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A Not Quite Love Story

By: AlwaysDancing



What can you say about a twenty three year old girl who died? What is left to be said about a girl who withered away into a shell of the person she once was before finally succumbing to death? What eulogy can possibly bridge the gap between sorrow for a girl long dead and the indifference that keeps me moving forward in this life? Are there no words that can repair the damage of the slow rotting disease that took that girl from me?

No. There are no words for a twenty three year old girl who died. There are only shadows of a memory of a not-quite love story.

*

"I'm more than just tits, you know," she told me while looking me dead in the eye. Of course I blinked. There I was at my wife's party trying to be the very picture of a friendly and gracious host and she catches me off guard with an off handed reminder of our previous indiscretion. "I have more ambition than your wife or my sister. You'll see."

If that wasn't a warning, I didn't know what was. Of course I didn't even acknowledge her. Actually, I didn't have to, because my wife came over just then. I wish to hell that things didn't happen in slow motion; I might possibly have been able to save our marriage if I could have kept her from using the martini glass as something other than a projectile. How she managed to salvage her political career after that was beyond me.

It didn't seem like a stripper's apartment. It's funny the random things that float through your head in unlikely moments. By unlikely, I mean improbable. By improbable I mean, you won't believe me if I told you. And by that I mean it was very surreal when I smiled affectionately at the blonde whose name I didn't know when she blew me a kiss. Somehow I managed to not look at her breasts pushed up over her tank top. And what I really mean by that is her top was pushed down underneath her cleavage so that those breasts jutted forward with a singular mission of seduction. And I still didn't look. How unlikely a fiction is that?

And how did my best friend manage to get away with already having his dick deep in the pussy of the other stripper on the couch the night before he was getting married? As it turns out, he wouldn't get away with it. 

I don't remember what I said to my stripper as I left. Something useless and banal like, "Have a nice night," or "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." It doesn't matter anyway because that beautiful woman is merely a shadow of a not quite love story. Which brings me close enough to the beginning of the story (if stories like this ever actually have a beginning).

"You know I have Levi's bachelor party, tonight, sweetheart," I said to my wife. She was busy adjusting the obnoxiously over-sized, garishly red gardening hat on her head while I patiently waited the 6.7 seconds it takes for my Keurig to happily beep my coffee was ready. "I don't see how I can make it up state for your debate and then back in time."

Cheryl scoffed. My wife, the red hatted Republican of Buffalo, New York, managed to not look at me as she gathered her files and tablet and her garishly red office bag. "Well, Scott, would you find It in your busy schedule to honor two requests?"

I wondered if she noted the subtle hardening of my jaw line. I wasn't her bitch and I hated when she thought she could talk to me like I was. Sure, she was the all influential State Representative of Buffalo for three running terms heading for a forth. Fortunately by then, I was already drinking the calming elixir of caffeine and I managed an appropriately diplomatic response. "What?"

Cheryl stood at the door, all of her attention squarely focused on me. Didn't I feel special? "The first is to please just do your best to make it."

"Sure."

"And then, remember your promise. No strippers."

I smiled. I didn't smile to disarm her with a sense of guile. There was no need. I had not arranged for any strippers at Cheryl's previous request. I smiled because Cheryl still managed to surprise me from time to time with an adorable and human sense of jealously that stirred a need within me to wrap my arms around her. "No strippers, honey. Just poker," I said.

"Good," she said, turning to leave. "It's an election year and I don't want to deal with another scandal, again."

My mistake. The thought of strippers didn't strike a chord of envy. Nope. This was the calculated mind of a master politician making career moves across the chess board. I wasn't her bitch. I was her fucking pawn. At least that's what I told Levi later that night.

"I'm getting married tomorrow fucking morning, man. Stop being a buzz kill," Levi said. He had just mucked his cars yet again. I never really knew if Levi was even good at poker, but he sure loved to play. I really think he hated the game itself, but he loved leaning back in that cheap chair, smoking cheap cigars and drinking cheap beer while the rest of us tried to play as seriously as we could and take each other for every poker chip we had. 

Cheryl wouldn't let us play for money. Shit. There I go being a buzz kill, again. And with Levi getting married tomorrow ... I was an ass. I couldn't help myself as I checked my hold cards and threw in a couple of chips. "You're right, man. Congratulations, Levi. Cheryl's a good woman. I'm a good man. We have a marriage with some rough spots but it's a good marriage. I hope you and Lucy have a future as bright as mine."

