Manning the Yard Sale
by AntaeusQ
My wife Susan spent all Friday getting ready for the yard sale. She painted the signs, typed up the Craigslist ad, and alerted her Facebook friends. She has a couple hundred of those, most younger than her for some reason, and a fair number recent mothers or pregnant. I used to give her grief about all the time she spent online, but her network would come in handy for the yard sale, and we needed the money.
We both sat in the living room. Susan folded and sorted baby clothes. I watched TV. She had her back to me. She wore an old pair of gray, thin, lounge-around pants. No panties. She felt more comfortable walking around the house like that. Her pert ass, not too big, but shapely and compact stood out like a round piece of wood trim, only soft and rubbery.
I got up, put my hands on her waist and went in for a kiss on her neck, but she pulled away.
“Come on, Mike, I'm busy.” she said. “You know I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow.”
“Too busy for me? Come on.” I looked at her. “A little fooling around, then you can get back.”
“What? Are you going to help?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Please, Mike, you wouldn't know where to start. You don't know what anything costs.”
“You could tell me.”
“Do you know how to fold? Or hang something up on a hanger without wrinkling it? No, you don't, not in all the years that I've known you.”
“You can show me?”
She gave me a look, as if I wasn't worth the effort, so I gave up, sat back down, and pretended to watch the commercials.
“I'm going to keep the sentimental stuff,” she said, and stroked her short blond hair away from her face. She looked good, younger than her 32 years.
She's very pretty. She brought a loving focus to her folding and sorting. She hadn't looked at me like that in years. I didn't blame her, though. We had two girls, eight and ten, from her previous marriage. She was getting older. We both were, and we were beat, done. She was going to sell their baby clothes. She figured, why wait? We'd held off on getting rid of the clothing, but there was no point to that now. We weren't going to have any more kids, and it hadn't been for lack of trying.
About a month ago, she went to the doctor. The doctor ran his tests and then we waited a week. When the results came back, it may as well have been a death sentence. She passed with flying colors. Nature made her to have babies. My semen, though, scored poorly. The stupid idiots swam in circles or didn't swim at all.
Just like that, the sex dried up, the 'honeys', and the 'dears', too. I cut her some slack. I felt the disappointment, too. But if that wasn't enough, two weeks ago, my boss called me in. He smiled and offered his apologies, anything he could do. The bastard wasn't a very good actor, and we'd never gotten along. He said all the right things, but I could tell he didn't mean any of it. I lost my job, and with that all the respect from my wife.
Shame and inadequacy settled in. I got it. I couldn't provide or satisfy other needs. I'd never father kids of my own. I'd never get the chance to get my wife pregnant, see her change before my eyes, see her get rounder and bigger. And I couldn't provide for the people I was responsible for.
Susan's a nurse, so to help with the bills, she started working longer hours at the hospital. She came home late into the night, sometimes early morning. She said her line of work called for a greater level of commitment than I could understand.
And now we're having this yard sale. The girls were visiting with their dad. Susan said this was a good time, since she didn't have to look at them, while she sold away so many of their baby things.
“I remember when Caroline wore this,” she said. Caroline's our youngest daughter. “She was so adorable, and this one...Oh, I can't get rid of this one.” She wasn't talking to me. “I want the girls to have these when they have kids of their own,” she continued.
I turned off the TV, excused myself, and went into my office. I listlessly read some of my books. I couldn't get anything going, so I turned on the computer and watched porn.
“Mike, do you have any books you want to sell?” she yelled. “I only have these pregnancy books, and I want to have a selection. You never know, some guys could show up looking for guy books.”
“No. Nothing. Sorry.” I clicked away my porn folders. I turned around to the hundreds of books piled ceiling-high, all around my office. I had a few cases of comic books. They were worth something, but what could I expect to get from selling them in a yard sale?
“I'll look tomorrow,” I said. I'd have to sell the comics eventually, if I didn't get a job.
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, blew the dust off a glass, and started my drinking. I thought of all tough breaks, and when things would return to normal: a job, the respect of my wife. Two shots of whiskey later, I opened the door to my office and stepped out. It was past midnight and she was still folding.
On my way to the bedroom, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pecked at her unresponsive mouth. She planted a quick kiss, and went back to her business.
“Maybe tonight?” I asked, but she shook her head.
“I still have a lot of work,” she said. “Good night, Mike.”
“Good night, Susan.”
I brushed my teeth, dressed, got into bed, and fell asleep within minutes. The whiskey helped.
Next morning, I woke to the sound of birds and children playing outside. The sun warmed my face. I yawned and turned over. I remembered her coming to bed. I'd put the moves on her, got rebuffed and slunk back. Now, she was gone. I lay in bed, and drifted in and out of sleep. Then I heard Susan speak from just behind the bedroom door.
“Mike, do you know where you keep the big stapler?” she asked. “I'm going to need it to hang the signs.”
“I'll have to look for it,” I said into the pillow. “I know kind of where it is.”
“Hurry,” she said. “I have to finish setting up. The yard sale's at nine. That's in less than an hour.”
I hung my head over the bed. Fuck.
“Can you hang the signs?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I'll do it. Give me a minute. I need a bath.”
“A bath? Can you do it later?”
“It'll take a few minutes. I smell bad.”
“I won't ask for anything else. You can have all day to yourself. I won't bother you, again.”
“Ten minutes, then I'm out there putting up signs.”
I needed a shower, if I expected to get anything going. Why did I feel so tired? I slid off the bed and trudged into the bathroom. I slapped my hand against the wall in back of the toilet and whipped out my cock. I shook it, and started pissing.
I ran the hot water, stripped off my boxers, and got in the tub. I stood underneath the jets for a while, as the water slammed into my tired body. I tried not to think. I squeezed a bottle of bath soap into my hands. It was minty and oily. I stood up straight and spat water out my mouth. I grabbed my cock and squeezed it in a tight grip. The bath could wait. I pulled back on my foreskin and let the hot water cooked me alive. Here we go. I quickened my speed and turned my head around my neck. I grabbed my balls with my other hand, and squeezed my genitals together. I slowed the pace. Relaxed into it, moved both hands up and down my eight-inch cock. I stroked myself for a few minutes. Then, I felt it rush forward. I felt the familiar start, the shiver, the tingling all over. I clenched my ass and curled my toes. Muscles behind my stomach tightened, and I fell forward a step. Fluid started from deep within, flowed the length of my cock, shuddering nerves.
“Ah.”
Three times. Streams of white ejected into the choppy ankle-deep water. I ran my palm over the purple head. Ecstasy. A final electric shiver jerked my body. I squelched the desire to groan, and, instead, tightened my face and banged the tiled wall. I stood in that shower for a few more minutes, not washing or anything. I felt the tension flow out of me. It would return, of course, but for now, it emptied out with the semen. Things were so different a month ago. I didn't have to cum in the shower.
I dried myself and shook the hair in front of my forehead. I'm forty, going on fifty. I dressed in a pair of jeans, a green t-shirt and sneakers. Then, I went into my office, found my stapler, grabbed the yard sale signs, and walked down a steep hill.
I found the perfect place for the first sign. Anyone driving this way would see it. I pressed my forearm against the tree, and slammed a staple– WHAP – right into its bark.
When I returned from assignment, Susan was in the process of laying out the merchandise. I looked around, and peered inside boxes, and underneath tables.
