Selena Kitt - Quickies

The cooking lessons, the computer classes…" I stopped, something suddenly dawning on me. "That's where you met him, isn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed softly. "But it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter."

I snorted, swallowing past something stuck in my throat. "He looked like he mattered when he was fucking you in our bed."

I don't know if the pained look on her face matched mine or not. It felt awful, saying it, feeling it. I wanted to say more, and I wanted it to stop, to end it, to leave right now and never look back. Staying was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

Just sitting there in the pain of it, the both of us, drowning in the flood.

I'm still here…

And so confused,

But I can finally see how much I stand to lose…*

I don't know how long it was before we spoke again. It grew dark outside, dark inside, in spite of the lamp light. My belly ached, my balls were drawn up like two rocks,

and Molly shivered, but she still didn't cover herself. I thought I knew why. She just looked at me, like she was waiting for something. I was waiting, too. I didn't know for what, until it happened.

The timer in the kitchen sounded with three short, sharp blasts. Dinner was ready. Menu was on the fridge. It was time for me to walk through the door, home from work, ready for Molly's embrace and a quick kiss before I got changed and ready to eat whatever she'd concocted for the evening meal. I had taken to picking up two beef jerkys at the gas station and eating them on the way home, just in case. Of course, I didn't tell her that. Keeping the little things secret had never seemed to matter.

"I hate the crap you're cooking lately." I gave a quarter turn toward her on the bed.

She nodded. Almost smiled. "I know."

"I could kill you with my bare hands."

"I know." Her mouth trembled again, but no tears fell. "I thought… I don't know what I thought. I wasn't… thinking…" Her voice was thick, trembling, too.

"I want…" I held my hands out in front of me, palms up, just looking at them.

"Fuck, Molly… what are we going to do?"

She slipped her hand into one of mine, using my steadfast weight to pull her to sitting beside me, the sheet pooled in her lap.

"I don't know." Her voice was hoarse. "Will you hold me?"

I shook my head, swallowing thickly, still seeing him, like a ghost, hovering over our bed. But I did. I pulled her familiar body into my arms and held on. She melted into me, like she always did, fitting perfectly in all the right places.

"This doesn't mean-" I started, brushing her hair off my cheeks. "I don't know what this means."

She nodded, and I could feel the edges of her pain flowing into mine, somehow, as if they were one thing. Love didn't stop, like turning off a light switch, as much as I willed it to.

"It doesn't matter…" she whispered. I could feel her tears wetting my shirt.

"Nothing matters, except you… Jim… I'm so…"

"Don't say it," I choked, lowering my head to hers, holding her a little too tight.

"Don't… just… don't…"

She didn't and I didn't and we didn't… we just sat, and rocked, and felt it, the love and the pain that ached like a raw wound between us. It was us. After all those years, there was no separating it anymore.

What is it about something you can't have that makes you want it even more?

When we were in college, my future husband donated plasma every week. He did it primarily for the money (like most college kids, we were strapped for cash) but he really had a truly altruistic nature. He donated blood every six weeks, and that didn't pay a thing. When we found out about a sperm donation program in our area, he jumped at the chance. The pay was fantastic (I think it was like $50 a pop… ha, literally) and he liked the idea of helping someone have a child who couldn't.

The process wasn't as easy as donating plasma, though. He had to go through lots of screening, questionnaires and blood tests before he could even think about going into the back room with the plethora of porn and a little cup. Finally, all the details were taken care of and he was ready to donate. He'd left his instructions from the lab on the kitchen table and I stood there in my bare feet, shorts and a bra (it was hot that summer and we had no air conditioning) eating an apple and reading them.

They were pretty standard — where to go, what to expect, etc. But the thing that stood out to me in big, red flashing letters was: DO NOT EJACULATE FOR 24 HOURS

BEFORE YOUR APPOINTMENT. It was dinner time (hence the apple — I was starving and we didn't have much to eat in the house) and his appointment was early the next morning, before his first class. He was in the shower at the time — he took two showers a day when it was hot. Sometimes three.

When he came out, I was masturbating on the bed, my shorts down to my knees and my bra pulled up just over my nipples so every movement made the material brush them and send delicious twinges of sensation down to my aching clit. He stood there for a moment, watching and dripping water onto the carpet. I smiled when I saw the towel wrapped around his waist start to rise in front. I knew how hard it made him to watch me touch myself.

I know, I know… I'm such a bad girl! All I needed to see were the words "DO

NOT" and I immediately rebelled. Reverse psychology works on me every time! His towel dropped to the floor as he came near the bed, his eyes between my legs as I spread my lips to show him pink. He knelt between my thighs, his cock rising like an exclamation point. I reached for it, squeezing, pulling him toward my pussy.

He groaned as he looked down at me, spread wide for him. "You can't make me come."

"Bet me." I grinned, stroking him, pulling him closer.

"No, I mean, for my appointment in the morning." He seemed transfixed with the motion of my hands, one up and down his cock, the other rubbing my clit in little circles.

"They said I wasn't allowed to come."

"Not allowed?" I pouted, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down my slit. I loved the head against my clit.

His eyes brightened. "But I can make you come."

"Can you fuck me?" I teased my hole with the head of him, lifting my hips, getting the tip wet with my juices.

He groaned and grabbed for my hips. I couldn't tell if it was because he wanted to slide into me or keep me from moving on him. "As long as I don't come."

"Can I suck you?" I sat up quickly, grabbing his hips so my mouth was on level with his cock, still wet from me.

He nodded. "As long as I don't come."

I slid my tongue around the tip, licking the taste of me off him. When I looked up into his eyes, half-closed as he watched me slowly suck the head, I knew he was a goner. "How long do you think you can hold out?"

"Oh fuck…" His hand went to my hair as I eased him into my mouth, all the way back, so deep I could see water droplets still glistening in his pubic hair and smell the clean scent of his soap.

"Let's find out…" I circled the base of him with my hand, squeezing on the uptake, easing the loose skin just to the tip and back down again, my tongue swirling around and around the head. It was a motion I knew he loved, one that made his nipples harden and his ass clench.

"Baby!" He was pleading, begging me, but the taste of his precum and the feel of him throbbing against my tongue, coupled with the thought that we shouldn't, we weren't supposed to, made it too hard for me to resist.

"Just an experiment," I whispered over the head as my hand went down to his balls. He loved it when I rubbed them with my thumb, cupping their weight in my hand.

"We'll see how hard I can make you without letting you come."