The awful story of my decline.
|She knelt before him as he sat on the floor. They looked at each other and their eyes locked. The infidelity in those sockets and the nervous, tense situation came together in an adrenal chill. His head rested against the wall helplessly. He knew he couldn’t act. He barely even knew if he understood correctly. He longed, and as he did so she moved forward. Surprised, shocked, he barely reacted to her moist, cool kiss. She withdrew slightly and looked at him again before returning for another small smooch. This time her tongue slipped wetly from between her lips to enter his with a soft touch.
He sighed with the relief of finally arriving at this point, but fought for self control as she backed off slightly. His mind softened and his head drooped with his eyelids as he exhaled exhaustedly. His eyes glassed and his throat tightened.
She sat up, “oh, I’m sorry...” she said softly; relentingly. She knew that she wasn’t wrong about his feelings, but perhaps he was more moral than she, she thought. They both loved another, but the draw to this act was so strong that she couldn’t help it...
Knowing that it was inevitable he gave in to himself and placed his hand to her neck as he drew in, lips parted. They both exhaled heavily and lustfully, winded by passion; relieved so completely by giving in to their desires. The warmth absorbed them as they grasped each other fervently. So wrong, but inescapable.
She swung over from the left and straddled him, pushing herself into him. He pushed back, his mind infected with eroticism, tightly gripping and forcing her backside down harder with one hand, the other on her back, under her arm, pulling her body close. She arched her back and he buried his face in her neck and shoulder, tasting the tangy, salty taste of the scorching hot day. His tongue burned a trail across her collarbone and into the tight space created by her flinching neck. He slowly moved to her cheek with heavy, wet kisses pathing the way to her ear, which he bit. She let out a mild, playful protest and raised up on her knees, her smooth, clothed stomach to his face. Leaning down she unzipped his flies and found him hard inside. She touched him there and showed him that there were no panties under her short skirt. She slid down slightly, just within reach and he positioned himself to her glistening pout.
“ahah,” she taunted, lifting slightly, “don’t get so excited.” As if from nowhere she produced an unsheathed rubber and placed its orange disc on the tip of his penis. Before he could even register what was happening she had expertly rolled it down with one hand, the other on his shoulder, then slid herself onto him. He held his breath as he moved up inside of her, and then let it out as they rested heavily against one other.
They looked in each other’s eyes and could think of nothing else as she started to move. As she came up she pushed her pelvis back and arched her lower back, and when she returned to him she reversed it. She started to roll at the hips and he lifted himself off the floor and pulled on her to bring himself further inside. Both hands slid around her waist and under her skirt, parting her buttocks and dragging her firmly down around him.
When they sped up they forced themselves to slow down. Make it last, they thought. This is something special.
The door opened and three friends stood there. Neither of the partners, but from the same group. They couldn't see anything clinical; clothed as the lovers were. What do I do? thought the guy. Maybe they would believe a blatant lie. “It’s not what it looks like, but close the door.” Perhaps they will believe, or at least not think the worst, he thought. We are always messing around, brother and sister-like. No... probably not this time... but they did close the door.
They looked at one another. The passion had fled, leaving a cold, desolate place.
The following day she called him. “I’ve left him” she said through his phone, “will you come to me?”. He had never thought of leaving his partner, and the thought devastated him. Never had he thought himself the cheating kind, and never had he had a messy break-up. And he didn’t want to. Despite the red hot desire for this girl, there was a stronger and more mature bond to the other. But what would she do if he said no? What would happen from here?
He’d laid his path, and decided to tell her how he felt. She listened silently and said she would call back. When she did she laid out her terms. She had spoken to their friends and convinced them not to say anything. She had been depressed, she’d told them, because of her relationship with her man coming to an end. She and our hero had not been having sex, but she admitted to seducing him and getting too close for comfort. She blamed alcohol and asked them to consider his woman’s feelings and not tell. They had agreed.
But she still wanted him, and part of the deal was that she could still have him. Every week, twice. He agreed, and his mental decline began.