I don't think Levi heard a word I said. He leaned over to Bob who was also playing at the table. "Man, he checked his hold cards. He doesn't have it. Go all in."

I didn't have it. I was bluffing. Throw a guy a bachelor party and apparently he suddenly knows everything. "Look at you. Watching some poker on ESPN 2," I said.

"Yup. For almost three hours last night. Know what else I watched? Well, I don't know what it was called, but it was on Skinemax and there were boobs and ... now that I think about it ... isn't this a bachelor party? Where are the boobs?"

"No strippers," I said. 

Four hours later, I was driving Levi home. The car was quiet and I was feeling guilty because I really hadn't done my best to make it to Cheryl's thing she had up state. Hell, I'm not sure I tried at all. Hell, I don't even remember what she said it was. Maybe it was tomorrow's wedding on the horizon, but I was resolved to be a better husband to my worthy wife.

"Take a left over here," Levi said.

"You're not going home?"

"Nah, it's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding. I'm staying at a friend's."

What friend? The alarm in my head was buzzing, but not loud enough that I didn't follow Levi's directions to the Whitestone Park Apartments. Who the hell lives here?

"Come on up," Levi said. "Let's have one more beer."

"Sounds good," I said. And I wanted to know who this friend was. 

A moment later, Levi introduced me to Lynn and Candace. Candace was a stripper that one way or another happened to know Levi well enough to be willing to let us into their apartment for a special show. Lynn, apparently was Candace' sister, who worked at the same strip club as Candace. I wondered how long Levi had planned this out. He must have believed me when I told him repeatedly there would be no strippers at his bachelor party and more, that he had to do something about it. He must have thought of enough of our friendship that he wanted to include me on his Plan B of a dalliance. What were friends for, I suppose.

I realized even being here was a failure of my resolve to be a good and decent man in the interest of having a good marriage with Cheryl. Just the same, it was a short mental trip to rationalize that lots of faithful, decent husbands are entertained by strippers to rev up the ole sex drive before going home and burning up the race track of molten hot marital sex. Of course, I didn't think lots of guys were entertained by strippers in their apartments.

There are certain situations a guy can get himself into that just sort of happen. A few minutes later, with Lynn grinding on my lap, I chalked this up as one of those situations. I was sitting on the couch and she was straddling me, gyrating in all the right ways. I was grateful that she kept her short shorts on as well as her tank top (at least so far). I closed my eyes, stretched out my arms on the back of the couch and decided to relax. The strippers had decided that Pink Floyd was as good as anything to get down to, and I let myself go to the tunes. 

God, this girl ... what was her name? Lynn? She was hitting the right notes. Her gyrations had found the length of my cock just right through the bulge in my jeans and she started an easy back and forth rhythm. It was so easy to imagine her naked pussy stroking my bare cock in a hot, wet camel toe slide. Could I cum that way? Of course I could.

This girl was really turning me on, and I couldn't wait to get home and give Cheryl the fucking of her life. If she asked what was up, I would just tell her I was moved by the whole impending wedding thing. 

My arousal was expressed through a man of steel hard on and a slow steady breathing. Levi was more vocal in his appreciation. "You have stupendous tits. So fucking hot. That's what I'm talking about. You're tits are amazing." Well, he wasn't the most eloquent guy, but at least you generally knew what he was thinking. It was hard to not glance that way and take note of the action in the recliner on the opposite side of the living room. Candace was completely naked (no, wait ... I could make out a bikini thong) and shoving her breasts into Levi's face (much to his delight).

My stripper, Lynn, seemed to take advantage of my eyes being open and she slipped out of the straps of the tank top to push down the top below her breasts. For my part, I was still leaning back like this happens every day. In retrospect, I'm not sure if I was trying to play it cool and not be that excited sophomore that cums far too fast. I do know for certain that at that point, everything was catching up to me. The alcohol buzz was wearing off. An unfinished pizza next to an overloaded ashtray suddenly caught my eye. I started thinking being there was a very bad idea and that it was time to leave.

But what to do about Levi?

