I have been watching Ryan pull weeds from my front lawn for the past two weeks. I try not to stare and busy myself with chores inside—folding the baby’s clothes, vacuuming the family room, checking the bank account to confirm Janelle, my wife, has paid all the bills and moved enough over to the baby’s starter college fund.
The more effort I make to ignore Ryan’s body bent over our bushes, a body tanned and glistening with more and more sweat as the sun makes its arch over this white-picket neighborhood, the more and more I longed to arch my own body while on top of his.
I always end up masturbating in my bed before he leaves for the day, which occurs promptly at 5 pm, when I wait in the dining room, pretending to read, waiting for him to knock on the door and say goodbye.
The weekends were full of agony and anticipation for his return. I spend Sunday imagining what he would be doing at this time the next day. Lifting mulch bags from the bed of his truck, arms straining under their weight? Drinking lemonade while smiling and talking to the little neighbor girl who brought him a glass some afternoons? Spraying the budding flowers with water from his hose?
Today it is Thursday. I have just dropped the baby off at the babysitter’s, where it goes every Thursday and Friday in an effort to give me some “alone time,” which Janelle and I will hope save our marriage and give the baby some exposure to other children.
I am making baby food in the kitchen and watching Ryan through the blinds in the backyard. I can’t concentrate. He is sweating through his white T-shirt, dampness gathering in yellow spots along his arm pits, which are fully exposed as he reaches up to a tree branch. He might as well be saving a kitten, I think, as my stomach tickles and I feel my panties get wet. A sliver of skin from his hairy, tight belly winks at me. I cut into a pomegranate and lick the fruit off my fingers.
I go upstairs and lay down in the bed. We keep our vibrators in the oak night table drawers on either side of our bed. Hers and hers, a growing ocean apart. I slide out of my clothes and get under the covers, vibrator in hand. Eyes closed, I feel myself relax and hum the vibrator in a circle around my breasts. Along my neck. Down my chest.
When the buzz has slowly reached my belly, I feel someone else climb into the bed. Afraid to open my eyes, I keep the vibrator where it is and gasp as a tongue licks one of my hardened nipples.
It is Ryan, lips tough and determined. I smell his musk of work and lawn. But I don’t open my eyes.
He takes the vibrator from my hand and moves it to my clit, setting off a long moan from deep in my throat. He is kissing my chest when I feel his skin, finally, rest on mine. It is so warm from the sun, contrasting mine, cold from the air conditioner, cold from choices I wish I hadn’t made.
I reach for the vibrator and turn it off.
We are kissing now and his hair feels like grass as I yank it closer toward me. I am so hungry. So hungry for him. The hardened shape of his member pushes strong into my clit and I am suddenly begging for him to be inside me.
I roll over and thrust my ass into his hips, my pussy pleads and he gently plunders its softness with inch after inch of himself. His cock pumps into me slowly at first as he grabs the meat of my hips and rocks them over and over onto him. I moan for him to touch my back. As his thrusts get stronger, more urgent, his hand runs down the slide of my back to my head as caresses the side of my face. He then pushes my head into the pillow.
Smelling Janelle’s hyacinth conditioner, I cum. I’m pulsing violently on his dick right before he pulls out and covers my back with his seed. I don’t move, afraid to look him in the eye. It would hurt too much to have the memory of his naked body stored in brain, knowing it couldn’t be like this forever.
Breathlessly, he runs his calloused hands along the sides of my body, tracing the curves as they ripple with pleasure. He kisses two of his fingers to his mouth, then to my creamy sex. He rolls off the bed. I hear him put his clothes on and head back to his work.
Only when the door shuts with a slow groan do I lift my head from the pillow.