Last Night

Back in the office he tried to reconstruct the evening. The early part was fine-colorless in recall. Later, after midnight, was hazy. Then gone. The ceramic heater worked well enough on his feet but he kept his coat zipped.

The bills were stacked on the desk in denominations; the first step before counting the take. It was his system. The bloody bills he set aside. Was it all his, the blood? The gash on his head wasn’t that deep. His knuckles were just bruised.

He opened the drawer and popped the clip on the pistol again. Still hadn’t been fired.

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Back to the mall…

Colorful asa jones

lifted from Asa Jones

As my wife’s birthday falls between Christmas and New Years’, I’m back to shopping, having long ago learned the hazards of trying to combine both gifts into one. A fan of dangly jewelry I came across this picture that happened, for some reason, to slide across my Tumblr. “How might you like this for your birthday?” I asked. She looked closely. “I’d love it!” she cried happily. Then-quieter, “Oh-were you talking about the bracelet?”

Poor Mikey

Continued from Kim Has a Great House

He followed her up the stairs at what he thought would have been a discreet distance but being four steps behind put him nose to crack with the small tight bottom he had chased around the reservoir that morning. The stunning surprise of seeing her entirely nude on arrival was past now, replaced by the growing ache of naked desire that he hadn’t anticipated for this evening.

The first room they passed looked to be the master bedroom with a Cadillac-size bed and a lot of dark wood. Like every other room he passed it was discreetly lit by candles or small unseen lights.  He continued down the long hallway, the milky glow of her skin illuminating his path through the dimly lit manse.

They made a right and at the end of the hall he followed Kim into what he took to be her room. It didn’t register as a bedroom right off; dominated by a large flat desk, a wall of books a cabinet next to the bookshelf some overstuffed chairs and cushions…then the bed tucked back in the corner. Smaller than the other rooms on the floor it still seemed larger than his apartment, but still less a bedroom than an escape. A lair.

Once inside she turned to face him. “Welcome” she smiled and came up on her toes to kiss him for the first time. An almost chaste (as chaste as it can be given the circumstances) little kiss as she took his wine from him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too….”

She rubbed her hip against him…”I can see that…”

She grabbed his belt and pulled him close. “You’re overdressed”, she said and took his shirt-the one he had spent forty minutes picking out in front of a mirror-and helped him strip it off over his head. She tossed it somewhere over into the shadows.

He stood erect as she ran her lips over his chest and flicked her tongue on his left nipple-then his right. “Feel that?” she cooed.

“I do…”

“Your turn”, she pulled away. “Just like that…”

He had to bend to reach them but his lips closed easily over her tiny breasts. Her nipples pulsed to twice their normal size as they rolled along his tongue. “Bite”, she whispered. He closed his teeth gently and heard her gasp. He nibbled one then licked his way over and nibbled the other. “Harder” she whispered. He tightened his grip and backed her slowly into the large oak desk.

Feeling the edge of the desk crossing her bottom she boosted herself up onto it causing Mike to break contact. He parted her legs gently hearing the squeak of the bare wood against bare skin as she adjusted her bottom. Her head lolled backward and her eyes closed as he slipped his hand up her warm thigh and rubbed its edge against her shaved pubis. She was slick and wet as a peeled plum and opened eagerly to accept his prodding finger. Again, a gasp as she pulled him close and drove her tongue into his mouth.

“I want to go down on you…” he said.

“And you shall….” she answered him. He withdrew his finger and began to genuflect before her when she stopped him. “…Just not yet.” He stood up and slipped again between her legs to kiss her.

“When?” he asked.
“I need something first.” She put her hand on his chest and pushed him backward pausing to cup the outline of his cock pulsing down his leg. “He wants out…”

“He does…”

“In time.”

She hopped from the desk and flowed toward the cabinet against the far wall. She was moving more fluidly now, lubricated and looser in the hips. When she opened the door a tiny glow inside illuminated what looked like a full inventory of scarves and robes and, as she reached into the back, at least one riding crop.

“Ahhh…” he said.

“Ahh, indeed.”

She handed it to him as one would a screwdriver to tighten a hinge. A particular tool for a particular job.

“Over the bed?” he asked.