“Don't worry. I'm not selling any of your things,” she said.
I walked by her.
She leaned in. “Mike, I need your help with more boxes.”
“You're kidding. You don't have any more space out here.”
She smiled. “There's more in the bedroom.”
“Okay, but then you're on your own.”
“You can relax, read a book, sit in your office.” She gave me slap on the back, probably the most affection I'd gotten in weeks. “Do whatever you do in there.”
“I'll read.”
I found the boxes and pushed them out the door. With nothing else to do, I grabbed a beer and went into my office. I sunk back in my chair, opened a book, flipped on the computer, and did my best to entertain myself. In a short while, people starting parking their cars and walking up the driveway.
I heard the voices, mostly women, but some husbands and boyfriends, too. My wife sounded cheerful and animated. The yard sale ran right up against my office window. I heard them talking.
How much for this cookie sheet? Five bucks. Will you take one dollar. No. I can sell it for five. Any boy clothes? No. Just girls. Does this really work? Do you have any tools? Anything you want to get rid of? Anything you want to donate? I'm looking for a drill, cement blocks, old tires, screws, comic books.
I had a hard time tuning them out. I kept obsessing about Susan selling my tools. What if she thought of those as 'ours'? After half an hour of muffled conversations, I went into the kitchen to grab another beer. I counted them. I only had seven to last me until I had a new job, and then there was the whiskey, the sleeping aid. Make it last, she had told me. We didn't have the money, she said and I agreed. But I needed to drink. At my rate, I'd be out by next week.
I read comfortably, in spite of all the activity.
After two hours, Susan rapped on my window and spoke. “Mike, can you come out here?” she asked.
I went outside, and she asked me over.
“I need to ask you something,” she said. “Don't get mad.”
“What?” I asked.
“Mike, you remember Karen from choir?”
“No,” I said. “Maybe. Why?”
She cocked her head, hand on her waist. “She just called and invited me to a get together with the girls. It's a last minute thing. I have to go. We're going to go for coffee at Tully's. Don't worry about the money. I've made more than enough for a drip and a cookie.”
“What about the yard sale?”
“Mike, I don't get out much. You know that. This came up. I'll have to leave in a few minutes.”
“What about the sale? What are you going to do? Are you going to put up a sign and let people know?”
“No.”
“Then what? You're not going to let people come over to the house and find everything closed up, are you?”
“I was thinking you could man the yard sale. You can keep anything you earn,” she said.
“I don't think I can do it.”
“And why not?”
“I'm really no good at selling, you know that. If I could sell, I'd be a salesman or some bull-shitty thing like that.”
“I don't ask for much, but sometimes you can pitch in, you know.”
I don't know how she meant it, but I got the message. Be useful.
“How long are you going to be gone for?” I asked.
“A few hours,” she said. “The rest of day, I don't know. You know how these things go. Maybe we'll go out for lunch, perhaps get some drinks.” She arched her eyebrows. “Do you mind?”
“I'm thinking about it.”
“It's easy,” she said and smiled. “Take the money; make some change. That's it.”
She showed me the money jar and gave me a few pointers. “Keep the money in the house. I know these women. They'll wait until you're not looking, then they'll put the jar inside their blouse.”
“You're kidding me.”
She shook her head. “Let them browse. Don't talk too much. Seriously, you think you're funny, and no one gets your humor. You only think you're funny. You say the stupidest things sometimes.”
“Okay.”
She went inside. When she came out, she'd changed her clothes. She had on a tight, form revealing yellow summer dress. I'd never seen her wear that. She'd imposed a moratorium on spending. How'd she buy it, and how'd she keep it hidden?
She rushed into the car, and without another word, drove away.
Crap. What to do? I had a good mind to wrap it up. But then I'd have to deal with angry pregnant women, and with Susan going over my take. I rushed inside and finished my whiskey. I needed something.
I went out and sat under the shade of a large avocado tree with anthology book of short stories, but I didn't get too far into it, before I had my first customer. She was a tall brunette, and she was rummaging through a rack of clothes at the edge of the driveway. I'd missed her coming over. She was probably a neighbor, or maybe she'd just parked out of the way. She had on a white tank top and a pair of tight butt-cut lemon yellow shorts. They barely contained her ass. I kept looking. She stood a little taller than my wife did, not quite so thin, and her legs were fuller. I was staring at her muscular, bronzed legs, when she turned around.
She wore a pair of expensive looking brown sunglasses, and she was looking at me looking at her.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Yes?”
She held a hanger with a pair of draped pants next to her red neck.
“How much are these capris?” she asked. Her glossy lips pressed into a hard smirk.
I knew the ones. I looked at her shapely legs and back at her face.
“Those aren't going to fit you,” I said.
She looked at me hard. “What?”
“Those are too small.”
“They're not for me. They're for my daughter.”
My face pulled back in embarrassment. I looked along the fence for prices.
“Sorry, “ I said. “My bad. Let me check.”
Surely, Susan had written down a price list, but she hadn't. “They're five,” I said.
She lifted the hanger above her head. “They're a little frayed. I don't know. I'll give you three.”
“How about four?”
She arched her eyebrows above her glasses.
I rubbed my chin, acted like I was thinking, then smiled. “Okay, three.”
She reached into her pink Coach bag, counted out some bills, then gave me the crumpled money.
“Thanks,” I said.
She didn't say a thank you or anything, just took her stuff, and walked away across my yard and down the hill.
After my incident with Ms. Capri, most of the women were either pregnant or had young kids. Word must have gotten around. They came by themselves, sometimes with their families or a kid or two. Then they started coming in droves. I don't know. They looked like a herd, full of chatter and constantly moving. Big round happy women.
I peeped behind my book. I admired their bellies, their enlarged breasts. Most of them were a little older, more than thirty. They didn't dress like it, though. If anything, they dressed up, wore more revealing clothes, tops and stretch pants that accentuated their conditions. It was like a parade.
Some of them hung around quite a while. I brought out some lawn chairs I offered them something to eat, graham crackers and water. I was getting the hang of this. The hours went by. The money jar filled with dollars. I sold a lot of our knickknacks, as well as some stuff from Susan's previous life, photo frames, kitchen appliances, things I'd never seen.
This was easier than I thought. Eventually, the time came to shut it down.
Just as I was about to take down the signs and move the remaining merchandise up against the house, I had my last customer.
She must have been in her early twenties. She wore a pair of designer sunglasses and a blue sweat outfit– in this heat. She was a brunette, petite, and small featured. Her stomach showed a small bump, like a small beach ball. She drifted from table to table. She kept rubbing her stomach and smiling. When she spoke to me, her speech was slow and deliberate.
“Where are the newborn?” She wasn't from around here.
I asked her where she was from.
She smiled and told me she was Armenian. She flitted her tongue against her top teeth when she spoke. She had a smooth curvy face, the slightest roundness under her chin. She was beautiful. I imagined Susan like this. She would have looked just like her, same build, different hair color, but just as trim and slight, like her. Her name was Lucine. I told her it was a pretty name. She smiled a wide unselfconscious smile, full of teeth and pink cheeks.
She built a little pile of clothes. She asked me a few questions. How many girls I had. How long I'd lived here, what my wife was doing. I told her. She half smirked and shook her head.
