Robin texts me at two. “Dinner tonight. The four of us. Might want to wear a skirt. The black one?”
And that’s it. We know the context. She knows I know which skirt.
I stand in the bathroom for a while after I read it. My heart just started. I’m looking back at myself in the mirror like a cheap girl taking a selfie and hear myself asking what I think is actually going to happen tonight. I mean, I know what’s… I don’t. I know.
I do exactly what Robin says. I mean, this is her gift to me… she’s the host. I wear my black skirt. Because Robin said the skirt and I am not going to make one decision she didn’t sanction. No bra. I never think I need one, but my nipples are so hard in the mirror now through the cotton and I stand there touching them for a second before I stop touching them.
And makeup… I always wear makeup that looks like I’m not. But I’m putting on lipstick. It feels exotic and the smell is foreign. I blot my ;lips on a tissue and stare at it. Raise it to my face and smell it.
When I get downstairs Darryl’s in the jeans he’s worn all day. He walks to the car ahead of me. I hear him promise he’ll mow the lawn after church tomorrow. I look out the passenger window as he backs out. The lawn looks fine. I swear he mowed it on Wednesday.
At dinner I can’t eat. I’m eating. I am. I am having a perfectly normal dinner and my fork is moving to my mouth and I’m placing food between my lips and Darryl is talking about the thing at work and Mark is asking follow-up questions because Mark actually listens and I’m watching him hold his fork. Lift his glass of wine from the bottom of the bowl.
I’ve been thinking about Mark’s fingers since the potluck in fellowship hall when I confessed to Robin. I thought the world was over as the words came out and what I heard instead was “do you dream about his cock, Marcy?” and I couldn’t speak because she already knew the answer.
The chatter around us faded as she described his cock to me in detail and I’ve been playing the tape for three weeks every time all the time. In the shower. In the car. In bed next to Darryl. Arranging flowers in the sacristy.
Robin rubs her stocking foot up my calf under the table. I am electricity. She’s looking at me as the men talk. “You look so beautiful tonight, Marcy. I love the lipstick! That will look so good on Mark’s cock. And what a pretty skirt.” Her face is completely normal and kind. The men aren’t listening.
It’s like I’m swimming in Mark’s glass of wine. The glass walls rising above me and all I hear are words in the air above me as he raises me to his lips.
I feel the handle of my spoon as I take a small bite of the shared desert on the table. A poached pear. And Robin is smiling at my lips as she watches me stare at her husband.
I feel a desperation building in my belly. This is insane. What is she thinking putting me here like this? What am I supposed to do, jump him here at the table? What a…
And then I hear her from across the table, toes running up my leg. Holding my hand, her fingers walking up my palm. The men in their own conversation outside our world.
I’m going to sit up front with Darryl, she says. I think you might tell Mark what you’ve been thinking about in the back seat.
And everything is okay. Except for the flood in my panties as I grind into the edge of my chair. I feel my mouth open.
I think I smile and take a sip of Mark’s wine. I see myself swimming in the burgundy pool.
When the check comes it’s like a whole new evening has started.
Robin takes Darryl’s arm in the parking lot. Her conversation is so natural.
I didn’t even get a chance to hear how things are going, you and Mark talking all night!
And it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to slide into the passenger seat without even looking back at me.
I slide over to Mark immediately. Loop my arm under his, pulling myself close and I feel his body tighten. Confused.
I feel the car pull out.
His thigh is warm through the fabric of his slacks and I am sitting too close already and all the car smells like him and the restaurant and the leather of the seat and my face is not doing anything because I am completely fine and my pulse is in my throat and my teeth and I can feel it in the wet between my legs. And I’ve never been in the back seat of this car before. Not in 9 years.
Robin says something about a podcast. She turns on the radio. Classic rock. Steely Dan. Her voice is so bright and warm and interested. She asks Darryl about his brother’s thing, the renovation or the job or something, and Darryl starts explaining.
I pull myself up to Mark’s ear, feeling his thick forearm steady me.
“Do you know how much I love you.”
It’s not really a question, but those are the words my lips form. He knows I love him. Everyone knows I love him. I told his wife I loved him at a fellowship dinner and she pinched my nipple through my blouse and made me come in a folding chair.
He laughs halfway and I feel him sort of pull back, but he’s pulling me with him.
I can feel the answer to the question I didn’t ask as I turn further, lay my left hand on his thigh. It’s happening beneath his khakis already, heat and length and the ridge of his cock that Robin described at the potluck leaning into my hair. Yes, that’s the one I fingered myself thinking about alone in my car in the church parking lot. And now I am here with my fingers running up its length.
“I see how you look at my ass,” I whisper against his neck. His skin is right there. The warm clean smell of him is right there. “I think about it. When I walk past you. When I bend over. I’m always bending over near you on purpose. Did you know that?”
He didn’t know that. His mouth opens to reply. Or it didn’t. It doesn’t matter.
I lay my palm over his erection and he goes completely still. Like he’s been paused. I have all the time in the world now.
He is very hard.
I squeeze slowly, and the sound that comes out of him is small and I feel it in the crack of my round bottom.
“Take the long way home, Darryl.”
The words come out calmly now. How. My heart is punching the inside of my sternum as I count the eons passing my lips, my mouth near Mark’s ear, my palm still on his cock, and Darryl miles away in the front says “yeah, maybe we’ll take a little drive,” and Robin’s voice gets a little brighter and I hear Darryl laugh at something and the car turns and my fingers are pulling at the zipper.
