As I near fifty it’s clear more than half my life is behind me. I will not live to 100, but I can expect to live to 81, which leaves me 30 years. It used to seem like a long time, but now, I know how painfully quickly it can go by. How do I want to spend my remaining days on this pale blue dot?
When I close my eyes I see a beach and a setting sun beyond the shimmering horizon. A gentle breeze wafts the smell of the sea over me as I sip sangria and gaze into my lover’s eyes. I look into his eyes and know I’ve made the right choice. A choice for me and for no one else.
Strolling home hand in hand we don’t speak of the future, the past, or even the present. Instead, we silently enjoy the sound of life surrounding us as we anticipate what comes next.
Standing in the foyer I drift to my knees on the carpet and settle in as I free him from his walking shorts. Taking him in hand, I stroke him as he hardens before my eyes. Looking up at him for approval I guide his manhood into my waiting mouth. A reward for this life he shares with me.
Taking him, I can still taste her. I know her taste well as we’ve shared her before. I don’t seek her out, but I don’t mind her mild scent, and nor does he. What I do with her, I do for him. To please him.
Sucking him now, he holds my hair back to watch as I worship his manhood. Taking him in deeper and meeting his thrusts with relish. Holding his head in my mouth as run my tongue over him. Feeling his veins as they pass through my lips, back and forth. Gently, but with determination, the determination I’ve come to love.
My man. My lover. The love of my life, using my mouth to satisfy himself, just as he’d used her in the noonday sun as I looked on. Watching him take her from behind as she kneeled before in a lounge chair. All while her man knelt between my legs and plumbed my depths with my tongue.
He loves watching me as much as I adore seeing him vent his passions in willing partners. The friends we’ve made. Friends who think nothing of exploring new combinations of lust and love.
With his pace quickening, I know he’s close. He’s had plenty of time to recharge and is now ready to overflow my lips. To sate himself once again. To use me to rut his passion, as he used her. As her husband used me.
I want to hear him. I want to hear him as he is overwhelmed and taken in his lust. I need to hear him and know it’s me who has made him so. I want to feel his power course through his body and flow in me. My reward for his love. For loving him.
Jerking in my mouth now his spasms come now with a chaotic frequency. His smooth thrusting rhythm replaced by discordant primal urges seeking greater pressure upon him. The pressure he craves in seeking a rapid forceful release.
His grasp of my hair, more firm. His fist tightens and pulls me in. A grunt and tensing of his limbs. He’s reached his reward and I welcome it. Tasting him, his saltiness, mixed with my saliva, the last vestiges of her lingering scent all but gone.
Pulse after pulse, he unloads in me as I give him the pressure he craves. Stroking him as my mouth overflows with his essence. He dribbles over my lips and down my chin. A rivulet fall onto my chest as stroke and suck him clean.
With our time running out I can no longer wait and wish for the future I can see. I need to feel the sand and the breeze. The gentle nightfall with my love at my side.
I’ve not run out of time, but know better its value now. And if my husband does not see it, I know my lover will.
He’s learned in those fleeting moments, hiding away, and begging for more time, what the value of time is. He understands how little there is, and knows how to make it stretch.
I only wonder, could we really leave our families behind?
© Teresa J. Conway, 2021
Originally published at https://vocal.media.
By Teresa J Conway on .
Exported from Medium on April 8, 2021.