his nipples, pinker than her own, just to watch them crinkle up, then raised her head a little and grinned at him.
Sometimes she still saw him just as he’d been the night they first met. A pub in South Yarra; a Friday night, crowded and noisy. She’d noticed him the minute he walked in, but they were no match – she a plain and unremarkable newly graduated teacher, he the confident, good-looking, going-places architect – so she’d stood back and watched her girlfriends flutter round him, like parrots round a bird-feeder. At the end of the evening, when Gerry followed her outside and asked her for a date, she’d been so sure he was kidding she’d almost been offended. But no: he’d really wanted her. Wanted to take her out, talk to her; wanted to kiss and make love. To her ! He still did, even now when her body was becoming middle-aged, whereas his had hardly changed at all.
Gerry made a growly noise and folded his other arm around her; she snuggled deeper. She loved feeling his arms around her: his size and muscularity made her feel womanly and safe. As he kissed her he slid one hand to her thigh, moved it slowly over the ripe contours, trailing his fingers over her vulva. She lifted, stroking his leg with her instep, arching her body toward him. With an appreciative ‘Mmm …’ he kissed her again, and she pressed her mouth to his.
Yes . She loved saying yes.
Gerry shifted his mouth to one of her breasts, then the other; kissing and licking, he began to follow the well-charted course down her body. She stroked his hair; its thick silky softness such a luxuriant pleasure. He was licking between her legs now; she didn’t actually get off on that, but had never objected, or even hinted so. Soon he moved up again, and slid into her. Sex, it occurred to her, was not dissimilar to playing tennis: strokes, returns, and volleys, all pleasantly familiar, practised, and enjoyable – more enjoyable than their tennis partnership had been. She moved willingly with and against him, and after a suitable length of time she clenched the muscles of her thighs and pelvic floor and made the sounds of orgasm, to be rewarded by Gerry’s habitual throaty noise of appreciation, acknowledging that he could move now into those final thrusts which brought them to conclusion.
They rested together for another minute or two, a closeness she always found gratifying. ‘Mmm, honey,’ he murmured as he withdrew, ‘that was good.’
‘Was it, darling?’ she teased affectionately. ‘I mean, when you could be playing A-grade?’
Unexpectedly, he went still. ‘We’re married, Suze,’ he said reprovingly. ‘There are no gradings.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘That was a silly thing to say.’
‘S’okay,’ he said, reassuring her with a last cuddle before turning over and falling immediately and soundly asleep. Susanna slipped out of bed again to go the toilet; a wet spot, apart from being unpleasant to sleep on, would just mean she had to change the sheets earlier. Lying in bed again, with one hand resting on his broad warm back, she thought about his comment – There are no gradings . Such a masculine way to put it – so Gerry! – but what he was expressing, she realised, was the essence of his commitment: to her, to their marriage, to their family. He was saying, simply, there was nothing with which their life together could compare. It’s perfect. She gave a contented sigh, and finally, gratefully, allowed her muscles, her nerves, her whole body and mind, to relax.
FIVE
Seb woke in the middle of the night with his bedside light still on and his laptop, lid ajar, pressing into his side. He stared at it woozily then fell back against the pillow with a grunt. Checking out porn sites, that’s what he’d been doing: trying to get off on images of girls giving blow jobs, being fucked here, there and everywhere. He must have fallen asleep. What kind of guy falls asleep looking at that stuff? Cum spurting over
Sometimes she still saw him just as he’d been the night they first met. A pub in South Yarra; a Friday night, crowded and noisy. She’d noticed him the minute he walked in, but they were no match – she a plain and unremarkable newly graduated teacher, he the confident, good-looking, going-places architect – so she’d stood back and watched her girlfriends flutter round him, like parrots round a bird-feeder. At the end of the evening, when Gerry followed her outside and asked her for a date, she’d been so sure he was kidding she’d almost been offended. But no: he’d really wanted her. Wanted to take her out, talk to her; wanted to kiss and make love. To her ! He still did, even now when her body was becoming middle-aged, whereas his had hardly changed at all.
Gerry made a growly noise and folded his other arm around her; she snuggled deeper. She loved feeling his arms around her: his size and muscularity made her feel womanly and safe. As he kissed her he slid one hand to her thigh, moved it slowly over the ripe contours, trailing his fingers over her vulva. She lifted, stroking his leg with her instep, arching her body toward him. With an appreciative ‘Mmm …’ he kissed her again, and she pressed her mouth to his.
Yes . She loved saying yes.
Gerry shifted his mouth to one of her breasts, then the other; kissing and licking, he began to follow the well-charted course down her body. She stroked his hair; its thick silky softness such a luxuriant pleasure. He was licking between her legs now; she didn’t actually get off on that, but had never objected, or even hinted so. Soon he moved up again, and slid into her. Sex, it occurred to her, was not dissimilar to playing tennis: strokes, returns, and volleys, all pleasantly familiar, practised, and enjoyable – more enjoyable than their tennis partnership had been. She moved willingly with and against him, and after a suitable length of time she clenched the muscles of her thighs and pelvic floor and made the sounds of orgasm, to be rewarded by Gerry’s habitual throaty noise of appreciation, acknowledging that he could move now into those final thrusts which brought them to conclusion.
They rested together for another minute or two, a closeness she always found gratifying. ‘Mmm, honey,’ he murmured as he withdrew, ‘that was good.’
‘Was it, darling?’ she teased affectionately. ‘I mean, when you could be playing A-grade?’
Unexpectedly, he went still. ‘We’re married, Suze,’ he said reprovingly. ‘There are no gradings.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘That was a silly thing to say.’
‘S’okay,’ he said, reassuring her with a last cuddle before turning over and falling immediately and soundly asleep. Susanna slipped out of bed again to go the toilet; a wet spot, apart from being unpleasant to sleep on, would just mean she had to change the sheets earlier. Lying in bed again, with one hand resting on his broad warm back, she thought about his comment – There are no gradings . Such a masculine way to put it – so Gerry! – but what he was expressing, she realised, was the essence of his commitment: to her, to their marriage, to their family. He was saying, simply, there was nothing with which their life together could compare. It’s perfect. She gave a contented sigh, and finally, gratefully, allowed her muscles, her nerves, her whole body and mind, to relax.
FIVE
Seb woke in the middle of the night with his bedside light still on and his laptop, lid ajar, pressing into his side. He stared at it woozily then fell back against the pillow with a grunt. Checking out porn sites, that’s what he’d been doing: trying to get off on images of girls giving blow jobs, being fucked here, there and everywhere. He must have fallen asleep. What kind of guy falls asleep looking at that stuff? Cum spurting over
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