by C. C. Morian
And hope. She had come to accept that she wanted this all to happen, that she not only wanted to resolve the situation with her marriage, but she actually wanted to see Marcus.
More than see him. She wanted to be with him. She wanted him to want her.
This sparked a new realization, something she should have known earlier, and something that perhaps Richard already knew. That it might not be just about some general need she had for different kinds of sex, more spontaneity, more passion. But that instead it might be specifically about Marcus. Not just what Melissa had done with him, but what they were together, their relationship.
Some days she felt guilty about it, especially when she thought about how good things were in most aspects of her life. Or when Richard was being especially kind. Melissa was grateful that he hadn’t asked her more about what she was thinking.
She had sent in her deposit for the reunion, and had made a reservation at the airport hotel, purposely choosing not to stay at the hotel where the reunion was taking place. The last thing Melissa wanted was for someone to see Marcus and her together going into a room, if it came to that. The whole thing could go sideways; why cause unnecessary rumors?
Another week went by, and her life returned to normal. If normal meant counting down the days until the reunion, checking the RSVP list constantly, thinking about what she would wear when she saw Marcus, alternately agonizing and fantasizing about what might happen. . .
Richard was back in his full work mode, and she was amazed at how he seemed to have compartmentalized everything. It was like he wasn’t even thinking about it, about how it might change their relationship, perhaps forever.
Until one Sunday when she came home early from running some errands. Richard’s car was in the driveway, blocking the garage, which they were cleaning out. The late winter day was unusually warm, a hint of spring just around the corner. Knowing Richard would leave for work earlier than she would the next morning, Melissa parked in the street and walked up to the house and in through the open garage.
A pile of boxes sat on a folding table; Richard must have been sorting through them to clear out some space. On top, an open box caught her eye; the label was in her handwriting and said “College Stuff.”
Melissa stopped, intrigued. She hadn’t opened that box. Had Richard opened it by mistake?
She peeked inside. A bunch of notebooks, some other junk. Richard had probably seen it and was going to ask her if she wanted to keep any of it. He was a bit of neat freak, always throwing out anything old.
Melissa shrugged and opened the door to the kitchen. Music drifted from the other room; she recognized one of her CD’s, immediately bringing her back to her college years. Richard was probably going to give her a hard time for saving her old music collection.
She stepped into the living room and was greeted by a strange sight. Over the top of the sofa she could see Richard’s head and shoulders; he was sitting on the floor, resting against the sofa, his back to her. He obviously hadn’t heard her come in, probably due to the music. Richard’s head was down and he seemed to be looking at something.
Melissa was about to call out, she didn’t want to startle him, when she noticed his right shoulder and arm moving back and forth.
Oh my God, she thought. He’s masturbating.
Melissa suspected he masturbated, just as she did, but she had never caught him at it. She didn’t know what to do.
Richard’s left arm moved, and she realized he was turning a page. Was he looking at porn?
She knew she should just leave, but curiosity, as always, got the better of her. Just a peek. . .
She tiptoed closer, trying to see what he was looking at. His arm was moving again, he was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t hear her. Melissa took a another step and was now just a few steps behind him.
Richard’s pants were down, and he was stroking his erect cock. On the floor next to him was a large book that he was staring at.
Richard was looking at her college yearbook.
Melissa gasped, clasping her hand to her mouth. But Richard didn’t hear her over the sound of the music. She couldn’t see exactly what page Richard was looking at, but she immediately knew what it must be. The photo of her and Marcus, a candid. Melissa knew the photo well, her at a party with Marcus, her arm on his broad chest, laughing, her eyes bright and excited. And behind Marcus, two other women, staring at Marcus, envious.
Richard was masturbating to a photo of her with Marcus.
Melissa stood there frozen, in shock. And then suddenly, inexplicably, she started to get turned on. The combination of it all, seeing Richard masturbating, obviously thinking about her, about her and Marcus, the surprise of it all.
For a second Melissa wanted to jump on him, to become a part of it. But she didn’t want to embarrass him.
She slowly tiptoed back out of the room.
In the garage, Melissa stopped to catch her breath. Knowing Richard’s fantasies, she shouldn’t have been surprised. But seeing him masturbate had still shocked her.
She wanted more surprises out of Richard, this is what she thought she needed. But she wasn’t sure if this was the right kind of surprise.
On the other hand, if she could predict the surprise, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?
And it had aroused her. But what had caused that? Thinking about Richard, or thinking about Marcus?