On cue, Candace let me know that Levi was just fine when she let out a loud, x-rated scream. Lynn and I both looked over to see Candace riding Levi's cock up and down with the fury of ... well, it looked like anger sex to me. Only during anger sex, your best friend normally didn't give you a thumb's up accompanied by a ridiculous grin.

I tapped Lynn on her thigh. "I should go."

She didn't argue or debate or try and seduce otherwise. She stood up, escorted me politely to the door and held it for me.

I looked back one more time. Levi didn't seem to mind that I was leaving. I was sure he'd be enjoying a threesome in a moment. How did he manage to get away with this?

At that moment, taking in the living room from a wider perspective, I took note of the three bookshelves filled to capacity with books. On the coffee table was a stack of notebooks. On top of the notebooks was a laptop. Suddenly this didn't look at all like a stripper's apartment. These were college girls.

What was I supposed to say on leaving? Thanks? Have fun with Levi? Don't do anything I wouldn't do? I'm very thankful I went with something practical. "So, uh ... do you need to be paid?"

She bit her lip in an effort to be polite. "No. I'm good. We're good."

That's when I saw the elf, or fairy or sylvan creature tattooed on her shoulder. It entranced me just long enough for me to stand there a bit longer to drag out an already awkward moment. At least I wasn't gaping at her breasts. "So, have a nice night, then." She blew me a kiss and I left.

Later that night, as Cheryl and I fucked, I was thinking of Lynn. I couldn't really remember what she looked like. Perhaps I was too drunk at the time. Perhaps I wasn't really paying attention. All I could remember was that tattoo. It was just a face of a girl with long and pointy ears and long, green hair. Right there on her shoulder. Nothing special. Not that great of a tattoo in my opinion. I didn't have a fetish for elves. But as Cheryl reached her orgasm, that fucking elf tattoo was all I could see.

I began to power thrust, trying to shake off the image. I also knew I was unfairly pissed off with my wife. It was a tense beginning to the day. She spared no words when she told me how disappointed she was I didn't make it upstate. And then when we started our routine of make-up sex, I found myself hoping she would slide her pussy over my cock camel toe style. Nope. She slid the condom on and here we were.

She growled her appreciation like she always did after she came. Grabbing my ass, she was urging me to cum so hard. Like most times, these days, it just seemed like an effort to get me to hurry up and finish so we could be done.

... "so, uh ... do you need to be paid?" ...

"Give it to me."

... "No. I'm good. We're good." ...

"You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum for me."

Purple eyes. The elf had purple eyes.

I came.

The next day came and went along with Levi's wedding. So did the weekend, and another week and another. Purple-eyed, green haired pixies became a haze and Cheryl and I resumed our once a ten-day or so sex schedule. 

To be clear, Cheryl wasn't a monster. Perhaps she was politically obsessed and our marriage would always take a back seat. I also wondered if she was having an affair on me but it was just an unfounded gut suspicion with no suspects. But our marriage was not on the brink of disaster. We still had dinner. We made time to hang out. And we always did the grocery shopping together.

Wouldn't you know, it was a month later at BB-Mart during a shopping trip that I next met Lynn. I probably could've never met her again in my entire life. And if I had, I might not have recognized her. But fate had a different design because as it turned out, Cheryl knew her.

"Lyndsay," my wife exclaimed. I turned to see who she was addressing. A quick glance didn't register the young blonde before me and I was about to turn back to browsing the Blu Ray releases when I caught sight of the purple eyed pixie peaking at me from her shoulder. My stomach knotted. I was certain I wasn't going to get busted here for a minor indiscretion but it made the moment no less awkward. In fact, my mind was already buzzing with ways to recover if the cat got out of the bag.

Lynn (or was her name really Lyndsay?) spared me a look and I was sure she recognized me. Honestly, I was one face out of all of the strangers that are her customers, so perhaps she didn't. I wouldn't have recognized her if it wasn't for the tattoo. Just then, I started to feel like a heel for being just another guy who objectified women.

"Hi," Lyndsay said warmly. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name, but I remember I used to babysitter for your sister."

