He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 5)

Mistake

Mistake (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He should never have given me that hug that Mexicans do.  It’s like they squeeze and relax, without releasing you; squeeze and relax; squeeze and relax. By the third squeeze I was lost and breathless and the moan that escaped my lips and entered into him through his ear must have been his undoing.

There was silence. The silence I told you about.

Then his lips began to seek mine. And then I heard that sound; the one that was both full of anguish and pleasure as he grabbed my hand merely placing it on top of the steel rod that he must of broke off of some car he was working on before he left his shop and stuffed it into his pants for protection or something… Or, what was I thinking? THAT had to be his you-know-what! It barely had time to register in my head before he was sighing with relief and his jeans were totally soaked.

And that was it. The end. He couldn’t contain his excitement.

What an incredible let-down. He went home on cloud nine because he’d got to release all that pent-up sexual frustration WITHOUT actually cheating on his wife–if you look at it in a certain way. For me, on the other hand, the sexual frustration was only beginning. I was outraged at having taken such a terrible risk; one that I’m not very proud of because I soooo do not believe in adultery; well under most conditions. A horrible risk and NOTHING to show for it in the end.

As usual, I went to bed alone and the only way I could console myself was to NOT focus on his dysfunction, but to convince myself that it was all because I am such a lovely enchantress that his climax just decided to rush right out and meet me, not asking for his permission first. Yeah, that’s what happened.

 

He Couldn’t Contain his Excitement (part 4)

Stop X

Stop X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He knew that anything he said would incriminate him.  Yet he knew that everything rested on what he said next. I picked up where I had left off. “And that’s why I’ve tried to maintain my distance from you: I know you are faithful to your girl and I’d feel like crap if I attempted to interfere with that. I know you’re not the kind to would even consider such things anyway…”

“Oh, sweetie,” he half-moaned.  “Don’t look so sad. I can’t stand to see you with that expression,” he said, taking my face in his hand. I knew this was the beginning of the end.  He was resolved about what he would do, how far he would go.  He groaned, stroking my cheek with his thumb, “What can I do to take away that sad face, huh?”

“Stay with me,” I said plainly.  No need to mince words anymore; it was time to cross over together.

“Stay?” he repeated like he was in a daze.

I nodded like a little girl, not sure yet which character he most liked.

He chuckled faintly.  “How long?”

“As long as you want,” I said, instead of what I really wanted to say: forever.

He made a final brave effort to go. He stood up from the sofa so abruptly that I felt disoriented and humiliated.  My cheeks burned from embarrassment at having been so confident that he couldn’t resist me. “Uh, I better—“

“Yeah, I know,” I said, looking down at the floor.

“Well,” he sighed awkwardly. “Come here.” I guess he wanted to hug me goodbye. I couldn’t. Defeat had me glued to the sofa. I shook my head no.

“Don’t worry,” I said.  “I understand why you have to go.”

“Oh alright then,” he fake-grumbled, feigning gentle exasperation with me and with the situation. “Even if it’s just a little hug…” he said, almost to himself; as if he was explaining to someone like his absent girlfriend or whatever god, or whatever principle may be listening.

He sat back down on the sofa, scooping my unresisting body up into his arms.