Lucine had married a young man from her country. This was her first child. But her husband wasn't around. His mother had died and he'd gone back home. He was supposed to have returned after two weeks, long enough for a service and to spend time with the family. Two weeks turned into two months. She called his mother's home, and emailed him, too, but it was as if he'd disappeared.
I don't know why she chose to tell me all this. I couldn't guess. Maybe she didn't have any friends. Maybe she was all alone.
She bought a small bundle of clothes. She handed me the money. Her fingers rubbed my palm. I looked at her, she smiled. She turned and walked away. Her ass was pert, her legs tight, and a fair amount of baby fat rolled under her legs. My eyes glued to her backside. She looked behind her. She saw that I was watching her. I smiled and nodded. She winked, stuck her ass out, slowed down, and with a few steps, she gave me the best walk I'd ever seen.
She drove away. I walked to the fence and gazed into the end of the street.
“Nice girl, Mike. Do you want to follow her?”
Misty.
“Hi, Misty. A guy can look, can't he?”
She walked from across the street. Misty's my neighbor, also a very good friend of mine.
“Sure, looking's okay,” she said. “A guy should be able to look all he wants so long as that's where it ends.”
Misty was pregnant, as it turned out. She was huge.
“I was wondering when you were coming over,” I said.
She wore a black polyester outfit with thin white stripes that ran down the sides of the jacket and pants. Somehow she'd managed to zip the jacket in front of her stomach. She draped the elastic hem just below her navel.
“You looking for some clothes?” I asked. “We got a few. I can cut you a deal. Good neighbor discount.”
“Got any pants that'll fit me?” She brushed her hair with her hands. Her wavy brown hair fell halfway down her back.
“Maybe,” I said, and looked her over. “How much longer, Misty? When are you done?”
She laid her hands on her stomach and rubbed the sides. “I'm six months, so any time, so there's nothing to worry about. You won't have to call the paramedics or anything, I'm not going to deliver right here in your driveway.”
“That's a relief.”
“I could sit down, if you have a chair, though.” She walked up to the gate and I noticed she had two black bricks dangling by some wires like dead rats. “Can I ask you something? This should be easy for you.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Thanks, Mike. Hopefully, this won't take long.” She sat down.
She told me about her problems replacing some old fluorescent lights.
“Yeah, you got the right one. You just need to wire them differently. This one's the old style. Have Tim come over. I'll make sure to explain it right.”
I handed her the transformer.
My dull eyes went straight to her tits. Her white shirt bunched and creased obscenely at her large breasts. I followed her legs. They were shapely below her hips, just rounder, fatter. Her legs had gotten thicker around her thighs. Sitting down, her thighs spread out like dough. The rest of her was plump, too. She looked hot and ready.
“My husband can't understand what to do,” she said.
“I'll talk to him. It's not that hard, but I know how awkward these get.”
“You can tell me, Mike. Tim's not home right now. He's going to be out for a while. Probably won't return for another few hours. In the meantime, I have a dark kitchen, and no way to feed me and the baby.” She fluttered her eyes.
I smiled back. “Come inside the house. Yard sale's done. You can make yourself a sandwich. Eat anything you want.”
I pushed open the door. She walked in. Her ass rolled under the tight pants.
“I hope you're not climbing ladders on your own, Misty.”
She didn't answer. She sat down on the nearest sofa seat in the living room. I realized she was doing this work by herself.
I said, “I'll wait for Tim to come back. Misty. I wouldn't feel right if you fell, hurt yourself.”
She smiled, shook her head and once the act was done, she frowned weekly. That's when she started to cry.
I ran up to her. “Misty, Misty,” I said. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
She looked down at her stomach, hair in front of her face, and avoided my eyes.
“I'm sorry, Mike. It's nothing you said. I'm sorry.” She turned and started to get up.
“Misty, wait. I'll do the wiring for you. Just flip off the breaker for the kitchen and I'll be right over.”
She looked at me with streams of water pouring down her red face. She smiled and shook her head. “It's not that.” She looked at me with pain in her beautiful face.
“This isn't about the lights, Mike. Can I tell you something?” she asked. “I don't know who else to talk to.”
She laid into me about her problems with Tim.
“I shouldn't be saying anything, Mike. I'm just so alone. No one to talk to. What would my girlfriends say, that I was crazy? A man will do these things.” She opened her huge brown eyes at me. Her forehead creased. “He's cheating on me, Mike.”
“I'm so sorry, Misty.”
“Can I talk to you, Mike? Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. Get it out.”
“He has another woman. He's visiting her, right now. I know it. I've read some of their emails. He knows that I know. Her name's Heidi. They work together.” She breathed out. “I even think I've met her, shook her hand. She's young, tall, pretty. He'll stay with her all night. He doesn't even excuse himself. Just comes back whenever he feels like it.”
“Go on.”
“He's probably fucking that Scandinavian bitch, right now,” she said. “He hasn't touched me in three months, don't bother asking me how I got pregnant. You think that's right, Mike? What kind of man does that? I'm carrying his baby, for fuck's sake. He doesn't even look at me. He doesn't like how this pregnancy's changed me. He tells me that I'm bloated, that he needs someone with a perfect body, young and flawless. Yes, I've put on some pounds, but that's healthy, I'm pregnant after all for fucks sake.”
“I'm sorry, Misty. That's horrible. There's no excuse. A guy has responsibilities.” I tried again. “You're a very beautiful woman.”
She half smiled. “You think so, Mike?”
“Absolutely. It's too bad your husband can't see it.” I pressed her knee with my hand.
“You're sweet,” she said.
“You deserve someone better,” I said.
“No shit,” she said.
“Yeah, no shit,” and we both laughed.
She didn't say anything for the longest time. I scooted myself next to her and put my arms around her neck. She pawed my back.
“Thanks Mike. You don't know how much I needed that.”
Just then, my phone rang.
“Hold on,” I said, and answered. It was Susan. She said she'd been paged, and that she had to go into the hospital. Don't wait up, she told, and I told her I wouldn't, and then I hung up the phone.
“It was Susan,” I said.
“Mike,” she said. She stared at me, darting her eyes all over my face. She looked like she needed to say something and had a hard time getting it out. “Mike, it's not my place,” she continued. “I just think you'll hate me for it. But I want to be honest with you, and you're such a nice guy.” Her words came slow. “You deserve better.” She pressed my hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Mike, do you know about Susan?”
“What about her? What do you mean?”
“Do you know that she brings a guy over when you're not here? She's having an affair.”
“What?”
“I'm sorry Mike.”
I must've looked like I'd been gutted. I turned and fell on the other end of the couch.
“Mike.” She got up and sat next to me. She searched for my hands. “Mike, you okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.”
I gazed at her. “It's okay. Thanks for telling me, Misty. It's good to know.”
She groaned and struggled to get down into a squat in front of me. She held my trembling hands in hers.
“I don't believe it,” I said. “How can you be sure, Misty? How do you know? How? When?”
“I've known for about a month. He comes to the house a couple times a week. I see them mostly mid-day, when you were at work. She kissed him outside your door.” She pulled her dark hair away from her face. That gesture reminded me of Susan.
The doctor, the yard sale. Of course, she had to go looking for some other man's cock. Of course, she'd get herself pregnant by someone else. I'd raise the man's kid. My mind flashed across possibilities.
“Anything else?”
“He's here all the time, during the week. Sometimes she leaves with him. He's dark.” She paused.
“Go on.”