Looking at her for the first time (or so it seemed), I realized she must have been ten years younger than I (give or take). Her blonde hair, if that was her real color, was tied up in matronly bun, unlike the first night when it cascaded down to middle of her back. Lyndsay had no more visible tattoos I could discern, but she did have a collection of piercings: three in one ear and two in the other with each ear gauged but not to an obnoxious ear lobe deforming size, a silver post in her nose and her tongue. Was she a good kisser? I tried to study the curve of her breasts through her shirt without being obvious, a skill that men think they are geniuses at but assuredly are not. Suddenly I had a flash of a memory of what those breasts looked like naked. I'd like to say I felt a twinge of guilt, standing next to my wife and everything, but I didn't.

What I did feel was an immediate regret that I wasn't paying attention to the conversation she was having with Cheryl. Suddenly, I heard my wife say, "It's settled. We'll see you at the barbecue on Saturday."

Lyndsay looked at me and shrugged and strolled off to finish her shopping. 

Before I knew it, it was Saturday and our house was crammed full of guests floating between the downstairs and the backyard. I couldn't honestly say if I was keeping an eye out for Lyndsay or not, but once I spied her, I kept tabs on her. I was actually surprised that Cheryl invited her along. Obviously she knew her decently enough, but Lyndsay was a little more bedazzled with piercings than our usual crowd. Our usual crowd was the constituents that helped Cheryl to get elected again and again. I was thankful our usual crowd didn't include Levi (apparently his vote wasn't good enough for Cheryl).

Cheryl had of course tried to sell me on the idea that this barbecue wasn't politically motivated, but she was wearing that giant red hat that had become a symbol of her campaign through the years, and that told me loud and clear she was locking up votes. I don't know why she was so adamant to tell me this was about recreation. I had no problem with the idea of business and pleasure mixing to a point. Ah, well, each to their own. 

Like I said, I was keeping tabs on Lyndsay. As I did my expected mingling in the manner of all good hosts, I noted that Lyndsay was doing a fine job of mingling herself. She seemed to have no problem going from stranger to stranger and striking up light hearted but brief conversation. At one point, I snorted in derision, thinking how she must be networking to score some new clients. That of course was a completely unfair thought, but it's not like I voiced it aloud. Actually, if I was being honest with myself, I was becoming infatuated with Lyndsay. The memories of the lap dance had exploded back into my memory, only now I had a face and a voice. Of course I knew her face and voice before. I just hadn't paid attention.

The barbecue had been going on comfortably for about an hour or so and I had managed to make small conversation with each of the guests at least twice, except for Lyndsay. I was making a point to avoid her. Unfortunately for man through the ages, a person's better judgment is a feat of focused willpower. After speaking to an old friend about the game on Sunday, my willpower lost focus and I made a bee line right for Lyndsay.

"Hello. Enjoying the barbecue?"

"I am," she said. She was polite and looked me in the eye, but I had no clue if she recognized me. I suddenly felt like an idiot for I was certain I was wearing a "Hey, remember me" sort of smile.

"Make sure you try the ribs. They're delicious," I said. What the hell. Did I have a smaller version of myself inside my head hitting an idiot button? Not that it should matter. I was merely being a good host. It wasn't like I had plans to seduce this girl. I could feel the focused willpower of better judgment kicking in again. I smiled and turned to walk away to continue to make the rounds.

"I'm more than just tits, you know," Lyndsay said before I could take more than a half step away.

"Pardon?" I knew I heard her right, but how could it be possible she said that? As shocked as I was, I was also on a base level pleased that she had remembered who I was. I was so pleased, I didn't even let her answer my query. "I know you are. From your place, I'd say you were a college girl."

"Psychology major. So is my sister. We both work the strip club to pay the bills. It's a living for now."

"Sure, world's oldest profession," I said. It was a horrible joke and I regretted making it the second after it left my lips. Fuck, my better judgment was in need of an overhaul.

"I'm pretty sure that's prostitution," she said. 

I questioned the assumption I had that Levi had paid these girls and had sex with them both. Perhaps they were merely meant to be strippers and he got lucky with Candace. Before it could sort out completely in my brain, I was back peddling and stammering. "I'm sorry. That whole night was weird. I didn't know we were meeting you guys that night. And we were at your home. And Levi was getting more than a lap dance. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."


