I'd like to acknowledge MissZ for editing this story. If you find the story lacking it certainly wasn't her fault as I didn't take all her advice.
As with all authors, if this story touches you positively or negatively I want to hear from you.
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They converse on an over-stuffed brown, leather sofa. Andy is introspective and suspicious of beautiful women. Marcia patiently waits for him, encouraging him to believe with warmth and wit. Afraid she will carelessly tear the soft underbelly of his self-image, he resists, but there is no denying his aching desire to fall under her spell. I know what will follow; I can see it all.
Marcia sits with one leg folded under, facing him with elbow propped on the back of the couch. Andy stiffly looks straight ahead speaking in monotone abundantly aware of her scrutiny. She unconsciously casts her spell - smiles, interested questions, warm eye contact. Slowly she coaxes the best from him. He soon speaks animatedly, gesticulating, smiling, and laughing with her. He believes and well he should, he's in supremely gentle hands. I see the look in his eye, that combination of disbelief, gratitude, and deep warmth. Perhaps love. Love for her. Love for my wife Marcia.
I am feeling detached - like looking at the scene from great distance through high magnification. I easily discern all details, yet I don't feel present.
Watching Marcia charm Andy reminds me of the first time Marcia met my family, nervous and introspective until she stepped over the threshold of my parent's front door. The current took her. I worried she might drown in the raucous free-for-all, which is a family gathering at my parents house.
She is an only child while I have five brothers and sisters with liberal parents. Others had come to these gatherings and most never returned. Not Marcia. She stood toe-to-toe, yelling furious indignation at my hulking weight-lifter brother. She tearily hugged my sister in commiseration as the topics ranged from how a woman uses a public toilet without sitting on it, to how the military is deployed to make profit for multinational corporations.
I watched in amazement. How seamlessly she became part of the family. We drove home that evening and she was absolutely alight, buzzing with grinning excitement. That night I decided I would do whatever it took to make her my wife.
Returning from reverie I notice Marcia and Andy chatting like old friends. She gazes at me questioning non-verbally, 'Are you okay?'
I am feeling weird, and I'm sure it is reflected in my face. The sensation of being outside my body is intense. I can feel myself stand, but I don't really think about it. Andy speaks but the sound is distorted, like it's echoing down a long hall. I hold her gaze, her expressive deep brown eyes are wide, she knows something's amiss. She stands to meet me; I knew she would. I am intensely focused on her, the muted colors of her summer dress, her pumps lying on the floor beside the couch, her slender tanned arms. The noise Andy was making ceases; I sense his eyes on me.
I kiss her warmly, deeply. I am always amazed at how easily I can lose myself in her. I press against her soft lips, my tongue probing, luxuriating in the warm wet smoothness of her mouth. I close my eyes and we are one, I can't tell where I end and she begins. I luxuriate in the sensation.
I sense mounting tension in her back; her kiss becomes perfunctory. We don't kiss passionately in front of others. But she doesn't know about the beast within. She doesn't know he knows her intimately. She doesn't know he aches for her attention, and screams for release. She doesn't know he is part of me, or maybe, I'm part of him.
The beast grabs the firm lobes of her shapely ass with my hungry hands. She tries to back away. Ah, I feel her thick muscles bunching in my hands. I pull her tightly to me, possessively, mine. MINE. I hear someone growling deeply; I think it might be me.
"Mose, quit it " she snaps angrily smoothing her dress. I reach for the front of her summer dress and tear it open in a shower of delicate white buttons. They plunk on the carpet in otherwise shocked silence. Marcia stares open mouthed and reeling. She abruptly closes her mouth and turns to flee.
I seize a fist full of her shining hair. She becomes docile, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff of the neck, thoughts of flight abandoned. Her surrender ignites such powerful emotions that my face tingles with heat. It makes me dizzy. To his glee, the beast knew. The beast knew she would surrender.
She holds the ripped dress over her chest.
"Hands at your sides," I say in a voice that's definitely mine, but not one I use with Marcia. Never with Marcia. She searches my eyes for understanding; she trusts me. This trust has been gained through years of loving her. She lowers her arms. She is now at the beast's mercy.
