Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [18]
“Where’s your husband now?” I asked, glancing over at the bar. I was still trying to decide if I was going to get another drink.
“He fell asleep, after he screwed me with his semi-erect penis,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.
“Maybe you should’ve given him a blow job.”
She laughed, as if I was about to replace Dave Chappelle.
“Look at me. I’m a white girl; our specialty is blowjobs. I sucked that man for half an hour to get his penis semi-erect. I stopped because I was getting dizzy from going up and down and his penis was starting to deflate.”
I stared at her small, thin, pink lips. My dick had begun to itch. “So what do you want to do?”
“Aren’t you the one from big bad New York City? What do you think I should do?” She continued to hold my gaze.
“We could go upstairs and fuck,” I said.
“What would that do for me?” She bit into the slice of apple they had put in her martini.
“I’m not a psychiatrist. You implied that you were tired of semi-erect dick so I offered a hard one. You could take it or go upstairs to your husband.” I pushed my drink away.
She picked up my glass and drank the remainder from her glass. “Life is complicated.”
I watched as she walked to the bar. Her legs were long and well-toned. Her butt lifted up the skirt; making a nice indentation. I was going to fuck her.
“Hoodlum, you don’t look like one,” she said, placing the fresh drink in front of me. “You look more like a pretty boy.”
This small talk was getting us off the topic. “Is your husband going to be up soon?”
“The hotel has to be on fire for my husband to wake up.”
That was all I needed to hear. I put the glass to my mouth and finished the drink. She followed suit.
“What room are you in?” She pushed the chair back. I followed her action.
“Room 224.”
She smiled. “Maybe life is not that complicated after all.”
I followed her up the stairs to my room. She leaned against the side of the wall, next to my door, while I slid the card in to unlock the door.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“We’re in room 220.”
My dick became erect immediately. I grabbed her hand and rested it on the door knob. I came around behind her; lifting up her skirt. She didn’t have on any panties. I slipped a condom onto my penis and I entered her immediately. I pounded into her fast and furious. As her decibels increased, I became even more excited. I was thinking about her husband, maybe asleep, maybe not, two doors down from us. It was giving me an erection that Viagra couldn’t compete with. This was a good release from the tension of the day. I didn’t know her last name and most likely I never would. We were two strangers reaching out for solace in a cruel world. Tomorrow belonged to no one right then. The sweat from my brow was dripping onto her pale butt. As I felt her body shiver, my scrotum started to itch and together we were about to collapse onto the floor. As we did, she let go of the door as if her hands were useless to her. I absorbed the force of the fall as I turned toward my right side and she fell on top of me. My penis lay flaccid against my leg as a door slammed outside. I got up off the floor, extending my hands out to her to lift her up. She clasped her hands around mine and, for the first time, I felt the warmth of her hand. I pulled the condom off and pulled up my pants as she adjusted herself.
“Can you open the bar and bring me one of the small bottles of Bacardi?” she asked.
As I went toward the small refrigerator, I sighed. I didn’t need any more company for the night. “You want another drink this late?”
“No, but I need to do something.”
I opened the cheap bottle of Bacardi and gave it to her.
“Thanks.” She took the bottle and threw it down the front of her dress. The small remainder she drank quickly.
“Tricks of the trade?” I asked.
“No. Believe me or not, I’ve never cheated on my husband.”
Normally I would