“He's tall, probably in his 20s. Athletic.” her eyes bounced over my face.
“Is he good looking?”
She nodded.
“A black guy?” I asked. I'd met him at a company party Susan had taken me to. This guy was being overly friendly. I wasn't jealous then, but it was so easy
She nodded. I tossed my head back. She got up and put her hands around my head and pulled me against her stomach. She felt warm and mothering. Her bare leg touched mine.
We talked for a while more. I dropped a few choice epithets about my wife. I had to come up with something. I don't know what I would have done if Misty wasn't pregnant, and I wasn't afraid to upset her.
“Mike, I'm so sorry.”
“I needed to know, Misty. I'm better off knowing,” I said.
She kept looking at me like she had something more. “Mike, if there's anything I could do.” She knelt on the cushion and held my hand between her legs. She moved her face in front of mine. I had a choice and I kissed her. She grabbed the back of my head. I held her small face. Her lips moved over mine, hungry and biting.
We kissed with her over me until she got tired and fell back on her legs. I lowered my sore neck and looked across at her. She sucked in her lips. It was my turn to smother her. My face crushed against hers and I sucked her lips into mine. She opened her mouth and spoke.
“We shouldn't be doing this,” she said.
“No.”
“But I want to.” She laughed.
I moved my hand around her hip. It was soft and round. I caressed her flesh in my palm. She pulled me closer. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Her hand glided across my rough cheek. I ran the tips of my fingers against her stomach. I pressed gently and felt the movement inside her. Our kissing was full of looks. She took my hand and shoved it behind the pants' elastic. I palmed her lower stomach and touched a thin pair of sheer panties. I twisted her slick pubes between my fingers and slid my fingers against her swollen cunt. She oozed wetness. I searched out her mouth with mine, locked lips, and sucked on her tongue.
“Mike, I don't know how long I can last.”
I asked her what she meant.
“You know. Down there. Before I need you to fuck me.”
I laughed at her. “You want to do that?”
“I'm not kidding,” she said.
She lifted her shirt. Her breasts sagged against her stomach.
I looked on. She squared her shoulders. “They're beautiful,” I said. “Nice, dark-pink tips.” I passed a finger down and across her nipple.
“They were nicer before. Smaller. Firmer. Not so saggy.” She lifted the undersides with her fingers.
“No, these are better.”
She shook her hair. “I like you, Mike. More and more,” she said.
I took a nipple into my mouth.
“Careful,” she said. “I'm sensitive. Every day the feeling gets more intense. The slightest touch sets them off.”
She climbed over me, again, sort of sideways, her face against the armrest. She maneuvered her heavy tit into my mouth. I lapped it up.
“Gentle,” she reminded me.
I inhaled her mound and sucked. I got back cries of pleasure. I tasted the trickle of something sweet. Suddenly, milk shot into the back of my throat. I took a deep breath and swallowed. The excess poured out the side of my mouth.
“I'm sorry,” she said, laughing.
I patted her thigh. “It's good.”
She laughed with a touch of embarrassment. She held steady while I drank a few more ounces. I rather enjoyed it. I palmed her belly with my left hand.
She staggered out the words. “Mike. Fuck me. Please.” She sat down next to me.
“Not here. Let's go into the bedroom.”
“I can't wait,” she said. She searched around the room. “Over there by that wall.” She walked to the entryway by my office and leaned forward, “Come over here.”
I walked to her and pressed her backside with my crotch. The outline of her panties showed through her pants. She wiggled her ass. I rubbed her bottom and pulled her pants and green transparent panties just below her hips. Her cunt was dark and hairy. I couldn't see her vagina, nothing but the mat of hair between her legs. She spread her legs and shifted from foot to foot.
“Come behind me,” she said.
I walked down and put my hands on her hips. I pulled the rest of her pants and panties below her knees. My hands moved over her cold dimpled skin. She was fully naked, mounds of flesh, waiting for me to fuck her.
“Hurry,” she said.
I undid my pants and whipped out my stiff cock. I stepped into her and slid my penis between her two mounds of perfect white flesh. She reached behind herself and pulled my penis into her hole. With a gentle push on my part, she introduced me into her tight clenched pussy. She winced and banged the wall. We both groaned in unison. I grabbed the flesh above her ass and pushed in slowly. She held my arm to control just how deep I went. I did my best to ignore the sharp points of her fingernails digging into my arm. I made slow progress into her vagina. My penis squeaked. She relaxed after a while.
“It feels good. Just like that.”
I fucked her in quick, shallow strokes. She squeezed her vagina in gratitude. One long tight grip and then twitching flashes, which I quickly learned meant don't slow down.
“That's good,” she said. I started pumping her faster. “Oh god, oh god. Michael, my god. Fuck me harder. Harder.”
She was too much. My heart raced. I came inside of her. My balls gave all they could. I pulled out and gazed down between us. The semen surged out of her red swollen cunt. I didn't know if she realized it or not. She kept humping my dick. I massaged her broad back. I didn't want to disappoint her. I wasn't done yet.
I increased my pace. She lowered her head and pushed her ass as far as it would go. She'd meet me halfway.
“Ah, shit,” she said. “Ah, shit, ah shit, ah shit. I'm cumming, Michael. I'm coming.” She shuddered. Her feet scampered across the floor.
She screamed loud enough to alert the neighbors.
“Oh shit.” She covered her mouth, and laughed. She shut her eyes and got lost in the pleasure that coursed through her body.
I kept on fucking her. I jammed it as strong as I could. Her meaty thighs slapped against mine. I climbed as deep as she'd take me. She pressed herself close to the wall. My chest pushed against her back, now. She turned her face to me and I kissed her open mouth. She grabbed back and pulled my ass into her. She slowed down.
“Stop. No more,” she panted. She clenched her ass and with that we were done. I popped out. She panted and licked her wounds. She rubbed her pussy lips. “We got carried away.”
No kidding.
She turned toward me. She had her hands on her knees. Her tits and stomach hung like some Mayan fertility goddess, which she was. She curled her arms around my neck, slipped me kisses and passed her fingers through my hair.
“Mike, whatever it takes. Whatever. I don't care. I'm leaving that son of a bitch. And your wife's a whore.”
I smiled. “Yeah. I think I know that.”
Misty washed up. I watched her get dressed. I helped with her socks, pants, and shoes. We hugged. We told each other we'd do this again soon. I made out with her on the sofa. We kissed lazily, and drank each other's spit like high-school kids. She was tired, she told me. She had to go home, take a bath, and fall asleep.
I saw her out the door. It was dark outside. She unlatched the gate, and walked out across the street. She disappeared behind a tree. A moment later, she turned on her front lights.
I closed my door and took inventory. The house felt cavernous and empty. This was not the end. Nothing like it. Things like this never end easy. This was a far cry from a one-night stand. This didn't end, not tonight. I'd dug myself a hole. The cunt's a trap. A cheating wife, an affair with a pregnant neighbor. This was a screwed up place to be. Call it what you want, I felt fear behind my skull.
I could've gotten a divorce, walked away from Susan and our kids. But I didn't. That was like pulling out the veins in my arms. I had to stay. I had to deal with the situation. I had two women. I'd fuck Misty, next chance I got, and I would love it. Then there was my wife. She had it coming, too. My heart filled with rage. I wanted to fuck her more than ever, and I felt I loved her more, too.