I yank her dress down and let it fall, crumpling at her feet. The beast leers at her without shame, or remorse and assesses his prize. He notes the silky brown hair cupping her pretty face. Her eyes fearful of something she's desperate to hide, but she can't hide from the beast. Lower. Oh those soft sensuous lips. Lower. Small heaving breasts with dime sized nipples hinted at through her sheer cream bra. Lower. The muscles of her core vaguely outlined around her sexy navel and exciting flare of hips.
I reach for the plastic clasp between her breasts. She looks deep into my eyes, "Mose." She says quietly, her voice thick with suppressed emotion. Not a question, Not an accusation, not outrage, just my name. Well no, not my name. Nobody else calls me Mose, it's really her name for me. Those other things people call me, Jack and Mr. Seabolt are tags to distinguish me from the masses, Mose is who I am. She's warning me. It's a one-way leap off this precipice.
I remember the first time I truly felt like a man, and not coincidentally, it was also the first time I met Marcia. We were on a caving trip, with a large group, hiking to the cave entrance when something rustled the rhododendrons along the path, it sounded large and heading straight for us. I instinctively stepped forward angling my walking stick defensively. Marcia stepped close to my shoulder and grabbed my upper arm from behind. A quail streaked out from under the brush and marched up and down with its wing out. Apparently, we had gotten too close to the nest and she was trying to lead us away by feigning a broken wing.
In those few moments of uncertainty, Marcia stepped away from Dean, her date, and stood by me. She took my arm. She put her confidence, her trust, her faith in me. I swear to you now, if instead of a mother quail, a band of Hun warriors came out of the brush, I would have bellowed a war-cry to make the earth shake and charged those sons-of-bitches. I was dry tinder that burst into combat rage because Marcia silently chose me as her champion. She MADE ME her champion, and with all that I am, I would BE her champion.
Snap, her bra droops, hanging off her shoulders. No, there is no turning back I slide the bra off her shoulders and it drops to the floor.
"Kneel."
After a few rapid beats of her heart, she tears her eyes away and kneels at my feet. I feel the burning ache of desire accompanied by hot blood surging into my genitals. I push her face into the growing bulge in my pants.
"Blow."
She opens her mouth wide and bathes my crotch in her warm moist breath. She looks up at me.
"Go on," I encourage. She nibbles and licks, while my erection uncomfortably inches down my pant leg. Her teeth feel dangerous but luscious through the denim. Her eyes are closed in concentration and her ministrations have made a deeper blue spot on my jeans. I take a condom from my pocket and tear the plastic sheath. I unroll it a short way onto index and middle finger.
I touch her head, startling her.
"Open your mouth."
She shakes her head no.
"Open your mouth," I say menacingly. Hurt and confused, her brows crease but she obeys. I slide the condom into her mouth. She watches me intently with eyes glassy with emotion. Normally this would cause me great distress, but the beast speaks to a deeper part of Marcia.
"Now hold it just like that."
I turn my attention to Andy sitting wide-eyed on the couch. Even his ears are beet red.
"Ah, I have to go," he stands painfully, his erection evident.
"Stay," I say reasonably. I notice Marcia cover her breasts and I can almost feel the waves of panic rolling off her.
"Really, I have to go." Anger creeps into his voice. Lust pulls him yet he feels toyed with.
"Marcia, crawl to Andy." She blushes furiously and I imagine her heart pounding mightily in her chest. She doesn't move. She waits till I turn my attention back to her, so I can see the torment I am causing her. I keep my face and voice cold.
"Crawl," I say pointing.
She turns to face him on her knees, head down, arms wrapped tightly around her chest. I imagine she is screwing up her courage. She takes a deep shuddering breath and unfolds her arms exposing her chest to him. I can't see her face but I know she peeks to see Andy's reaction. She leans forward and crawls to him while Andy stares saucer eyed. She sits on her feet in front of him.
He gapes open mouthed. It seems he'll either bolt or vomit. He swallows, "I don't think of her that way."