“It seems I like the feel of the wood.”

“Turn around then”, he said. “And bend over…”

She stood against the desk and lay flat down on its cool surface. Her hips broke at the edge and her bottom blossomed backward. Her feet barely grazed the carpet. A slid his hand over her back then down along her hip. He couldn’t resist kissing her bottom and then rubbing his tongue along then around her asshole then further south.

“Later”, she said. “Crop now.”

He straightened and loosened his arm once then flicked with his wrist making a little “Tick” sound on her right cheek with the leather loop at the crop’s tip. She didn’t move.

“Hey”, she said gently looking back over her shoulder. “I have a husband who thinks I’m a China Doll that will break if he uses me too hard. I don’t need that from you.”

He stood beside her, massaging her rump and hamstrings. “What do you need from me?”

“He’s in India for two weeks. Enough time for the bruises to heal.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure….” He heard an edge when she said, “Just not very patient.”

His second stroke-a harder flick-landed where the first one had but with a louder “Smack!” Then another just below that one and a third on the left cheek. The crop was new to him-at work he used a paddle when the conditions called for it but that was it. He was a fast learner though-each stroke was progressively harder and he went from leaving a tiny red mark where the tip landed to leaving pink trails that traversed both globes.

Of course it would have been tough NOT to learn because she was coaching at almost every stroke. “Harder!” she growled. “And my legs-my legs too!…”OW! Yes-Good One!”

“Ouch! I like stipes on my legs…where others might see at the gym.”

“Oww-go lower there-right-OW! Yeah! There…”

“Inside! Inside my leg…OW!”

“That one wasn’t much. Are you getting tired?…OWW! Better-better-“

He kept quiet and delivered stoke after stroke. She directed, she moaned, she yipped, she wriggled, and in general became more agitated with each successive blow until she began thrusting slowly, seemingly humping the desk edge.

“OK, step it up now”, she gasped spreading her legs wider. Step it up? he thought. How is that even possible?

“My asshole Mikey! Smack my asshole.” Oh geeze, he thought.  That’s how. His forehead glistened and he could feel perspiration running off of his bald head. He turned sideways to measure his target and flicked his wrist as if he was throwing darts. A dark blister bloomed on the inside of her right cheek.

“OW!” she yelled. “You missed…”

“It’s tiny!” He answered. He flicked again-strongly.

“Ow! You missed again” A twin rose bloomed on the inside of her other cheek. They would rub when she walked.  He pinched sweat out of his eyes and wiped his hands on his jeans-where a hard-on used to live.

“You keep moving it…” he spit-frustrated.

“Jesus! How hard could it be?!”

He lashed a stroke across her soft sit-spot that would challenge the two week healing timeframe.

“Ahhh!” Her body jumped in response. “Damn!” She reached back and squeezed the skin trying to knead the burn away. “Good! Wow…that was…Damn! Ok, OK…Here-try this!”

She rolled onto her back and flipped her legs over, almost kicking him in the head. Her back squeaking, she scootched herself further onto the desk and threw her legs straight up then back, grabbing her knees and opening herself wide. Through her legs Mike could see her bookshelf against the far wall and squinted for a moment to see if he could make out any titles. It was too dim in the room.

She glistened with sweat and red lashes colored most of her backside and legs. “There now”, she breathed. “Hit me there!” The way she was presenting left no doubt about the target. Oh for the love of…he thought, hesitating.

“DO IT!” she screeched.

Startled, he looked at her tear-streaked face shining up between her ankles. She opened her eyes, wet and feral, and softened when she saw his expression. “I’m sorry Mikey”, she said from a faraway place. “I didn’t mean to yell….but…” Again he said nothing-just directed a flick of the crop directly-but softly-right into her damp center. It struck with a wet splat and he did it again, but softer still. Her breath came in quick gulps and she pulled rhythmically back on her knees.

Enough of this, he told himself and let the crop fall to the floor. Before she could register that it was gone he dipped his face into the soft, swollen wetness between her legs. He couldn’t have found her clit any easier if it had grabbed him by the nose and pulled him in. She gasped and grabbed his head with both hands as his tongue lashed at her.