A Not Quite Love Story



Lyndsay stepped into me. I think she was trying to intimidate me, but I couldn't possible step away. There was a crackle of sexuality when she got closer and I wondered if she felt it, too. There was certainly a storm brewing in her eyes. Ah, that's right. I pissed her off. "I have more ambition than your wife or my sister. You'll see," she said.

Now she was the one walking away, and my better judgment, useless as it was, told me it was just as well. I would likely never see her again after that and if I did, there would only be awkward silence between us. Still, I was intrigued by the 'you'll see' she left me dangling with.

It was then when I saw Cheryl marching towards her. I quickly assessed my posture and my proximity to Lyndsay and was satisfied that it didn't seem to give away the less than reputable thoughts I had. In retrospect, I now know that Cheryl was far too concerned with Lyndsay to know that I was ever even there.

What happened next was like a dream. It was incredible in its slow motion theatric, yet also impossible for me to do any more than gawk in alarm. I knew Cheryl was about to throw her martini and that Lyndsay was the intended target. I didn't know why, but of course I assumed it had something to do with me. 

Cheryl stepped into the pitch, first slinging the contents of the glass, olive and all, into Lyndsay's face. Cheryl followed that by flinging the entire glass at Lyndsay's torso, where it then fell to the ground and shattered.

"You hussy," my wife screeched. "Stripping. You're stripping now. Waving all of that in some fool's face. That's what you've become. Get off my property. Get out. Get outgetoutgetout."

What the hell had gotten into her? 

I stepped into my wife. "Honey, you're creating a scene in front of your voters. Tell me what this is all about later. Right now, smooth this over with your guests and I'll escort whoever this person is out of here."

Cheryl was born to be a politician. She didn't really blink or blush or stutter. She simply turned to her guests and worked a little charm. I was just glad she didn't put up a fight with me and I managed to maneuver Lyndsay inside the house rather quickly with a hand on the small of her back.

"Need a cab," I asked.

"Nope."

"How about a shirt? I can take that one to the cleaners," I said.

"That's ok."

"Are you sure?"

She looked down at her shirt to examine the damage. I wasn't sure that it needed a visit to the cleaners, but it still seemed the decent thing to offer. "Alright. A clean shirt would be nice," she agreed.

I was quickly back with an old t-shirt and I showed her the guest bathroom. I waited patiently in the hall outside the bathroom door for her to come out and give me her shaken not stirred martini shirt.

"You can just drop this off at the apartment when it's ready. Do you remember where it is," Lyndsay asked.

"I do." I did. The little alarm in my head was certainly starting to buzz a little. This seemed like dangerous ground and I was weighing just how foolish I was beginning to be.

"Great. Just bring it by. If you want to have some fun while you're there, I'm okay with that. You're cute. You're nice. And I have your wife to get even with."

Holy shit. I quickly glanced down the hall to be sure nobody had heard that. She was so forward and direct that it knocked all kinds of sense to me. To be honest, I was not contemplating any kind of affair with my wife. To be even more honest, I wasn't exactly shutting the door to the possibility, either. I now realized I needed to.

Lyndsay, intentionally or not, was quicker than my rebuttal.

"Oh, but we're not having sex. Just so we're clear."

That was good. It almost lulled me into a sense of safety. I almost nodded in agreement. I realized however that I would also be nodding in agreement to other sorts of fun that a married man has no business having with a single woman.

In the time this little realization processed through my suddenly inadequate brain, Lyndsay smiled, thanked me and leaned in and kissed me.

I kissed her back.

Her tiny lips pulsed against mine for only a breath or two. There was only a hint of her tongue flicking against my lips. I parted my lips to return the favor, but I was again a step behind. She bit down softly on my lower lip and stepped back from me. 

"Mmm," she mewled. Smiling, Lyndsay turned and left the party.

My lips were electrified, bursting with tingles. My cock wasn't hard, but it was swelling. My heart was quickened. My light-headed brain was swimming in fantasy.

I shook it off and returned to the party, resolved not to think of Lyndsay again. Fuck it if she never got her shirt back. No big deal.

Three days later, at two or so in the afternoon, I was pulling into the parking lot of Whitestone Apartments. I wondered if there was a chance that I would actually know anybody here. I tried not to feel guilty about it, because I was just returning a shirt. Truth be told, I wasn't expecting to see either Candace or Lyndsay. They were both college girls and they were both strippers and that meant that on a Tuesday they were sure to be busy one way or another. That, anyway, was the rationalization that I told myself on the drive over.

