Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [54]
“Come in!” I shouted.
Lauren came in wearing a pink, see-through negligee. She looked half-decent with her raisin tits and small ass to complement her bony frame. “I thought you would never call me.”
“It was difficult,” I said as she took her position on the bed.
Her knees were on the bed and her butt was facing the wall as I had instructed her earlier. She pulled her dress over her butt to expose her shaved vagina. A clear transparent liquid glittered between her vagina, with small rivulets running down her thighs.
I continued to jerk faster on my penis as I stood up. I went quickly to her and entered her with the utmost ease. As I went in and out of her, my stomach rumbled even more until I felt it. It took me less than ten strokes before I sensed it coming. I was happy and disgusted at the same time.
“I’m coming!” I shouted.
By opening my mouth, the nausea that had built up in me came out at the same time. My mouth spewed vomit all over Lauren’s back and her hair while my little soldiers were in a race to penetrate the cell.
“Oh shit!” She reached around to touch her neck. Her hand became a testament to my meal earlier today.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not wishing to make an already ugly matter worse.
“Me too,” she said and turned around and spewed her own vomit onto my chest.
I turned away with the hope that her vomit would not splatter over my face. The warm liquid bathed my lower body. I stood there transfixed by the disgusting absurdity of the moment. Lauren got up and ran into my shower. I quickly followed her.
I shook my head as the water cascaded down my skin, brushing against Lauren in the shower stall. “I can’t believe this,” I said.
“You can’t believe this!” she replied.
“This is disgusting.”
Lauren turned around. “Donald, please get that shit out of my hair.” I took my hand and directed the water toward Lauren’s long black hair as I tried to remove my vomit. It was the first time I had touched my wife’s hair in over three years. I took my brush and brushed the vomit out. The warm water was flowing from her hair down her back. When I was finished, I got out of the shower and handed Lauren one of my towels. I took her negligee that I had previously stepped on as I hurried into the shower and put it in a white plastic bag I had on the vanity. I opened the window to let the combined scents of the sex and vomit out of the window.
“This is a big difference from when we were trying for Emerald,” I said, reflecting on our previous lie.
Lauren came out to the bedroom, her small frame wrapped in my big blue towel. Her long black hair was matted against her back. “We’re living the American dream.”
I slipped black pajama bottoms on. “Or nightmare.”
She sat on my bed. “Donald, you need your freedom.”
There was compassion and empathy in her voice. It was as if she was caught up in a life that was not her own. “I need a lot of things,” I said, wishing I could fly away from there and start life over again with Julie and Emerald.
She rubbed her stomach like the child was already forming. She looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m sorry that I deceived you on the day of our marriage.”
It was the first time she had apologized for our predicament. “I wasn’t innocent,” I said, wondering if I would have married her knowing that she was a lesbian.
“What time is it?” she asked in a daze.
“Two-fifteen,” I said.
She quickly rose from the bed and removed my towel. She handed it to me and I gave her the vomit-soaked negligee.
“I don’t think Annette will take too kindly to meeting me in your room, wrapped up in your towel.”
“I really don’t give a fuck about Annette’s thoughts.”
“Well, I do. Annette can be very mean when she wants to. Otherwise, she has a good heart,” she said, opening the door.
There was nothing to say. Lauren knew how I felt about her he-woman. It was only a matter of time before Malcolm