“What time should I arrive on Tuesday morning?” Scarlet asked. “I can be there at 9:16, or 10:36.”
“That might be too early for me,” I replied. “I have to get some work done. Can you come in the early afternoon?”
“That’s better for me,” she said. “I can sleep late and take a different train. How’s 12:34 sound? I’ll stay over and catch the 1:15 back home the next day.”
Perfect. And perfectly hot. There is nothing like a dame who keeps to a schedule.
Alas, mother nature is no such dame. A cold snap disrupted train schedules throughout the northeast. Scarlet’s two-hour trip took four hours. She was already on the train; there was nothing she could do except phone in with updated arrival times.
When Scarlet was finally about a half hour away, Bridget called to say she would be over in about an hour.
I met Scarlet at Penn Station. She was carrying a backpack of overnight things. We kissed openly in the crowd, which felt exhibitionistic. We made our way to the subway, holding hands and smiling. She leaned on me on the uptown local.
Her public displays of affection were doing it for me.
Once we reached my neighborhood, I camped her at a bookstore for a bit while I went home to collect the gifts. I brought her bag with me.
Bridget called to say she had arrived, and said I should bring a cart to meet her on the street. I got there to find her standing next to a trunk load of gifts, all wrapped and sorted by each child’s name.
“My God . . . ,” I said.
“Surprised? Merry Christmas. Your shopping is done.” She had almost single handedly done every bit of my shopping. I looked at all this stuff, and recalled the questions she had asked. I know she is a bargain shopper, but there was no way she did this much without spending a grand.
We hauled the loot upstairs. She explained the sorting system to me. Soon I stopped listening and started kissing. I pushed her over and lay on top of her, as she liked, and kissed her, thanking her between kisses. She sighed and moaned into my mouth.
She came as I licked her neck. “Please,” she said. “I need you. I need to taste you . . .”
I stood up. Looking her in the eyes, I unbuckled my pants and unzipped. I pulled out the hard cock that had been pressing between her legs. She hungrily took it into her mouth.
I fucked her face nice and slow, easily moving in and out of her. Our eyes were locked on one another, until mine rolled back. I got more forceful. She swirled her tongue under me. “Oh, Bridge, that is so good,” I exhaled.
We kept at it, as I tweaked her nipples under her shirt. Then I pulled out. “Thank you. Now go away.” I kissed her. “You have to go. I am going to be more grateful when I see you in January.”
A few moments later, she was gone. Gifts were piled on the floor.
I phoned Scarlet. “Please come to me,” I asked. We stayed on the phone until she was on the elevator to my apartment.
My dream date with Scarlet was moments away, four hours late, two hours before the first guest of the evening would arrive.
The life of a parent, and pervert, in New York City.
When told by my wife that our fifteen-year relationship was over, I found that everything in my life was upended. I took solace when friends and family pointed out I was no longer responsible for her personal happiness, just my own—and that of my four children.
I went into marriage as a bisexual kid, suspicious of monogamy. I was a good husband, and played by the rules. Now I'm single again, and wondering if I didn't have it right back then.
This blog picks up my new life in progress—the life of a parent, and pervert, in New York City.
Photograph by Adrian Buckmaster Photography. New York, NY. July 5, 2015.
(c) 2004-2019. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Jefferson
View My Complete Profile
I went into marriage as a bisexual kid, suspicious of monogamy. I was a good husband, and played by the rules. Now I'm single again, and wondering if I didn't have it right back then.
This blog picks up my new life in progress—the life of a parent, and pervert, in New York City.
Photograph by Adrian Buckmaster Photography. New York, NY. July 5, 2015.
(c) 2004-2019. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
Jefferson
View My Complete Profile
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