I actually felt a twinge of disappointment when there was no answer when I knocked on their apartment door twice. I thought it was possible that I had the wrong apartment, but in the end, after replaying the memory from a few weeks back, I decided I had the correct place and I knocked one more time. Still no answer. It was time to throw in the towel. I dropped the parcel with Lyndsay's shirt inside next to the door and turned to go. 

Lyndsay was walking up the stairs. "Hi," she chirped. 

"Hey," I said, feeling awkward and dumb for even being there. "I brought your shirt back. It's all clean."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Need help with those," I said, pointing at the knapsack slung over her shoulder.

"Nope, I'm good," she said, already at the door to her apartment. She bent over to pick up the parcel. Her bum framed in the black denim jeans stirred the animal in me. I was still caught between being a good and decent member of the Married Men Society and just wanting to claim this gorgeous woman for myself. She managed to unlock her door with her hands full and as she stepped inside she turned back to me. "Are you coming in?" 

I didn't answer. I just smiled and followed her inside. The apartment was much the same as it was before. Some messes were cleaned up and other messes were brand new. It wasn't a sty but it was certainly lived in. I wonder if she would appreciate a maid service. 

She tossed her bag on to the couch, the same couch she danced for me on. "I'm sorry that the place isn't cleaned up," she said. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No," I said. It was an awkward moment. If I wanted to leave, I wasn't sure how I was going to exit gracefully. If I wanted to stay, I wasn't sure how to get things going to the next level. Maybe I should have said 'yes' to the drink.

I was caught looking around the apartment and lost in these thoughts when she came up to me and kissed me like before. Although she certainly surprised me again, I was quick to lower my hands to her bum and to pull her hard against me. I wanted her to feel my swelling cock. I wanted her to know that I wanted her. Lyndsay lifted one leg and wrapped it around me, our tongues now pushing and swimming against each other's. 

The passion of the moment was escalating quicker than I could contain it for much longer. I was only a breath of a moment away from pushing her on to the couch, shifting a few articles of clothing and burying my cock inside of her. I needed it and so did she. Somehow the absurdity of the situation caught up with me just then. I carefully pushed her away, taking a deep breath.

I looked into her eyes, carefully choosing how I would let her know I couldn't do this.

"Two rules," she said, before I could say anything. "The first is we're not doing anything here in the living room. If my sister came home, that would just be weird. Second thing is, no sex. Just so we're clear. You try anything I press charges for rape. I'm here for a little revenge on your wife and you're here because you're a guy. I don't need to make my life messier by having sex with a married man right now."

"I have a condom," I said. Ah, see what she did there. I was ready to shut the whole thing down and she made it clear where the line in the sand was. Nothing makes a man want something more than if he knows it's on the other side of that line in the sand.

"Let's just keep with my rules," she said, tuning to walk to wherever her bedroom was. "I'm sure you'll leave a very satisfied man."

I followed her. Really, there was plenty of guilt going on inside my head, but there was never a thought of turning back after that point. Her bedroom was small. There was a twin bed, a dresser, milk crates that served as a bed stand and what was left barely constituted walking room. Lyndsay let me enter enough for her to close the door. 

She stepped into me and put her hands on my chest. "I can trust you, right," she asked. I told her she could.

She leaned up and kissed me again. She kept kissing me first, and I kept letting her. This time, the electricity kept humming upon my lips as the kiss persisted. Lyndsay mewled again and I was starting to really adore that sound. Perhaps it was her college-style bedroom. Perhaps it was her significantly younger age. I felt like I was in high school. I nearly felt like I was going to get laid for the first time. Except that I wasn't going to get laid, according to Lyndsay's rules.

I started to slide my hands down to her ass, to hold against me and to begin the exploration of her body I had fantasized about for days (or was it weeks), but she grabbed my wrists and brought my hands higher up on her back. Ah, she wanted to be in control, did she? That was fine with me . . . for now.

With nothing else to do with my hands, I pulled one through her hair and the other pulled her against me by the small of her back. I deepened the kiss, my thick tongue conquering her tiny, petite and feminine tongue. Holding her like this, kissing her like this, I felt her leg lift up to entwine mine again. I took advantage to push her back to the bed, but once again she put on the breaks, her hands pushing into my chest to stop. Of course I could have over powered her, but I wanted to fuck her, not rape her.