I slide halfway to the floor.
The carpet digs into my shins through my tights. The footwell is small and I am small and I have been dreaming about being this small and this close and my black skirt is bunched up to my waist and his cock is in front of my face and it is dark enough down here and all I see is his cock radiating in the shadow, every purple vein glowing and the head swelling as his trousers pull at his balls. The smell is warm and under and that is him, salt and clean and everything Robin described and she was exact she was right, I open my mouth.
My mouth closes over him. All the way. My throat closes around the head before it has a chance to argue, and my eyes water and I am not graceful about this. I gag once and it doesn’t matter. Tears and spit fall together. He makes a sound somewhere above me, short and swallowed. His hand grips the door handle and my back. I can feel his thigh flex against my chest.
I can hear Robin’s voice. Steady, bright, talk about traffic, talk about the restaurant, wasn’t the pasta, oh Darryl tell me about. Robin is working. She is working so hard up there and I am down here in the dark with my mouth full of her husband and I would do anything for her, I already owe her everything. But she could be dead silent and I’d be doing the same thing right now.
I use my tongue to feel his whole penis. His hard penis. Every throbbing vein and the swollen head. My fingers wrapped around his balls, pulling him tight.
I swallow his cock all the way back into my brain and I am full.
I pull off and hear the wind rush into my lungs.
My mouth water is everywhere. Spit cascading over my lipstick and chin. The back of my hand. A thick web still connecting my mouth to him that I feel swing down my neck. I don’t care. I reach down and force my panties down my legs bumping into the drivers seat. I get them off one ankle tangled, then I have them in my hand wet and dark in the back seat of my husband’s car.
I climb onto Mark’s lap.
His cock is sliding between my lips slick and hard and nothing between us, and I am so wet he splashes through my folds just from me settling my weight and the head bumps my clit and I press my mouth into the side of his neck and breathe.
I am trying to be quiet. I still think I need to be quiet. My ass is so loud and my mouth sealed to his neck so I can hold my breath.
His hands are on my bottom. Fingers massaging the roundness, and the feeling of his hands there is so much bigger than I’d imagined. It has been so long since someone touched my ass like it was something worth touching. Darryl, on our honeymoon, when I told him what I wanted, and the look on his face. I’m not going to think about that right now. Mark’s hands are spreading me open and the night air touches the hole no one has ever touched and I arch into it.
I reach between us and pull him up and sink down onto him.
He fills me slowly and my brain stops talking.
All of it stops. The thing that runs underneath everything, the constant low hum of want and shame and you-want-too-much and why-can’t-you-just and be-normal-Marcy, it stops. It goes quiet. There is just this, this stretch, this heat, the pulse of him inside me and my pulse answering it, and my hands gripping his shirt and my forehead dropped to his shoulder and the car moving through dark streets.
I start to move.
Slowly. My hips rolling. Clit grinding down against him on every roll. The sounds we are making are small but I can hear them roar. Up front Robin laughs. It is perfectly timed and I love her and hate Darryl and I ride Mark a little harder.
I think about how long this has been. Years of bending over. Years before that of pressing against the pew. The bedpost, alone in my room, no idea what I was doing, just knowing I needed it. Needed to be full. Needed to be touched like this body wasn’t too much, wasn’t embarrassing, wasn’t something to apologize for. His hands are still on my ass. My whole weight is in them.
The car takes the exit. The ramp curves. The angle shifts and he presses deeper and I feel a sound build in my throat that I kill by sinking my teeth into his collar.
I whisper into the fabric. “I’ve needed this for so long.”
He wraps his hands around my hips and starts to pound me onto him. My thighs are shaking. The orgasm has been building for weeks, all the others just small waves never hinting this one was coming and my pussy is choking down and I’m coming in a long shaking wave that I hold so quietly as it explodes through me, my whole body contracting around him, holding tighter than anything ever before and he pulses. Four times. Five. Hot and deep and I feel every one roll up through his shaft.
I stay there. I don’t want to stop being here. He’s still inside me and my face is in his neck and I can smell his sweat now and the sex and the radio and I hear Darryl talking trying to tell a joke and Robin laughing.
We pull up to their house. Mark gets out awkwardly without saying goodbye. I see Robin take his hand at the door like it’s nothing, like this is just the end of a normal dinner, and she doesn’t look back. The door closes.
I am in the front seat. Good wife seat. My skirt is wrecked. My thighs are clenched together trying not to let go of Mark’s cum. I am nodding along while Darryl talks about the food, the service.
You know, we could order takeout from there, he says.
“Yes,” I say.
My panties are in the back seat. On the floor of Darryl’s car. They’ll be there tomorrow when he goes to work. Maybe he’ll find them. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he will and he’ll fold them onto the passenger seat without saying anything because Darryl doesn’t say anything, and I will pick them up and carry them inside and hold them a long time before I wash them by hand. Or not, and I’ll carry them in my purse for the rest of my life.
I press my knees together harder as I feel the crack of my ass grip the fabric of the seat.
Fuck Church. Darryl can go alone tomorrow. I’m going to bring Robin banana bread. I’m going to make it tonight when Darryl’s asleep. I’m going to stand in the kitchen with my thighs still sticky with her husband’s cum, and measure flour and mash old bananas and think about every second of the last forty minutes and fuck my fingers into my cunt, and say a prayer of thanks for Mark. And Robin.
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