTER 2: LIFE SHIFT
What does it say that I wasn't feeling guilty? Okay, that's not quite accurate. Saturday morning I rose earlier than Stan, a common occurrence, and nervously sat at the kitchen table with coffee and an English muffin. Stan finally came into the kitchen still half asleep.
"You were out late last night," he commented as he took a mug from the cabinet and filled it. As he sat down and reached for the morning paper, he added, "You must have had a good time." He scanned the front page before flipping a couple sections back to the Financial section. "I'm glad. You deserve it." With that amount of curiosity, he was deep into the financial news of the day.
I thought, 'I do deserve some good times, damn it.' But this was what our life had come to. Stan was a Senior Account Manager in a large corporation covering all of North America. He worked long hours when he was home in the office but traveled frequently, many times for full weeks or even two weeks if it meant taking advantage of minimizing excess travel by staying in a region over the weekend. I was never sure if that was a company thing or something Stan chose to do to show his commitment. There was no doubt he was on the way up and he was already bringing in a good salary but his work and travel left little opportunity for us to take advantage of the income. I continued to work not because we needed the income but to give me something to keep me busy.
Stan had gone to bed early and apparently hadn't worried about how late I was. 'I deserved to have a good time'. Damn, I thought, but wasn't that a good time!
Stan was leaving for a business trip, again. Sunday afternoon. He said something about not being able to get connections to arrive in time for his early Monday meeting in Vancouver. I stood at the front door as he pulled his suitcase down the sidewalk to his car he had washed and detailed earlier in the day (it was just going to sit in an airport garage, for crying out loud). He stopped.
"I won't be back until Saturday," he announced with a resigned sigh. "Late last meeting and bad connections. Sorry." He turned and stopped, again. "Why don't you have fun this Friday. Whatever it was you did last time that you seemed to enjoy so much, do it again." Then, he was gone. I stood there stunned. He probably thought I was waiting to see him off. I know what he would have meant. It wasn't what I heard, though.
"Did he just give me permission," I mumbled to myself? A huge smile grew over my face. "I could sure take it that way."
I had planned on a soothing bath to get ready for the workweek. I made it better with a glass of wine, candles, and soothing music. With the wine glass emptied and the hot water definitely soothing me, my fingers found their way between my legs. It hadn't been part of my plan but it felt very good. With one hand between my legs stroking my pussy, the other was fondling a breast and nipple. My mind wandered as I enjoyed the feelings. My mind wandered to Jerome. His wonderful, hard, thick, long, and black penis. Then, what else he did to my pussy. His mouth and tongue and lips. God, how wonderful that had been.
I stroked my pussy and felt the pussy hair there. Oral sex wasn't a part of sex with Stan. I wondered about Jerome and how easily he gave it to me. I felt the hair. I wondered... would oral sex be better, more enjoyable without the hair? I'm not sure I consciously made a decision. I had shaved my legs and pits so the razor was right there. I trimmed the hair and shaved it before I really thought too much. The only thought came when I did make the decision to leave trimmed hair above. Wickedly, I considered that Stan might not be wiser if that was left. It wasn't like he went down there, anyway.
That next week I puzzled over what I was doing shaving my pussy. Did I really think Jerome and I would somehow find each other, again? We didn't even know each other's full names much less contact information. Nonetheless, I shaved it every other day. But it was more than that. I masturbated to the thoughts of that night twice during the week. So, late Thursday afternoon when one of the girls stopped at my cubicle to ask if I'd be interested in going out Friday night, I asked where. They were planning to go to one of their old favorites which was not the club. No, I begged off, I'd just take care of myself. The implication being that I was staying home. I knew better right then.
"What are you doing here?" The voice behind me as I moved through the crowded club stopped me. The strong hands that then held my shoulders sent a shiver through me.
I turned, his hands moving with me, ending with them still on my shoulders as I faced him. The music was loud, people milling and talking around us, but I only saw him... Jerome, all 6' 2", 200 pounds of the strong, confident, exciting black man. "This is probably going to sound desperate, but... I... was hoping to see you."
He smiled, took my arm, and led me to a booth on the side of the dance floor with a reserved sign on it. It was the same booth as last week. "Me, too."
I almost collapsed into the booth. He was hoping to see me, too? I had felt like a silly, desperate, married woman seeking something lost in my life. Maybe I was but he felt something, too. All I knew was I wanted to see him, again. All I focused on was that he wanted to see me, again.
It was about 8:00 when I entered the club. He complimented me on how I was dressed. I wore a shorter, tighter skirt and a semi-sheer white blouse. I didn't leave from work but changed at home, fortifying myself with a glass of wine in the process. The blouse was unbuttoned to the point of exposing my bra. The bra was a sexy one I had for special and provided a lot of cleavage and less support. He seemed to enjoy the sight of my breasts moving more freely based on the number of times I caught him looking.
During a slow dance, his hands slid down my back to my ass. I felt him inch the hem of my skirt higher as he pulled my hips into his. I buried my face into his shoulder as the feelings rose within me: The feel of his body against me; the exhibition feel of more leg being exposed to others around us as my skirt bunched below my ass. I was breathing ragged when he raised my face to him and kissed me on the lips on the dance floor. I moaned into his mouth. His hand moved from my ass up my side to partially hold my breast. I groaned into his mouth and shivered.
"If we leave now, we'll have more time."
I nodded as I looked into his eyes. Yes, I wanted to. I pressed my hips into him and felt him. Yes, I wanted that. I desperately wanted that.
It started as a repeat of last week. He took my hand and hurried us out of the club into the parking lot. I recognized his flashy sports car as we approached. Instead of being pressed up against the low top, though, he lifted me onto the hood, parted my legs, and stepped between them. We kissed and he pulled me forward to press into his hips and penis. The action forced my skirt higher until I could feel the cooler metal of the hood on my pantyhose-covered thighs and butt. His hands found my legs as we kissed and he moved them up to my thighs, pushing the skirt even higher. I could feel the night air to the top of my thighs through the thin pantyhose material. It sent my excitement and need spiking higher. I had never been exposed like this in public. What if someone came out? What if someone saw me like this? I didn't care. New experiences. That was what he said he could give me. I wanted more.
"I want to fuck you," he calmly said with our lips touching.
"OH GOD, YES," I gasped back. "Yes... please... I want to feel you inside me, again. God," I gasped, "I want that feeling again."
He stepped back with me sitting on his car with legs apart and skirt pushed to my hips. "Damn... you are a sexy woman, Trish."