Fuck sex.
by AntaeusQ
My wife Susan spent all Friday getting ready for the yard sale. She painted the signs, typed up the Craigslist ad, and alerted her Facebook friends. She has a couple hundred of those, most younger than her for some reason, and a fair number recent mothers or pregnant. I used to give her grief about all the time she spent online, but her network would come in handy for the yard sale, and we needed the money.
We both sat in the living room. Susan folded and sorted baby clothes. I watched TV. She had her back to me. She wore an old pair of gray, thin, lounge-around pants. No panties. She felt more comfortable walking around the house like that. Her pert ass, not too big, but shapely and compact stood out like a round piece of wood trim, only soft and rubbery.
I got up, put my hands on her waist and went in for a kiss on her neck, but she pulled away.
“Come on, Mike, I'm busy.” she said. “You know I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow.”
“Too busy for me? Come on.” I looked at her. “A little fooling around, then you can get back.”
“What? Are you going to help?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Please, Mike, you wouldn't know where to start. You don't know what anything costs.”
“You could tell me.”
“Do you know how to fold? Or hang something up on a hanger without wrinkling it? No, you don't, not in all the years that I've known you.”
“You can show me?”
She gave me a look, as if I wasn't worth the effort, so I gave up, sat back down, and pretended to watch the commercials.
“I'm going to keep the sentimental stuff,” she said, and stroked her short blond hair away from her face. She looked good, younger than her 32 years.
She's very pretty. She brought a loving focus to her folding and sorting. She hadn't looked at me like that in years. I didn't blame her, though. We had two girls, eight and ten, from her previous marriage. She was getting older. We both were, and we were beat, done. She was going to sell their baby clothes. She figured, why wait? We'd held off on getting rid of the clothing, but there was no point to that now. We weren't going to have any more kids, and it hadn't been for lack of trying.
About a month ago, she went to the doctor. The doctor ran his tests and then we waited a week. When the results came back, it may as well have been a death sentence. She passed with flying colors. Nature made her to have babies. My semen, though, scored poorly. The stupid idiots swam in circles or didn't swim at all.
Just like that, the sex dried up, the 'honeys', and the 'dears', too. I cut her some slack. I felt the disappointment, too. But if that wasn't enough, two weeks ago, my boss called me in. He smiled and offered his apologies, anything he could do. The bastard wasn't a very good actor, and we'd never gotten along. He said all the right things, but I could tell he didn't mean any of it. I lost my job, and with that all the respect from my wife.
Shame and inadequacy settled in. I got it. I couldn't provide or satisfy other needs. I'd never father kids of my own. I'd never get the chance to get my wife pregnant, see her change before my eyes, see her get rounder and bigger. And I couldn't provide for the people I was responsible for.
Susan's a nurse, so to help with the bills, she started working longer hours at the hospital. She came home late into the night, sometimes early morning. She said her line of work called for a greater level of commitment than I could understand.
And now we're having this yard sale. The girls were visiting with their dad. Susan said this was a good time, since she didn't have to look at them, while she sold away so many of their baby things.
“I remember when Caroline wore this,” she said. Caroline's our youngest daughter. “She was so adorable, and this one...Oh, I can't get rid of this one.” She wasn't talking to me. “I want the girls to have these when they have kids of their own,” she continued.
I turned off the TV, excused myself, and went into my office. I listlessly read some of my books. I couldn't get anything going, so I turned on the computer and watched porn.
“Mike, do you have any books you want to sell?” she yelled. “I only have these pregnancy books, and I want to have a selection. You never know, some guys could show up looking for guy books.”
“No. Nothing. Sorry.” I clicked away my porn folders. I turned around to the hundreds of books piled ceiling-high, all around my office. I had a few cases of comic books. They were worth something, but what could I expect to get from selling them in a yard sale?
“I'll look tomorrow,” I said. I'd have to sell the comics eventually, if I didn't get a job.
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, blew the dust off a glass, and started my drinking. I thought of all tough breaks, and when things would return to normal: a job, the respect of my wife. Two shots of whiskey later, I opened the door to my office and stepped out. It was past midnight and she was still folding.
On my way to the bedroom, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pecked at her unresponsive mouth. She planted a quick kiss, and went back to her business.
“Maybe tonight?” I asked, but she shook her head.
“I still have a lot of work,” she said. “Good night, Mike.”
“Good night, Susan.”
I brushed my teeth, dressed, got into bed, and fell asleep within minutes. The whiskey helped.
Next morning, I woke to the sound of birds and children playing outside. The sun warmed my face. I yawned and turned over. I remembered her coming to bed. I'd put the moves on her, got rebuffed and slunk back. Now, she was gone. I lay in bed, and drifted in and out of sleep. Then I heard Susan speak from just behind the bedroom door.
“Mike, do you know where you keep the big stapler?” she asked. “I'm going to need it to hang the signs.”
“I'll have to look for it,” I said into the pillow. “I know kind of where it is.”
“Hurry,” she said. “I have to finish setting up. The yard sale's at nine. That's in less than an hour.”
I hung my head over the bed. Fuck.
“Can you hang the signs?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I'll do it. Give me a minute. I need a bath.”
“A bath? Can you do it later?”
“It'll take a few minutes. I smell bad.”
“I won't ask for anything else. You can have all day to yourself. I won't bother you, again.”
“Ten minutes, then I'm out there putting up signs.”
I needed a shower, if I expected to get anything going. Why did I feel so tired? I slid off the bed and trudged into the bathroom. I slapped my hand against the wall in back of the toilet and whipped out my cock. I shook it, and started pissing.
I ran the hot water, stripped off my boxers, and got in the tub. I stood underneath the jets for a while, as the water slammed into my tired body. I tried not to think. I squeezed a bottle of bath soap into my hands. It was minty and oily. I stood up straight and spat water out my mouth. I grabbed my cock and squeezed it in a tight grip. The bath could wait. I pulled back on my foreskin and let the hot water cooked me alive. Here we go. I quickened my speed and turned my head around my neck. I grabbed my balls with my other hand, and squeezed my genitals together. I slowed the pace. Relaxed into it, moved both hands up and down my eight-inch cock. I stroked myself for a few minutes. Then, I felt it rush forward. I felt the familiar start, the shiver, the tingling all over. I clenched my ass and curled my toes. Muscles behind my stomach tightened, and I fell forward a step. Fluid started from deep within, flowed the length of my cock, shuddering nerves.
“Ah.”
Three times. Streams of white ejected into the choppy ankle-deep water. I ran my palm over the purple head. Ecstasy. A final electric shiver jerked my body. I squelched the desire to groan, and, instead, tightened my face and banged the tiled wall. I stood in that shower for a few more minutes, not washing or anything. I felt the tension flow out of me. It would return, of course, but for now, it emptied out with the semen. Things were so different a month ago. I didn't have to cum in the shower.
I dried myself and shook the hair in front of my forehead. I'm forty, going on fifty. I dressed in a pair of jeans, a green t-shirt and sneakers. Then, I went into my office, found my stapler, grabbed the yard sale signs, and walked down a steep hill.
I found the perfect place for the first sign. Anyone driving this way would see it. I pressed my forearm against the tree, and slammed a staple– WHAP – right into its bark.
When I returned from assignment, Susan was in the process of laying out the merchandise. I looked around, and peered inside boxes, and underneath tables.