She came in seconds-screaming and spurting and kicking a staccato rhythm into his back. He dutifully stayed at his post lapping and digging his tongue deeper as the storm slowly subsided. When her legs draped over his shoulders he came up for air.

“Wow”, she said. “Wow…” She was spent for a moment and silent. But only for a moment “Now take me to the bed. Carry me. In your arms…”

As opposed to what, he thought, over my shoulders? On my head…? He stopped his internal bitching when he lifted her and she snuggled her face into his shoulder. The hard-on that had run away and hid earlier was stretching back out of its den.

He lay her gently on the bed where she immediately reached out for his belt buckle. He let her work at it until she said, “This is a great belt.” She kneaded the thick leather between her fingers. “Do you think you…”

“Oh no you don’t”, he said slapping her hands away. She gave him a wicked smile as he unzipped and pushed his pants down putting the strap out of reach. “Maybe later”, she said stretching to pull open the bed stand drawer. Inside were what looked to be hundreds of condoms in multicolored packets. Mike didn’t care to register that right now-he slipped one on and knelt between her legs.

“Missionary”, he said aloud. “Who’d a thunk it?” She didn’t hear him as his insertion kicked her head back and his long strokes took her back to her wild place. He joined her there pumping and slamming her into the mattress, feeling his own build, remembering how she looked over the desk-remembering her smile the first time she spoke to him, thinking of….He heard her keening just as he opened his mouth to bark his own song.

They lay side by side watching the ceiling until the bed stopped heaving and their breaths became just breaths. He stroked the top of her thigh absently feeling himself growing again.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but why so many condoms?”

“I always put one on my dildos when I stick them in my ass.”

Oh, of course, he thought. Why didn’t I know that?

She softly took his hand and guided it to her warm pussy and further to her glittering clit-still sending off tiny electrical charges.

“As long as you’re here, would you mind…?” She rolled onto her side away from him and hiked her knee high exposing her tortured little asshole and the bruises that lined it. She picked a condom off the table and tossed it back. “Here-no lube-just push it in…”

Sure, why not, he asked himself conscious that he wasn’t speaking. It wasn’t necessary. He slipped on the blue rubber and spit in his hand to moisten the tip.

“I said no lube!”

“It’s SPIT for Chissakes,” he barked swatting her right cheek leaving a bright handprint overlaying the candy stripes.

“Oww!” she cried. “Ooo, that stung…Nice. That’s good…”

He guided his dry cock to the sweat-glistening button. “Here it comes”, he said aloud, and unnecessarily.

As he pushed she fairly howled into the pillow.

Afterward, he walked naked into the kitchen. The taste for a fruity Oregon Pinot Gris-regardless of the mineral complexity-was gone. He found a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue on the sideboard and poured three fingers in a coffee cup from the sink. He drank it slowly, standing there, the granite countertop cool against his hip. Upstairs the tiny porcelain doll snored softly.

He was sure of only one thing. They would have a conversation about Murakami in the morning over coffee or there would be hell to pay.

Merry Christmas

DSC_1291

On his knees, head cocked against the smoke from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he spun the tree slowly.

“How’s this?” he asked knowing it was not so good. It had looked OK in the lot.

“It’s fine”, she said. “Better than fine. Beautiful.”

“Just like this then?”

“Yep.”

He tightened the screws in the stand and sat back on the floor. It had been two years since she’d been cancer-free and half that since he’d had a drink. They had decided that drought would end tonight though-an exact year from when it started. One year in the desert was enough.

He’d bought a bottle for the occasion. Later though. First he had to turn two boxes of too many parts into Tony’s spaceship and Tammy’s dollhouse.

“I can see the twins have been good this year”, he nodded at the toys. “What about you?”

“Me? I’ve been good…I’m always good…” she said with a slight-almost shy- smile. “Mostly…”

“Mostly? Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“Nothing specific…just general…things…”

“Well”, he drawled, “I might have to take care of that.”

She reached for his pack and tapped one out. She held it between her fingers but made no move for the lighter.

“It’s been awhile.”

“Like you said, you’ve been mostly good…”

A light blush dusted her cheekbones. “You won’t break me, you know.”

