AN EROTIC RESOLUTION (2)

CHAPTER 2

“Maybe I’m too excited to see you,” Frank said, breaking the ice.

“Huh,” I gasped. I was unable to say anything. What could I possibly say? My mouth was dry from sucking his balls, from running his junk in my mouth as I tried to bring the dead cock back to life.

Excitement was supposed to reveal itself in how he rushed me and panted after me like a deer panting after the water in a brook. But there we were, with a dick as limp as a flaccid balloon and my chest slowly filling with hot air.

“Maybe we should rest,” I said slowly as I realized that all my dreams for a hard-core fuck, all my plans to be spanked and planked with my husband’s cock, would no longer be realized.

“Right?” Frank had answered as soon as his cock slipped out of my hands. He tried to hide the relief on his face, but he wasn’t fast enough. Maybe he was, but I was faster.

Frank could be many things, but he wasn’t a good liar. I was the one who could lie even with a gun to my head. I was the one who could lie even when I was caught. I would make the lie seem like the truth if there wasn’t evidence. Not Frank. That may be why we clicked. I was the evil, he the good. I am the ying, and he the yang or whatever that sign meant.

The slow exhale, the disappearance of the wrinkles on his forehead. His relaxed shoulders were all the details I needed to see. I knew that even if he rested, I might not get the sex I had dreamed about, the furious fuck that I had craved all those early mornings when I buried my head in the pillow and the vibrator between my legs. The fantasies I had indulged in late into the night when horniness reminded me of my loneliness.

I tried to get up and move on to the next activity in our shared life – the bedroom was already a ghost of what it was before we came in. The sheets were off of the bed; his shirt was hanging from the bedside lamp. I couldn’t tell how it got there. A bottle of unopened lubricant had crashed to the floor, probably as we rolled in the sheets. Three pillows lay atop each other, forming a fluffy staircase at the foot of the bed.

I also knew that I would have to take care of those, microwave the pizza, and serve Frank a large meal. But I realized that I needed to shower to get me out of the mood and to keep me fresh, at least.

“Well, you should rest,” I had replied in the best voice I could muster, hoping my disappointment wasn’t visible. I love sex, but I love my husband more. I was conscious enough to know that I was now a wife and no more a girlfriend, and a wife would ensure her husband at least had a decent meal to eat after two months away. I tried to avoid looking at his chiselled abs or the line that traced from his pecs down to his limp cock. There was no use looking at something that I wouldn’t enjoy.

“Come on, baby, I could go down on you again,” Frank said as he covered the distance between us. He winked at me, and I had to force a smile. He couldn’t satisfy me, but I settled for him because he was the only one out of the men who asked me out who could turn me on without an effort. The memories of the past hour rose to the surface of my mind. It caused a little blood to rush to the surface of my skin. And I didn’t know when I looked at his flaccid dick.

“Maybe later,” I said quickly when his eyes dropped to mine.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cupping my face with his large palms. My body had begun to melt then, but I wriggled away softly and swung my leg from the bed. I didn’t want my body to succumb to what it wanted; if I wasn’t getting what I needed, I had better get up.

My response was a smile, followed by a nod at the untidy room.

“Cathy, you know we could do it,” He tightened his grip on my fingers.

“Do …. It?” I was confused. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“The swingers thing.” Frank’s blue eyes had fixed on me like rivets holding two parts together.

Alarm bells louder than any that had ever sounded in my ears rang. I ensured that my face was as straight as a ruler. Inside my head, I ran through all the possibilities. Had I told him that I had been checking swinger websites? My mind darted through all our conversations—the W******p messages, the phone calls, and Facetime. I didn’t find an answer. How did he know?

“The swingers thing?” I asked him. I repeated it slowly, like a child learning a new word. I had not done anything wrong, but my heart didn’t think so. It had begun thudding as though horses were running behind my chest. A few drops of sweat beaded on my forehead.

“I saw your G****e history, Baby.” I remember that our history had synced since I logged in to my G***l on his device when I lost my phone. My body flooded with relief.

“Oh, that… I was just fooling around,” I said. I waved my hands across my face and managed a shy smile.

“You know, I have been thinking about it too.”

“Really?” For all my pretence, my excitement slipped past my mask.

“And I want us to do it if you want it.”

That was a week ago, and our first date with the couple we were paired with on the website was in two days, but here I was going ahead of Frank to meet the man whose wife he would fuck. To go fuck the man. Does this count as cheating? That question raced through my mind as I leaned into my seat.

I glanced at my phone. I still had a chance to call it off and head back home before Frank arrived. My phone dinged. By the time I looked, there were two words: Room 306.

He is photogenic, but his pictures do not do him justice enough. I drummed my red acrylic nails on the champagne flute that I was clutching with so much force that I feared it would break. It’s the least I can do to still and steel the nerves dancing around my body.

Frank, my husband, is fucking handsome - a head-turner with sharp cheekbones, lush facial hair, and biceps that stick out of his t-shirt. But the man in front of me is something else.

“Are we going to stare at each other forever?”

I don’t know if it was the alcohol, the half-glass that I had drunk or something else, but his voice vibrated in my chest. It was like the sound of gravel, the rumble of thunder. Something gruff but non–threatening. Whoever said voices couldn’t turn one on had never heard his. My nipples responded as blood rushed to them.