“Don't worry. I'm not selling any of your things,” she said.
I walked by her.
She leaned in. “Mike, I need your help with more boxes.”
“You're kidding. You don't have any more space out here.”
She smiled. “There's more in the bedroom.”
“Okay, but then you're on your own.”
“You can relax, read a book, sit in your office.” She gave me slap on the back, probably the most affection I'd gotten in weeks. “Do whatever you do in there.”
“I'll read.”
I found the boxes and pushed them out the door. With nothing else to do, I grabbed a beer and went into my office. I sunk back in my chair, opened a book, flipped on the computer, and did my best to entertain myself. In a short while, people starting parking their cars and walking up the driveway.
I heard the voices, mostly women, but some husbands and boyfriends, too. My wife sounded cheerful and animated. The yard sale ran right up against my office window. I heard them talking.
How much for this cookie sheet? Five bucks. Will you take one dollar. No. I can sell it for five. Any boy clothes? No. Just girls. Does this really work? Do you have any tools? Anything you want to get rid of? Anything you want to donate? I'm looking for a drill, cement blocks, old tires, screws, comic books.
I had a hard time tuning them out. I kept obsessing about Susan selling my tools. What if she thought of those as 'ours'? After half an hour of muffled conversations, I went into the kitchen to grab another beer. I counted them. I only had seven to last me until I had a new job, and then there was the whiskey, the sleeping aid. Make it last, she had told me. We didn't have the money, she said and I agreed. But I needed to drink. At my rate, I'd be out by next week.
I read comfortably, in spite of all the activity.
After two hours, Susan rapped on my window and spoke. “Mike, can you come out here?” she asked.
I went outside, and she asked me over.
“I need to ask you something,” she said. “Don't get mad.”
“What?” I asked.
“Mike, you remember Karen from choir?”
“No,” I said. “Maybe. Why?”
She cocked her head, hand on her waist. “She just called and invited me to a get together with the girls. It's a last minute thing. I have to go. We're going to go for coffee at Tully's. Don't worry about the money. I've made more than enough for a drip and a cookie.”
“What about the yard sale?”
“Mike, I don't get out much. You know that. This came up. I'll have to leave in a few minutes.”
“What about the sale? What are you going to do? Are you going to put up a sign and let people know?”
“No.”
“Then what? You're not going to let people come over to the house and find everything closed up, are you?”
“I was thinking you could man the yard sale. You can keep anything you earn,” she said.
“I don't think I can do it.”
“And why not?”
“I'm really no good at selling, you know that. If I could sell, I'd be a salesman or some bull-shitty thing like that.”
“I don't ask for much, but sometimes you can pitch in, you know.”
I don't know how she meant it, but I got the message. Be useful.
“How long are you going to be gone for?” I asked.
“A few hours,” she said. “The rest of day, I don't know. You know how these things go. Maybe we'll go out for lunch, perhaps get some drinks.” She arched her eyebrows. “Do you mind?”
“I'm thinking about it.”
“It's easy,” she said and smiled. “Take the money; make some change. That's it.”
She showed me the money jar and gave me a few pointers. “Keep the money in the house. I know these women. They'll wait until you're not looking, then they'll put the jar inside their blouse.”
“You're kidding me.”
She shook her head. “Let them browse. Don't talk too much. Seriously, you think you're funny, and no one gets your humor. You only think you're funny. You say the stupidest things sometimes.”
“Okay.”
She went inside. When she came out, she'd changed her clothes. She had on a tight, form revealing yellow summer dress. I'd never seen her wear that. She'd imposed a moratorium on spending. How'd she buy it, and how'd she keep it hidden?
She rushed into the car, and without another word, drove away.
Crap. What to do? I had a good mind to wrap it up. But then I'd have to deal with angry pregnant women, and with Susan going over my take. I rushed inside and finished my whiskey. I needed something.
I went out and sat under the shade of a large avocado tree with anthology book of short stories, but I didn't get too far into it, before I had my first customer. She was a tall brunette, and she was rummaging through a rack of clothes at the edge of the driveway. I'd missed her coming over. She was probably a neighbor, or maybe she'd just parked out of the way. She had on a white tank top and a pair of tight butt-cut lemon yellow shorts. They barely contained her ass. I kept looking. She stood a little taller than my wife did, not quite so thin, and her legs were fuller. I was staring at her muscular, bronzed legs, when she turned around.
She wore a pair of expensive looking brown sunglasses, and she was looking at me looking at her.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“Yes?”
She held a hanger with a pair of draped pants next to her red neck.
“How much are these capris?” she asked. Her glossy lips pressed into a hard smirk.
I knew the ones. I looked at her shapely legs and back at her face.
“Those aren't going to fit you,” I said.
She looked at me hard. “What?”
“Those are too small.”
“They're not for me. They're for my daughter.”
My face pulled back in embarrassment. I looked along the fence for prices.
“Sorry, “ I said. “My bad. Let me check.”
Surely, Susan had written down a price list, but she hadn't. “They're five,” I said.
She lifted the hanger above her head. “They're a little frayed. I don't know. I'll give you three.”
“How about four?”
She arched her eyebrows above her glasses.
I rubbed my chin, acted like I was thinking, then smiled. “Okay, three.”
She reached into her pink Coach bag, counted out some bills, then gave me the crumpled money.
“Thanks,” I said.
She didn't say a thank you or anything, just took her stuff, and walked away across my yard and down the hill.
After my incident with Ms. Capri, most of the women were either pregnant or had young kids. Word must have gotten around. They came by themselves, sometimes with their families or a kid or two. Then they started coming in droves. I don't know. They looked like a herd, full of chatter and constantly moving. Big round happy women.
I peeped behind my book. I admired their bellies, their enlarged breasts. Most of them were a little older, more than thirty. They didn't dress like it, though. If anything, they dressed up, wore more revealing clothes, tops and stretch pants that accentuated their conditions. It was like a parade.
Some of them hung around quite a while. I brought out some lawn chairs I offered them something to eat, graham crackers and water. I was getting the hang of this. The hours went by. The money jar filled with dollars. I sold a lot of our knickknacks, as well as some stuff from Susan's previous life, photo frames, kitchen appliances, things I'd never seen.
This was easier than I thought. Eventually, the time came to shut it down.
Just as I was about to take down the signs and move the remaining merchandise up against the house, I had my last customer.
She must have been in her early twenties. She wore a pair of designer sunglasses and a blue sweat outfit– in this heat. She was a brunette, petite, and small featured. Her stomach showed a small bump, like a small beach ball. She drifted from table to table. She kept rubbing her stomach and smiling. When she spoke to me, her speech was slow and deliberate.
“Where are the newborn?” She wasn't from around here.
I asked her where she was from.
She smiled and told me she was Armenian. She flitted her tongue against her top teeth when she spoke. She had a smooth curvy face, the slightest roundness under her chin. She was beautiful. I imagined Susan like this. She would have looked just like her, same build, different hair color, but just as trim and slight, like her. Her name was Lucine. I told her it was a pretty name. She smiled a wide unselfconscious smile, full of teeth and pink cheeks.
She built a little pile of clothes. She asked me a few questions. How many girls I had. How long I'd lived here, what my wife was doing. I told her. She half smirked and shook her head.