Wait. I didn't want to fuck her. Wait, I wasn't allowed to fuck her, so everything was fine. How the hell was this fine? We were kissing like teenagers in her bedroom. This wasn't a strip club. However I rationalized it, I was about to cheat on my wife and probably already had by some definition. When Lyndsay started to lift up my shirt, I didn't care anymore about Cheryl ... at least in that moment.

She leaned back to look at my revealed torso. I knew I looked good, but I didn't know how I compared to the college studs she saw around campus.

"I can work with that," she said. Was that a line from a movie?

Next her small hands were on my belt buckle and the snap of my jeans. After a quick tug here and an awkward struggle with my shoes there, I stood before her completely naked, my cock pointing at her, condemning her for the seductress she was.

"Oh, yes, I can definitely work with that," she said, taking me by the hand and guiding me to her bed where I happily stretched out. Without ceremony, Lyndsay stripped her clothes off quickly and joined me on the bed. God, her bed squeaked a lot. If Candace came home, she would know that Lyndsay had company.

Once again we were making out like teenagers, only now the warmth of our nudity elevated the passion. I think I tried to kiss her softly, but the moment I felt her naked soft breasts press against my chest, I was possessed by a hungrier desire. Instinctively we humped at each other and my cock was already honing in on the warmth of her pussy. I needed to fuck her, claim her and own her the way that a man needs to own a woman. I rolled on top of her.

Lyndsay seemed prepared. One hand covered her pussy and the other managed to lock around my wrist in a chicken wing behind my back, something she must have managed before I started to roll over on her. "You're not going to fuck me, Scott," she whispered.

"Are you sure," I said. Once again I knew I was physically stronger than her and writhing out of her chicken wing hold would have been as simple as shrugging my shoulders. Still, I was enjoying this little battle for control.

"Nope," she said. "I'm not going to get pregnant today."

"I was going to get the condom," I said. It was a pathetic lie and Lyndsay called me out on it.

"Fuck you, Scott," she laughed. "You were ready to claim your prize, damn the consequences."

The sobriety of the moment slapped me in the face like cold water and I felt the blood pumping into my cock retreating. She was right. I was ready to fuck her, spill my seed in her, impregnate her and risk whatever disease she may or may not carry. Fucking hell, I needed to get out of there. More fucking hell, though the blood was leaving my cock, not enough had made its way to the higher cognitive functions of my brain. "I can still get the condom," I said.

Lyndsay rolled her eyes in irritation. Then she looked at me and nodded towards her groin. "Look down," she whispered.

Her hand covering her pussy was no longer covering her pussy so much as pleasuring her pussy. I held my breath when I heard the wet sound of her finger parting her labia and pushing inside. She dragged her finger out, glistening with her juices and her scent of arousal, and began to swirl her touch on her clit.

"Mmmmmmm, yes," she moaned. It was an exaggerated moan, clearly more for my pleasure. It worked. My cock was hard and ready for business again. "I love to masturbate, Scott. I'm really good at, too." She was subtly writhing beneath me. "I love touching my warm ... wet ... pussy."

Even beneath me she relished being in control. How long was I willing to be teased and to let her have the upper hand before I seized control from her? Hell, I wasn't even sure if I was supposed to fuck her and this was a game or if she really intended to not have sex with me. 

"Do you like watching me touch myself," she asked.

"Oh, yeah," I grunted, thrusting uselessly toward her.

She bit her lip. "Too bad, I need something else touching me right now." With that, she took advantage of the leverage of that chicken wing and rolled me over on my back and she quickly and naturally sat astride me.

She bent down to reach between her legs for my cock, which she carefully pinned against my abdomen. Then she lowered her pussy against my cock and began to slowly slide back and forth. With only a few strokes, the length of my cock was coated in a cocktail of her juices and my pre-cum. "You like this," she said.

I wasn't sure if she asked me or told me, but I responded as intelligently as I could. "Uh huh." 