He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray beside him and exhaled into the silence.

“What will we drink to?” he asked.

“To?”

“Yeah, like what will we toast?”

She looked up at the spruce that was really too big for their living room.

“How about ‘being’.”

“Being?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She said. “Being. Sometimes that’s enough.”

He followed her eyes to the bare tree top.

“Sometimes that’s plenty.”

 

Wishing you Peace and All Good Things…

Bluebird in the Barn

He was careful on the path down to the barn. The first snowfall-not yet finished-had made it slick and he had somehow forgotten his cane back on the porch.

Inside, the cows milled about desultorily eating the hay he had pulled down from the loft earlier. He loosened his collar a bit to suck in some of the damp warmth from their breath when he heard the unmistakable song of a blue bird. He scanned the rafters and immediately picked him out from the stray, gray sparrows and wrens that flitted about the place.

“What you do, little guy?” he asked aloud. “Miss the last train south?”

Up at the house he left his boots inside the door and peeled off his old coat. The glow of the television leaked out of the living room in back. There his wife sat in the chair that the medical company had sent over-the one that would help her get up and down.

“Saw a bluebird in the barn”, he told her speaking loudly.

“Oh?” she answered. “He shouldn’t be here now, should he?”

“Guess the weather had him confused. Now he’s stuck I guess.”

“Bluebird in the barn”, she said almost to herself in a sing-song childish way. Then, “Wisht I could see him.”

He glanced at the mute aluminum frame of her walker. “You’ll see him and plenty more in the spring. We’ll have them all over the place…”

She said nothing more, just looked out the window where the snow still fell and it was night-dark at suppertime.

The next day dawned bright and cold. He made his way unsteadily down the hill relying overmuch, he thought, on the cane he clutched firmly. He was kicking away snow from the sweep of the barn door when he saw the small splash of blue over by the trough. He walked over and scooped up the dead bird and a little puff of snow besides. It wasn’t cat-mauled or damaged at all. Just dead.

He didn’t realize he was crying until a heavy tear spattered on the tiny blue head.

“Fuck.” he whispered, chilled at using a word that hadn’t passed his lips since Korea.

Kim has a great house…

Continued from I’m not exactly who you think I am…

He stood in front of the mirror and looked at the shirt he’d picked out.

“Shit”, he said and tore it off to toss onto the pile of discarded Henleys, silk t-shirts and button downs on the bed. Dressing for his brother’s wedding had been easier! There-finally. This would do-long sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and loose. Two leather bands around his wrist, black jeans. He was glad his head was shaved or he would be in front of the mirror for another hour. This was ridiculous, he knew. He was going to dinner at a married friend’s house. They would have drinks and talk…Oh!-he grabbed the Murakami she had recommended off the bed side table…he’d leave it in the car in case they ran out of things to talk about.

Mike left the city proper and headed up 28, which was clear this time of day, toward Fox Trail. It wasn’t a neighborhood he had much reason to visit often. Even without seeing her car this morning, the address she put into his phone would have confirmed that he was right about the money. He knew what houses were worth over there. Off of the highway a two-lane wound gently through what looked like the English countryside or farmlands and forests but were actually well disguised old-money estates.

GPS found her address with no problem but he really couldn’t see the house from the road. He passed right by the gap in the stone wall and hung a chancy U-turn to come back to it.  It was a long cruise up a driveway and around a few standing oak trees that looked to be a thousand feet high.

There was obviously an unscratched itch in her life somewhere. There were plenty of places to get the odd drink when your husband was out of town, but The Club catered to a different clientele. Maybe that was something that would come up in conversation. It should, probably. He’d bring it up…if there was a place for it. He thought for a second about Megan from last night. With her, he knew what they would be talking about. He wouldn’t feeling like he was going into an exam that he hadn’t studied for.

There was the Porsche in a spot just off the circular driveway. He pulled in beside it and gathered the chilled bottle of wine off the passenger seat. What he didn’t know about wine would fill a book so he had relied on the youngster in the bow-tie to recommend the fruity Oregon Pinot Gris, medium bodied with melon overtones, chilled to a perfect 48 degrees…and on and on.