Lucine had married a young man from her country. This was her first child. But her husband wasn't around. His mother had died and he'd gone back home. He was supposed to have returned after two weeks, long enough for a service and to spend time with the family. Two weeks turned into two months. She called his mother's home, and emailed him, too, but it was as if he'd disappeared.
I don't know why she chose to tell me all this. I couldn't guess. Maybe she didn't have any friends. Maybe she was all alone.
She bought a small bundle of clothes. She handed me the money. Her fingers rubbed my palm. I looked at her, she smiled. She turned and walked away. Her ass was pert, her legs tight, and a fair amount of baby fat rolled under her legs. My eyes glued to her backside. She looked behind her. She saw that I was watching her. I smiled and nodded. She winked, stuck her ass out, slowed down, and with a few steps, she gave me the best walk I'd ever seen.
She drove away. I walked to the fence and gazed into the end of the street.
“Nice girl, Mike. Do you want to follow her?”
Misty.
“Hi, Misty. A guy can look, can't he?”
She walked from across the street. Misty's my neighbor, also a very good friend of mine.
“Sure, looking's okay,” she said. “A guy should be able to look all he wants so long as that's where it ends.”
Misty was pregnant, as it turned out. She was huge.
“I was wondering when you were coming over,” I said.
She wore a black polyester outfit with thin white stripes that ran down the sides of the jacket and pants. Somehow she'd managed to zip the jacket in front of her stomach. She draped the elastic hem just below her navel.
“You looking for some clothes?” I asked. “We got a few. I can cut you a deal. Good neighbor discount.”
“Got any pants that'll fit me?” She brushed her hair with her hands. Her wavy brown hair fell halfway down her back.
“Maybe,” I said, and looked her over. “How much longer, Misty? When are you done?”
She laid her hands on her stomach and rubbed the sides. “I'm six months, so any time, so there's nothing to worry about. You won't have to call the paramedics or anything, I'm not going to deliver right here in your driveway.”
“That's a relief.”
“I could sit down, if you have a chair, though.” She walked up to the gate and I noticed she had two black bricks dangling by some wires like dead rats. “Can I ask you something? This should be easy for you.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Thanks, Mike. Hopefully, this won't take long.” She sat down.
She told me about her problems replacing some old fluorescent lights.
“Yeah, you got the right one. You just need to wire them differently. This one's the old style. Have Tim come over. I'll make sure to explain it right.”
I handed her the transformer.
My dull eyes went straight to her tits. Her white shirt bunched and creased obscenely at her large breasts. I followed her legs. They were shapely below her hips, just rounder, fatter. Her legs had gotten thicker around her thighs. Sitting down, her thighs spread out like dough. The rest of her was plump, too. She looked hot and ready.
“My husband can't understand what to do,” she said.
“I'll talk to him. It's not that hard, but I know how awkward these get.”
“You can tell me, Mike. Tim's not home right now. He's going to be out for a while. Probably won't return for another few hours. In the meantime, I have a dark kitchen, and no way to feed me and the baby.” She fluttered her eyes.
I smiled back. “Come inside the house. Yard sale's done. You can make yourself a sandwich. Eat anything you want.”
I pushed open the door. She walked in. Her ass rolled under the tight pants.
“I hope you're not climbing ladders on your own, Misty.”
She didn't answer. She sat down on the nearest sofa seat in the living room. I realized she was doing this work by herself.
I said, “I'll wait for Tim to come back. Misty. I wouldn't feel right if you fell, hurt yourself.”
She smiled, shook her head and once the act was done, she frowned weekly. That's when she started to cry.
I ran up to her. “Misty, Misty,” I said. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
She looked down at her stomach, hair in front of her face, and avoided my eyes.
“I'm sorry, Mike. It's nothing you said. I'm sorry.” She turned and started to get up.
“Misty, wait. I'll do the wiring for you. Just flip off the breaker for the kitchen and I'll be right over.”
She looked at me with streams of water pouring down her red face. She smiled and shook her head. “It's not that.” She looked at me with pain in her beautiful face.
“This isn't about the lights, Mike. Can I tell you something?” she asked. “I don't know who else to talk to.”
She laid into me about her problems with Tim.
“I shouldn't be saying anything, Mike. I'm just so alone. No one to talk to. What would my girlfriends say, that I was crazy? A man will do these things.” She opened her huge brown eyes at me. Her forehead creased. “He's cheating on me, Mike.”
“I'm so sorry, Misty.”
“Can I talk to you, Mike? Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. Get it out.”
“He has another woman. He's visiting her, right now. I know it. I've read some of their emails. He knows that I know. Her name's Heidi. They work together.” She breathed out. “I even think I've met her, shook her hand. She's young, tall, pretty. He'll stay with her all night. He doesn't even excuse himself. Just comes back whenever he feels like it.”
“Go on.”
“He's probably fucking that Scandinavian bitch, right now,” she said. “He hasn't touched me in three months, don't bother asking me how I got pregnant. You think that's right, Mike? What kind of man does that? I'm carrying his baby, for fuck's sake. He doesn't even look at me. He doesn't like how this pregnancy's changed me. He tells me that I'm bloated, that he needs someone with a perfect body, young and flawless. Yes, I've put on some pounds, but that's healthy, I'm pregnant after all for fucks sake.”
“I'm sorry, Misty. That's horrible. There's no excuse. A guy has responsibilities.” I tried again. “You're a very beautiful woman.”
She half smiled. “You think so, Mike?”
“Absolutely. It's too bad your husband can't see it.” I pressed her knee with my hand.
“You're sweet,” she said.
“You deserve someone better,” I said.
“No shit,” she said.
“Yeah, no shit,” and we both laughed.
She didn't say anything for the longest time. I scooted myself next to her and put my arms around her neck. She pawed my back.
“Thanks Mike. You don't know how much I needed that.”
Just then, my phone rang.
“Hold on,” I said, and answered. It was Susan. She said she'd been paged, and that she had to go into the hospital. Don't wait up, she told, and I told her I wouldn't, and then I hung up the phone.
“It was Susan,” I said.
“Mike,” she said. She stared at me, darting her eyes all over my face. She looked like she needed to say something and had a hard time getting it out. “Mike, it's not my place,” she continued. “I just think you'll hate me for it. But I want to be honest with you, and you're such a nice guy.” Her words came slow. “You deserve better.” She pressed my hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Mike, do you know about Susan?”
“What about her? What do you mean?”
“Do you know that she brings a guy over when you're not here? She's having an affair.”
“What?”
“I'm sorry Mike.”
I must've looked like I'd been gutted. I turned and fell on the other end of the couch.
“Mike.” She got up and sat next to me. She searched for my hands. “Mike, you okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.”
I gazed at her. “It's okay. Thanks for telling me, Misty. It's good to know.”
She groaned and struggled to get down into a squat in front of me. She held my trembling hands in hers.
“I don't believe it,” I said. “How can you be sure, Misty? How do you know? How? When?”
“I've known for about a month. He comes to the house a couple times a week. I see them mostly mid-day, when you were at work. She kissed him outside your door.” She pulled her dark hair away from her face. That gesture reminded me of Susan.
The doctor, the yard sale. Of course, she had to go looking for some other man's cock. Of course, she'd get herself pregnant by someone else. I'd raise the man's kid. My mind flashed across possibilities.
“Anything else?”
“He's here all the time, during the week. Sometimes she leaves with him. He's dark.” She paused.
“Go on.”