Lyndsay kept up her rhythmic motion just as she kept up her posture of being bent over me. I wanted to kiss her but it seemed like she was concentrating too much on making sure she didn't slide too far forward or back. You never know what would happened if my cock head gained a bit of purchase inside of her pussy. Every now and then, her full breasts would graze against my chest. I closed my eyes, being lulled into a hypnotic erotic state. Only then was I aware of the sounds.

Her breathing was even and slow, but also heavy and pronounced. I began to think of her orgasm somewhere in this act. I was acutely aware of the sound of her pussy as it slurped against me. Fuck she was wet, and I pushed my hips up as I imagined sinking deep inside of her. My hands started to lazily explore her body. Her skin possessed the firm and soft attributes of youth and I delighted feeling her ass and squeezing it tight, pressing her groin harder on my cock. I moved up to her sides which instantly tensed erotically against my touch and I felt a staccato shudder in her breathing. Next I caressed each breast even as they pressed against my chest.

She leaned down to whisper into my ear. "You like it. But do you like it better than with you wife?"

I turned my head to glare at her. That was evil and I didn't like it. I must have conveyed the message because she apologized, but she did it with a disarming smile. Not the conquering kind of smile, but the kind that says she knew she mis-stepped. 

Lindsay sealed her apology with a kiss. Her little tongue invaded my mouth with all the sweet slowness of her pussy on my cock. Her fingers raked my torso as she moved her hands to pin mine above my head. I loved the way her body stretched against mine as the kiss deepened even more.

Then it happened. The head of my cock found the opening to her pussy. We both felt it at once and we did what came naturally, we groaned and thrust. I can't say that I was inside of her, but certainly my cock head had found its way. My balls tensed and I knew I released a bit of seed.

"Shit," she whispered, immediately reaching between us. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You like it," I said.

"Mmmhmmm, but I'm not getting pregnant today."

Lyndsay reached between us and pressed my cock flat against my pelvis again. She sat up on me and resumed sliding along my cock. She kept her hands on my stomach for balance only for a moment before sitting a bit farther back, which put even more pressure on my cock. My cock seemed larger than ever before trapped there between her pussy lips. Watching her sway and dance above me, with her eyes closed in her own private rapture and her breasts heaving up and down, I thought about, of all things, Brad Pitt in "Moneyball." He said something like, "How can you not be romantic about baseball."

How could I not be romantic about this vision above me? Was I falling in love? No. Fuck no. But in that moment, with my orgasm suddenly peaking around the corner, it sure felt a lot like I was falling in love.

"Oh, my god," I whispered.

"Yesssss," she encouraged.

"Lyndsay, you're so beautiful," I said. I thrust against her harder and she obliged with a harder grinding.

Licking her lips she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "You're so hot, Scott. You're so big. You're so hard. You're going to make me cum. You're going to make me cum and you're not even fucking me." 

I wanted to watch her. I wanted to watch her stroke her clit in accompaniment to our grinding dance. I wanted to watch her dance above me. I wanted to keep watching her face as it begged for release. But my orgasm, now doing more than peaking around the corner forced my eyes closed.

"Lyndsay. Oh, god, Lyndsay, I'm going to cum."

Lyndsay moaned. "Unghhh, god. Yes, baby. I'm there. I'm there ... I'm ... fuck I'm cumming."

Her body jolted above mine and she sharply leaned forward to catch her hands on my chest. Her fingernails dug into my skin and while I'm not a pain junky, it was too much and ropes of cum shot from my cock against her stomach and mine. My hands were on her bum and I pinned her as hard as I could against me.

She tensed a final time before letting out a deep and guttural moan, arching her back strongly. My cock pulsed a few more times until the last of my cum dribbled unto my stomach. For her part, Lyndsay's strength was tapped and she collapsed against me, unafraid of the cum oozing between us. She slipped across my body to lie next to me. I loved the feel of her, of her thigh across mine, of her breast pressed into my torso, even of her hair on my cheek.

"I didn't expect to orgasm," she said. "Mmm, my god, that was amazing."

Yes, and I always remember how that moment felt.

"You know, Scott, this was about revenge. But next time, we can do it for fun."




A Not Quite Love Story



"I look forward to it," I whispered. 

We didn't say anything else. We fell asleep in each other's embrace and napped away the afternoon. It was one of the most beautiful days of my life. How could I not be romantic about it, there at the beginning of our not quite love story?