This choice: Come back after things cool off some. • Go Back... At 3:17 in the morning, Al's pager went off. After waking enough to realize that he was being called in to the station, he began to carefully untangle himself from his wife and his bedsheets so as not to wake his beautiful bride. He was quite adept at this; she barely stirred when he pulled his half-asleep arm from under her head.
He began to dress quickly, taking in the musk of sex in the air and the glorious sight before him. Rosemary seemed to glow in the moonlight, her hair tousled just so over her pillow, her legs and belly covered by the thin satin sheet but her breasts exposed to the night air. It was the kind of blissful vision that kept him going on nights like this, when he might be fighting a house fire started by some careless smoker, or pulling a drunk driver from a twisted wreck. She gave him a reason to do what he did. He knelt down and gently kissed her cheek while tucking her in. She stirred slightly, leaning in to his kiss and snuggling down into the covers. Then, all at once, he left.
It was only a few minutes later, when Rosie's dreams had taken a turn toward eroticism, that she stirred enough to register that he was no longer there. She reached over and felt the dent in his pillow- it was still warm where he had been laying. She let out a disapproving sigh and sat up, pouting. She was jealous of his work- because like a fickle mistress, it always seemed to take him away when she wanted him most. Still, he was her superhero- he fought the forces of nature and human carelessness every day, and still had time to give her his everything. And he could cook! To not love him would be a crime.
The smell of sex was still heavy in the room, on her sheets, in her hair- in her mind, on her mind. It wasn't that he left her wanting- she had been thoroughly sated by their lovemaking and had been the first to fall asleep- but that was hours ago, and now he wasn't there to bask in the aftermath with her. Her skin still glistened with what had been a sweaty, tiring, completely cleansing workout of the sort that left one blissful and exhausted. How he found the strength to get up and go so soon afterward was astounding. Across the room, hanging off of her bureau was her new sweatshirt proclaiming 'My Hubby Knows How to Handle His Hose' in puffy letters. She smirked inwardly at the discarded top, thinking of how true that statement was. She sighed again, pulled her feet out from under the covers, and stood up quickly.
Too quickly, as it turned out, as she nearly toppled over at once onto the bed. Her slender, shapely legs felt like jelly under her, the strength gone out of her. She'd asked for it, and he'd delivered- she'd been thoroughly fucked. No, that was crude- she had been loved to within an inch of her sanity, and for Rosie, life was good. She padded into the bathroom in the dark, turning on the light only when she was in and the door was closed. She was startled by what she saw.
Staring back at her in the mirror was a tangled mess of thick, curly brown hair attached to a naked body. No, scratch that- she was still wearing those silky, lovely purple panties. Somehow, in their hastened and fevered heavy petting, it had been decided that those would just be pulled out of the way, not removed. She traced the pantyline with her finger, and was further surprised when she felt a slight bulge, just under the upper line of the purple fabric.
"Whoa," she said aloud, cupping the bulge with one hand, "You filled me up, Al! I guess you do know how to handle your hose!" When she pushed on the bulge, she found it unforgiving- tight, solid, packed. "Forget ounces... how many cups- hell, how many pints did you pump into me?"
She stretched against her tired muscles and decided all at once to take a shower. As she bent down to remove her panties, she reached over to the tub and turned on the water. It was a silly custom, turning on the shower and letting it run for a bit before getting in, she knew. But she'd grown up in a part of Texas where it was good practice- skittering critters like scorpions liked to find cool, wet places to be at night- and drainpipes were just right for that. Here, in the city, she wasn't likely to get attacked by their stings... but as they say, you can take the girl out of the country, but not the country out of the girl.
Standing up again, this time completely nude, she paused and admired her frame in the mirror as the steam began to boil out and fill the room. Yes indeed, she was a lucky woman. She had a good career, a good figure, a happy marriage, a great husband, and an awesome sex life. If she was missing something, she didn't know what it was. Actually, in the past few months she'd felt there was some unknown twinge, just a tiniest little... something out there more for her- something missing in her perfect life.
Tonight, she felt... full of life. Whatever she had been missing, she certainly wasn't missing it any more. She found herself cupping a breast in one hand, turned sideways admiring her figure. Instinctively, her other hand found that little bulge low in her abdomen, almost right over her sex. It was funny- her breast and this little bulge had roughly the same shape, the same dimension. They were connected, somehow.
"You really filled me good. I'm bloated!" she said with a smirk, then stepped into the shower.
The hot water against her skin was a little jarring, to say the least. She inhaled sharply, bracing herself against the sudden heat. Then, just as quickly, she felt the tension melting away by that same blast of warmth. She let the water pour over her, washing away the smell of sex, the glistening afterglow, leaving behind only the memory. Her hair was next as she rolled her head forward, letting the weight of the water pull her by her hair to the side of the tub. She found herself letting the rivulets of water trace the outline of her frame, pouring down her chest and leaping like wild deer off of the gentle mounds that were her breasts. The dance the water made, lancing this way and that on her skin, tickling the undersides of her arms here, then darting around and giving equal stimulation to her sensitive aureole- she found herself breathing hard, the feelings stirring up emotions deep within her. Strong emotions. Insatiable emotions.
And vomit.
It came so suddenly, she barely had time to throw back the curtain and toss her head down to the toilet. It was sudden, violent, and entirely NOT the natural outcome of the feelings she had just been indulging in. She felt betrayed by her body- this was definitely a mood spoiler. She sat there for a moment, gagging and spitting at the disgusting display, letting water drip down her back and spray all over the floor, and breathing in hot, moist air. What had started as a glorious victory lap had turned into a tragic pit-stop of an evening.
She spat a few more times just to get the taste out of her mouth, then pulled her head under the shower and opened her mouth, to wash out the remnant sour. This was of course a bad idea, as she discovered her tongue was ticklish under the spray of the shower head, and back to the toilet bowl she went. Eventually, she felt confident enough to pull herself back to a standing position, give herself a quick washdown, and turn off the water. The nausea was strong and persistent as she toweled herself off, flushed, and started for the door.
Then she realized that she was still naked, so she turned back around and stepped into her purple panties.
Two things crossed her mind at the exact moment she knelt down and pulled them on. One: she hadn't eaten anything for dinner, and probably got sick because she was actually hungry. Two: well, her mind dwelled on the hungry idea, so the fact that her nausea completely ceased the instant the panties came up completely failed to impress her. In fact, she completely ignored it- her mind was focused on the kitchen.
So focused on leftovers, in fact, that she also failed to let register that she was walking around her house topless- and that the tiny little bulge under her pantyline was large enough that as she walked into the kitchen, she did so with a slight waddle to her step.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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