Up four wide flag stone steps and onto the massive porch with the high columns and a double door that looked big enough to drive through. Only after he had lifted and slammed the doorknocker as big as a cow’s head sending reverberations down his spine did he notice the small unobtrusive intercom to the side. He grimaced. “Moron”, he mumbled. He reached to push the button but heard Kim’s voice through the speaker as clearly as if she was standing beside him. “Door’s open. Come on in. Straight back“.

He entered into a two story entrance hallway beneath a chandelier the size of his first car. There was a dimly lit living room to his right stuffed full of enough furniture to look like a showroom. A fire-too uniform to be anything but a gas feed-danced in a fireplace against the far wall. It was warm for a fire-and warmer inside than it had been out.

Straight back, she had said. He moved toward what he assumed to be the kitchen-he could see glimpses of metal in the candlelight. He was focused forward so didn’t notice Kim enter from a hallway to his left. She wore no make-up save for a touch of red around her lips and the light blue above her eyes. Her hair-which he was almost convinced grew as a tight pony-tail was down, luxuriantly framing her beautiful petite face. He shining hair hung thickly to her sharp collarbones which were exposed as Kim was completely naked. She looked at him alertly-with her head ticked off to one side slightly. Appraising. He tried to maintain eye-contact but didn’t stand a chance.

Her nipples stood firm and erect on her tiny breasts and her stomach looked as flat and strong as he might have imagined. Below her belly button she was clean, white and hairless as a seal. Was a seal hairless? He didn’t know-Jesus, but she was. Her quads were hard and oh-look! Her toenails were painted red.

She floated over and took the wine from him.

“Oh, this is very nice…and chilled.”

She turned and walked away with a gait that accentuated the movement of her tight strong bottom. He followed the bobbing cheeks into the kitchen in silence. He followed to the counter where she set the bottle.

“Granite…” he said absently running his hand over the smooth surface.

“Yes-I love stone…” She reached into the cabinet for glasses and a cork screw.

He was happy to hear her voice-because without it, he was having trouble registering that this was Kim Chen, who he knew from the bar and the running trail. This porcelain apparition glowing in the candlelight was the right size and shape but wasn’t.

He heard the cork pop and watched her pour. “I’m not exactly who you think I am”, echoed in his head. He guessed the book would stay in the car.

“I’m not exactly who you think I am”

 

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(Continued from Odd Tuesday)

The reservoir trail was flat and easy for the first quarter mile or so from the pump house. Mike’s stride was fluid and smooth using his longer legs to an advantage. He didn’t begin to labor until the hard packed gravel along the shoreline morphed into the dirt and rock of the grade up through the sugar maples into the woods.

He had left the bar reasonably early the night before. Or as early as he could-he had to enjoy a couple of shots with Megan in salute to, as she put it, him finally paying some attention to her ass. Mike had laughed and told her that her ass was very interesting and worth paying attention to.

They both laughed but on some level he knew that evening would not be the last time he would be in close proximity to Megan’s bare backside or bare anything else for that matter. The way she said “I’m not exactly who I pretend to be” and the certain softness in her eyes when she said it, convinced Mike he would probably end up seeing her again-and seeing a lot more of her when he did.

He had gotten to the trail first, not wanting to hold back Kim at all. He didn’t know what this was. Was it a date? Was it a run? Was it a running date? Why did it have to be anything? Of course, he knew it had to be “something” because it was Kim. She stood out from the women The Club typically drew and was-as far as Mike could tell-out of his league completely. Yet, here he was.

Was she just giving him a little something when she knew that he wanted so much more? Or did she need something from him? The other times he had run with her had been just that. Happenstance meetings at 5K’s or just fun runs. Was something else at play? After chewing the possibilities over for most of the morning, he opted not to think about it. It was a run.

She arrived in a slick, black Porsche Cayenne. A Porsche? Mike thought. Really? It must have been new-he somehow remembered a white Beemer. Mike approached the car as she got out. “Now, that’s nice…” he said.

“Yeah-it’s new.”

“Fast?”

