“are married as well.”
Sam, grinning from ear to ear, turns to absorb the stunned look on my face. I feel my face slowly morphing into a smile, as we both turn to look at Patricia. Deception is coming home with me tonight and I think I can guess his name. Where and when did my life go so wrong? I know, when I met Sam.
“Chandra, here, wanted to keep it private. She should remember that I can’t keep a secret. I’m a blabbermouth!” Ah hell, imagine that. I’m on the express train for hell now.
“Chandra? When did you change your name, Sandra?”
Sam swiftly responds to Patricia, hopefully defusing whatever torpedo she was loading for me. “Oh it’s one of those couple names I’m trying out. Chad plus Sandra equals Chandra. Do you like it?”
He’s an excellent liar I’ll give him that. No stuttering, no buckling under pressure. I’m not even sure he has a tell.
“So you are married?” Patricia tries to ensnare me with a cold, sideway glance.
Oh, I’m going to hell, no escape now. “Yes, yes we are.” I flash a bright smile trying to hide the absolute terror I feel at being found out.
Sam grabs me and plants an open mouthed kiss on me. I’m about to smack him when I feel him biting me. I whimper and he hastily sticks his tongue in my mouth. His tongue does things that put a pause on my reluctance and I find myself forgetting reason and logic in the kiss.
Sam’s tongue strokes a fire in me that is all too familiar. The problem with this fire is that it blazes and roars hotter than I’ve ever felt even from both my past lovers. This is both baffling and alarming for me. Why should a gay man be able to evoke, entice and strum my senses as if he were playing an underused, out–of–tune guitar?
But Sam plays a tune with which it’s obvious he’s quite familiar. Sam guides my senses, directing them to the flow of symphonic aphrodisia. I move to his rhythmic induced sensuality, slowing my touch, feeling every stroke left to incite a new flame. A new, welcomed burn.
His arms charm me into an embrace that locks and secures me while his mouth ravishes me with new tricks. I begin to wonder if it would be such a bad thing for me to allow him to take me here and now. We could find a secluded corner somewhere, anywhere. As a norm, I know my deportment is more dignified, but it can’t be that bad to break away from that once. Is it so bad that I want to take the full ride on this run-away train with Sam? I want to learn all that I know he’ll teach me.
I don’t know how long we were in our make out session that may or may not have included fondling. I wish he’d touched me in return. I’m not unfair by nature and that’s only fair: I touch him, he should touch me back. Why didn’t he touch… oh yeah. He’s gay. Crap.
If he’s gay, then why did I feel…? I believe I’m missing something here. Unless that thinks for itself, and he has little control over whether it responds to touch or not.
I hear Patricia clear her throat for the sixth or eleventh time and my orgasm falters as a new voice forces us apart.
“Sam?”
Oh, double crap. Swallow me now, I beg of you. Just swallow me. The floor stays firm. Not even a tremble. Crap!
I turn to see Sam giving his brother the death stare as Max asks, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with my wife, Sandra, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working.”
Max looks uneasy for a second before he recomposes himself. “I am working, w-was working. I-I just finished.”
My eyes turn to Max with a raised brow. Max couldn’t have been working, if he was, why was he here all along? I saw him when we arrived wondering what he was doing here. Unless... no she wouldn’t go that far. ‘Didn’t you?’ the thought flashes through my head before clobbering it down.
Patricia must see suspicion resonating in my eyes when I see her hands moving to cross at her chest and giving a tight- lipped smile as she continues her tirade on my
Sam, grinning from ear to ear, turns to absorb the stunned look on my face. I feel my face slowly morphing into a smile, as we both turn to look at Patricia. Deception is coming home with me tonight and I think I can guess his name. Where and when did my life go so wrong? I know, when I met Sam.
“Chandra, here, wanted to keep it private. She should remember that I can’t keep a secret. I’m a blabbermouth!” Ah hell, imagine that. I’m on the express train for hell now.
“Chandra? When did you change your name, Sandra?”
Sam swiftly responds to Patricia, hopefully defusing whatever torpedo she was loading for me. “Oh it’s one of those couple names I’m trying out. Chad plus Sandra equals Chandra. Do you like it?”
He’s an excellent liar I’ll give him that. No stuttering, no buckling under pressure. I’m not even sure he has a tell.
“So you are married?” Patricia tries to ensnare me with a cold, sideway glance.
Oh, I’m going to hell, no escape now. “Yes, yes we are.” I flash a bright smile trying to hide the absolute terror I feel at being found out.
Sam grabs me and plants an open mouthed kiss on me. I’m about to smack him when I feel him biting me. I whimper and he hastily sticks his tongue in my mouth. His tongue does things that put a pause on my reluctance and I find myself forgetting reason and logic in the kiss.
Sam’s tongue strokes a fire in me that is all too familiar. The problem with this fire is that it blazes and roars hotter than I’ve ever felt even from both my past lovers. This is both baffling and alarming for me. Why should a gay man be able to evoke, entice and strum my senses as if he were playing an underused, out–of–tune guitar?
But Sam plays a tune with which it’s obvious he’s quite familiar. Sam guides my senses, directing them to the flow of symphonic aphrodisia. I move to his rhythmic induced sensuality, slowing my touch, feeling every stroke left to incite a new flame. A new, welcomed burn.
His arms charm me into an embrace that locks and secures me while his mouth ravishes me with new tricks. I begin to wonder if it would be such a bad thing for me to allow him to take me here and now. We could find a secluded corner somewhere, anywhere. As a norm, I know my deportment is more dignified, but it can’t be that bad to break away from that once. Is it so bad that I want to take the full ride on this run-away train with Sam? I want to learn all that I know he’ll teach me.
I don’t know how long we were in our make out session that may or may not have included fondling. I wish he’d touched me in return. I’m not unfair by nature and that’s only fair: I touch him, he should touch me back. Why didn’t he touch… oh yeah. He’s gay. Crap.
If he’s gay, then why did I feel…? I believe I’m missing something here. Unless that thinks for itself, and he has little control over whether it responds to touch or not.
I hear Patricia clear her throat for the sixth or eleventh time and my orgasm falters as a new voice forces us apart.
“Sam?”
Oh, double crap. Swallow me now, I beg of you. Just swallow me. The floor stays firm. Not even a tremble. Crap!
I turn to see Sam giving his brother the death stare as Max asks, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m with my wife, Sandra, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working.”
Max looks uneasy for a second before he recomposes himself. “I am working, w-was working. I-I just finished.”
My eyes turn to Max with a raised brow. Max couldn’t have been working, if he was, why was he here all along? I saw him when we arrived wondering what he was doing here. Unless... no she wouldn’t go that far. ‘Didn’t you?’ the thought flashes through my head before clobbering it down.
Patricia must see suspicion resonating in my eyes when I see her hands moving to cross at her chest and giving a tight- lipped smile as she continues her tirade on my
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