“ . . . and here is the dining room,” the innkeeper said, sweeping her hand in the air. “Tea and coffee are always available, as well as our homemade cookies. Breakfast is served six thirty until eight, or you can have a tray brought to your room.”
“Oh, we’ll be taking breakfast in bed,” Bridget said. She squeezed my hand.
“I’ll make a note of that,” the innkeeper smiled.
Bridget had grown impatient with my schedule, so filled with work, children and “the harem,” as she refers to the women in my life. She decided to exercise her rights as chief concubine by commandeering my calendar.
“That weekend,” she said, “You are mine. I’m taking you to Buck’s County. I want to stay at a bed and breakfast, and I want you to boink me.”
I could not refuse.
Bridget doesn’t really take “no” for an answer.
I was late meeting her for the drive to the country, and I looked like hell. I had been up late fucking and drinking, as usual, allowing too little time for sleep.
I packed my hangover, but forgot a few things.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I kissed her as I got into the passenger seat. “I’m a shitty boyfriend. I also realize I forgot to pack condoms.”
“You really are tempting fate,” Bridget said over her sunglasses. She wheeled into traffic. “We’ll pick some up on the way, ‘cause I am waaaay due for some serious boinking.”
“Yes ma’am,” I nodded. I turned up the music. She was listening to Madonna.
As if anyone still listens to Madonna.
Bridget was eager for time with my cock, but she wasn’t exactly lacking for sex. She had recently taken on a new boy who couldn’t get enough of her.
He was very cute, pretty much my opposite in appearance, with short dark hair.
He was also enthralled.
He had never met a woman who enjoyed porn, sex toys and kink.
He spent five hundred dollars on toys to bring to their first date.
“Finally,” she teased me. “Someone to give me kinky sex.”
I laughed because it’s true.
Bridget and Jefferson are deep into vanilla.
We lunched and strolled the town.
We were queers among the quaint.
There were two sex shops along the way.
We stopped at one for condoms.
I toyed with the t-shirts and gag gifts.
“Hey, are you American Indian?” asked the woman behind the counter.
“Um, no, Filipino,” Bridget replied. “But I get that now and then.”
“Yes, maybe it’s that long hair—it’s really nice.”
Bridget handed me the bag as we left, and took my hand as we crossed the street.
“Fucking dykes,” I muttered. “Always moving in on my women.”
“Now, Snooks, try to control your jealousy. It’s a hazard of being with cute girls like me.”
The second sex shop was much better stocked.
We picked up a sweet little whip.
“It’s funny that you think you can use that on me,” she scoffed.
I shrugged. “One can dream. Give me your forearm.”
She extended her arm.
I whipped her flesh. “You like?”
“Uh, no. That hurt!”
I sighed. “That’s sort of the idea, honey.”
Bridget had booked us into a lovely Colonial stone inn, perched on a hill. In the back, sheep dotted the lawn.
After a dinner of lamp chops and steaks, we retired to our room.
Along the way, I perused the inn’s music library. Norah Jones, Madeline Peyroux, Van Morrison . . . all that romantic stuff we girls love. I picked a few.
I put on some music.
Bridget flipped a switch, and a fire roared to life in our fireplace.
I lit candles.
“This is ridiculously romantic,” I said.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
We stood kissing, swaying slightly.
She held my hips.
My hands left her arms to take her soft cheeks.
“Let’s, uh, try this bed,” she suggested.
“Why you gotta talk so God damned much?” I asked.
We stripped and met on the bed.
“Oh my God . . .”
“Can you . . . do you feel that?”
“Are you kidding? I’m in heaven.”
It was, without question, the most comfortable bed I have ever encountered.
I lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy.
It pained me to lift myself from it.
I lowered myself onto Bridget, grateful that there are other comforts.
I fucked her gently, but firmly, until she screamed her first orgasm.
I fingered her through several more.
I bit her flesh, intent on leaving greeting cards to her new boy.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Mark me! Owwwwwn me!”
Bridget is the loudest woman I’ve ever fucked.
The only way to shut her up is to fill her mouth with cock.
I sat on her chest, shutting her up good and deep.
She likes her blowjobs to last a long time.
I am always happy to oblige.
Afterwards, we might have drifted to sleep in the world’s most comfortable bed, had we not been lured by the large Jacuzzi situated under a window.
I pondered the architecture, wondering how the inn had managed to provide such an amenity in a Colonial structure. One usually expects low ceilings and small bedrooms, yet here we were running hot water into a large tub in a big room.
“I dunno,” Bridget said, turning on the jets. “I think it’s always been the best room in the inn.”
Bridget always goes to the top.
She settled into the bath. I lowered myself in, wrapping my legs around her wide belly.
I sipped bourbon as we talked, late into the night.
We left the fire going as we went to bed.
Her snores came first. Mine followed.
I slept, deep and rich, against her soft flesh.
We managed a long leisurely fuck the next morning before breakfast arrived.
We let it digest as we soaked in another bath.
As we drove home, Bridget took the scenic route, following the course of the Delaware River.
I watched the river’s current broken by the trees passing my window.
“Oh, we’ve come a long way since we met in college,” I sighed.
“Yes, Snooks. Remember dancing with the gay boys at that club?”
“I do indeed. We loved that place.”
“With the outdoor volleyball court?”
“Yes, and the three dance floors.”
She took my hand.
I love our false history.
I mean, no one has to know we meet on Craig’s List two years ago.