“He's tall, probably in his 20s. Athletic.” her eyes bounced over my face.
“Is he good looking?”
She nodded.
“A black guy?” I asked. I'd met him at a company party Susan had taken me to. This guy was being overly friendly. I wasn't jealous then, but it was so easy
She nodded. I tossed my head back. She got up and put her hands around my head and pulled me against her stomach. She felt warm and mothering. Her bare leg touched mine.
We talked for a while more. I dropped a few choice epithets about my wife. I had to come up with something. I don't know what I would have done if Misty wasn't pregnant, and I wasn't afraid to upset her.
“Mike, I'm so sorry.”
“I needed to know, Misty. I'm better off knowing,” I said.
She kept looking at me like she had something more. “Mike, if there's anything I could do.” She knelt on the cushion and held my hand between her legs. She moved her face in front of mine. I had a choice and I kissed her. She grabbed the back of my head. I held her small face. Her lips moved over mine, hungry and biting.
We kissed with her over me until she got tired and fell back on her legs. I lowered my sore neck and looked across at her. She sucked in her lips. It was my turn to smother her. My face crushed against hers and I sucked her lips into mine. She opened her mouth and spoke.
“We shouldn't be doing this,” she said.
“No.”
“But I want to.” She laughed.
I moved my hand around her hip. It was soft and round. I caressed her flesh in my palm. She pulled me closer. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Her hand glided across my rough cheek. I ran the tips of my fingers against her stomach. I pressed gently and felt the movement inside her. Our kissing was full of looks. She took my hand and shoved it behind the pants' elastic. I palmed her lower stomach and touched a thin pair of sheer panties. I twisted her slick pubes between my fingers and slid my fingers against her swollen cunt. She oozed wetness. I searched out her mouth with mine, locked lips, and sucked on her tongue.
“Mike, I don't know how long I can last.”
I asked her what she meant.
“You know. Down there. Before I need you to fuck me.”
I laughed at her. “You want to do that?”
“I'm not kidding,” she said.
She lifted her shirt. Her breasts sagged against her stomach.
I looked on. She squared her shoulders. “They're beautiful,” I said. “Nice, dark-pink tips.” I passed a finger down and across her nipple.
“They were nicer before. Smaller. Firmer. Not so saggy.” She lifted the undersides with her fingers.
“No, these are better.”
She shook her hair. “I like you, Mike. More and more,” she said.
I took a nipple into my mouth.
“Careful,” she said. “I'm sensitive. Every day the feeling gets more intense. The slightest touch sets them off.”
She climbed over me, again, sort of sideways, her face against the armrest. She maneuvered her heavy tit into my mouth. I lapped it up.
“Gentle,” she reminded me.
I inhaled her mound and sucked. I got back cries of pleasure. I tasted the trickle of something sweet. Suddenly, milk shot into the back of my throat. I took a deep breath and swallowed. The excess poured out the side of my mouth.
“I'm sorry,” she said, laughing.
I patted her thigh. “It's good.”
She laughed with a touch of embarrassment. She held steady while I drank a few more ounces. I rather enjoyed it. I palmed her belly with my left hand.
She staggered out the words. “Mike. Fuck me. Please.” She sat down next to me.
“Not here. Let's go into the bedroom.”
“I can't wait,” she said. She searched around the room. “Over there by that wall.” She walked to the entryway by my office and leaned forward, “Come over here.”
I walked to her and pressed her backside with my crotch. The outline of her panties showed through her pants. She wiggled her ass. I rubbed her bottom and pulled her pants and green transparent panties just below her hips. Her cunt was dark and hairy. I couldn't see her vagina, nothing but the mat of hair between her legs. She spread her legs and shifted from foot to foot.
“Come behind me,” she said.
I walked down and put my hands on her hips. I pulled the rest of her pants and panties below her knees. My hands moved over her cold dimpled skin. She was fully naked, mounds of flesh, waiting for me to fuck her.
“Hurry,” she said.
I undid my pants and whipped out my stiff cock. I stepped into her and slid my penis between her two mounds of perfect white flesh. She reached behind herself and pulled my penis into her hole. With a gentle push on my part, she introduced me into her tight clenched pussy. She winced and banged the wall. We both groaned in unison. I grabbed the flesh above her ass and pushed in slowly. She held my arm to control just how deep I went. I did my best to ignore the sharp points of her fingernails digging into my arm. I made slow progress into her vagina. My penis squeaked. She relaxed after a while.
“It feels good. Just like that.”
I fucked her in quick, shallow strokes. She squeezed her vagina in gratitude. One long tight grip and then twitching flashes, which I quickly learned meant don't slow down.
“That's good,” she said. I started pumping her faster. “Oh god, oh god. Michael, my god. Fuck me harder. Harder.”
She was too much. My heart raced. I came inside of her. My balls gave all they could. I pulled out and gazed down between us. The semen surged out of her red swollen cunt. I didn't know if she realized it or not. She kept humping my dick. I massaged her broad back. I didn't want to disappoint her. I wasn't done yet.
I increased my pace. She lowered her head and pushed her ass as far as it would go. She'd meet me halfway.
“Ah, shit,” she said. “Ah, shit, ah shit, ah shit. I'm cumming, Michael. I'm coming.” She shuddered. Her feet scampered across the floor.
She screamed loud enough to alert the neighbors.
“Oh shit.” She covered her mouth, and laughed. She shut her eyes and got lost in the pleasure that coursed through her body.
I kept on fucking her. I jammed it as strong as I could. Her meaty thighs slapped against mine. I climbed as deep as she'd take me. She pressed herself close to the wall. My chest pushed against her back, now. She turned her face to me and I kissed her open mouth. She grabbed back and pulled my ass into her. She slowed down.
“Stop. No more,” she panted. She clenched her ass and with that we were done. I popped out. She panted and licked her wounds. She rubbed her pussy lips. “We got carried away.”
No kidding.
She turned toward me. She had her hands on her knees. Her tits and stomach hung like some Mayan fertility goddess, which she was. She curled her arms around my neck, slipped me kisses and passed her fingers through my hair.
“Mike, whatever it takes. Whatever. I don't care. I'm leaving that son of a bitch. And your wife's a whore.”
I smiled. “Yeah. I think I know that.”
Misty washed up. I watched her get dressed. I helped with her socks, pants, and shoes. We hugged. We told each other we'd do this again soon. I made out with her on the sofa. We kissed lazily, and drank each other's spit like high-school kids. She was tired, she told me. She had to go home, take a bath, and fall asleep.
I saw her out the door. It was dark outside. She unlatched the gate, and walked out across the street. She disappeared behind a tree. A moment later, she turned on her front lights.
I closed my door and took inventory. The house felt cavernous and empty. This was not the end. Nothing like it. Things like this never end easy. This was a far cry from a one-night stand. This didn't end, not tonight. I'd dug myself a hole. The cunt's a trap. A cheating wife, an affair with a pregnant neighbor. This was a screwed up place to be. Call it what you want, I felt fear behind my skull.
I could've gotten a divorce, walked away from Susan and our kids. But I didn't. That was like pulling out the veins in my arms. I had to stay. I had to deal with the situation. I had two women. I'd fuck Misty, next chance I got, and I would love it. Then there was my wife. She had it coming, too. My heart filled with rage. I wanted to fuck her more than ever, and I felt I loved her more, too.
Fuck sex.