“I haven’t had a chance to wind it out yet-but it feels fast you know? Like a horse that wants to run and you have to reign it in…” The image of Kim Chen doing Lake Highway at 110 is something he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. She leaned against the roof of her car stretching her calves, first one then the other. She was wearing black tights that hugged her bottom and legs like a second skin and outlined every slim muscle and tendon. There was a light sheen of perspiration on the back of her neck and behind her ears. She had come warm and loose.

“How did Odd Tuesday wind up?”

“About how you would expect…” he said, not wanting to give her any details about him and Megan.

“Megan’s gunning for you big-time…” she flashed him a wide smile.

“Yeah…well…” he fumbled as she walked past him to the trail delighting in his discomfort. “Are you ready?” she asked. And they were off.

She crested the incline ahead of him by a short ten yards. He would give her the hill-she fairly pranced over the rocks and roots like a deer. He kept pace well enough but made up ground once they hit the ridge. The trail was a three and a half mile loop and on the flats overlooking the lake he began to wonder if this was a race. Lengthening his stride he figured he would let her dictate if it was or not, but if it was a race, he wanted to win it.

By the time they negotiated the decline back to the water he had pulled up even. He kept close, over her left shoulder back just far enough so she wouldn’t be kicking him or he wouldn’t be jostling her. But also close enough to watch the contours of her bottom and the regular piston pumps of her legs. She was so easy and fluid that he felt like he was running with a bucket on one foot.

He knew nothing about Kim’s husband except that he was older than she was-older than they both were. A business guy-computers, he thought-who traveled a lot. The way she dressed, the jewelry that she discretely wore-not to mention the freaking Porsche-told him there was money there.

She carried an air of comfort with her-a confidence-that comes from having no real day-to-day concerns about the essentials that most other people Mike knew struggled with. If she worked at all, it was something easy-a hobby.  But still, given all that, she was a regular at The Club and seemingly disappointed when her name didn’t come up in the lottery.

Two and a half miles into the run, the trail fell off of the hill back down to the flats of the shore. Kim looked over her left shoulder and said with a wink “Are you still here?”

“I’m not going anywhere…”

That’s when Kim decided it was a race. She quickened her pace. Her feet kicked up a little higher so he could see the soles of her shoes and the distance between them suddenly doubled. Mike dug his left foot, then his right…then without being able to match the weightless glide of her stride…he began to find his own pumping-slugging-beating pace.

He watched her shoulders, then her butt, let her keep the pace until he saw the pump house. The trail was wide enough so that he was able to make his move-such as it was-with about 200 yards to go. He pulled up even, she seemed surprised to see him but smiled easily and found another little gear. He pushed, but she reached the Pump House just ahead of him leaving him stumbling to the finish-gasping and bent with his hands on his knees.

She walked, hands on hips, back arched, mouth open to the sky breathing deeply. “Up”, she said, walking backward looking at him. “Walk it off…Mikey-that was great!”

“You were toying with me…”

“Nope, nope…I thought you had me….Did you stumble?”

“Yeah into a freaking wall.”

They walked silently regaining their breath. Then, unexpectedly, she reached down, and took his hand without breaking stride. “Nice run…” she said.

Her hand was warm in his-not grasping, not squeezing-light and easy. Was his rule about not getting involved with married women a strict dictum or more of a guideline? Something else he chose not to think about right now.

“Do you want to go get a coffee?” he asked. “Or a smoothie…or…” Christ! that was lame, he thought.

“Naw, not right now…” she said. Then, after a pause, “I’m not exactly who you think I am…”

It was so close to being the same thing Megan said to him less than twelve hours ago that he came up short on the gravel. Kim, still moving tugged at him but he wasn’t moving. Instead he pulled her hand gently so she would face him. “Who is?” he asked.

She smirked.

“Let me find out who you are. Show me.”

The sun was behind him so she squinted slightly looking up into his face. “You’re not working tonight, right?”

“No, Wednesday’s my day off.”

“Give me your phone.”

He pulled it from his back pocket and handed it over. She took it, swiped open his contacts and keyed in her address. “Stop by my house tonight….say seven?”

“Seven’s good”, he says taking his phone back.

She smiled a tight wry little smile then popped him lightly with both hands to the chest. “See ya then.” she said spinning away.

“Come hungry”, she called over her shoulder.

To be continued….