Melissa composed herself, then walked back outside and through the back door they usually used to come in and out. This time she called out “Richard! I’m home!”
She stayed in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, giving Richard a chance to get himself together. She expected the music to shut off and Richard to play dumb, so was taken aback when he came into the kitchen.
Melissa was flustered, a little unsure of what to say. “I finished early,” she said. She noticed Richard was a little red in the face, not embarrassed, just flushed.
“Good,” he said. “I was just thinking about you. I was cleaning out the garage and came across some of your stuff. Recognize the music?”
“Sure. I haven’t heard this in ages. I forgot I had it. I didn’t think it would be something you’d like.”
“It’s not bad. A little dated, without being classic. Kind of like me.”
Melissa smiled. “You’re not dated.”
Richard seemed to be deciding on something. Suddenly he grabbed her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He pulled her toward the living room.
This wasn’t what Melissa expected. Intrigued, she let herself be led.
The living room was as she had seen it a few minutes before. Her yearbook lay open on the floor. Staring up at her was the picture she remembered, her and Marcus.
“I found your yearbook,” said Richard. “I didn’t mean to snoop, I just got curious.”
“It’s not snooping,” said Melissa. “It’s just my yearbook.” She turned to him. “Besides, you should know by now we don’t have any real secrets.”
“You never showed it to me before,” said Richard.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” she replied. Which was true.
Richard picked up the yearbook. “You look great in the photos I found. You’re as pretty as you were in college.”
“I’m not sure about that,” said Melissa. “It’s been a few years.”
“No, I mean it.” He gave her a long look and said seriously. “In fact, you are prettier.”
“I did get rid of that stupid perm,” she said, glancing down at the photo.
Richard tapped the picture. “Is this Marcus?”
Richard had never met Marcus, and Melissa realized that he probably had no idea what Marcus looked like.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s him.” Where was this leading?
“You look—animated. Happy to be with him.”
On the surface Richard’s voice sounded matter of fact, but Melissa caught the complicated undercurrent of jealousy and a littl
e envy.
“It was a party,” she explained.
“It seems more than that,” said Richard. He looked up from the book. “I’m not angry. In fact, it makes me feel a little better. Seeing you captured like this, the sparkle in your eye, I can understand why you must have been so into him. Why you want to see him again.”
“Richard, I—.” What was she going to say? That she didn’t want to see Marcus again? That she was doing it just for Richard?
“He is very good looking,” said Richard. “He’s even taller than I am. He looks like he’s in amazing shape.”
“He was,” she said, without thinking. Catching herself, she said, “Of course, that was a while ago. I have no idea what he looks like now. Not everyone stays in shape the way you do.”
Richard turned to her. “Knowing him as you did, do you think he’d let himself go soft? No pun intended.”
Melissa stared at him, trying to decide how to answer. This was delicate. She decided on the truth, with Richard, that was always best. “I don’t think he’d let himself go. He wasn’t a weight room guy, not in a big way, but he did a lot of things to keep his body toned. He was just hard all over.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. “No pun intended either, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Richard looked back at the photo. “You actually look—aroused—in this photo. Did you have sex with him after this party?”
Melissa shook her head. “I can’t possibly remember that.” But she thought it likely. She and Marcus had had sex almost every night they were together. And a lot of days too.
Richard put the yearbook on the sofa, the page still opened to the photo of Melissa and Marcus. He slipped behind her, his hands on her hips, turning her so she was looking toward the photo.
“I’m surprised you don’t look at these pictures, this one especially,” he whispered in her ear. “Or maybe you have others?”
“I wasn’t that big into pictures, you know that,” she said. But she didn’t need any photos of Marcus, his image in her mind was still sharp, as clear as if she had seen him that morning.
“That’s too bad,” said Richard. “I would have liked to see more photos of you two together.” He slipped his hands around her waist as he kissed her on the back of the neck. “Tell me, what do you think of when you look at this photo?”
“I hate that top I have on,” she joked, trying to get her mind off Marcus. But it was no use, the picture was reinforcing the image in her mind, bringing it all back, maybe not that party, but the times out with Marcus, feeling so good to be with him, knowing the other women were jealous, knowing that other men wanted her more because she was with such a stud.
“Maybe you need to take a closer look,” said Richard. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her down to her knees, so that her face was right near the yearbook.
Melissa felt him kneel behind her. “Richard—”
“Shh,” he said. “Pretend I’m not Richard. Pretend you are with Marcus. Look at the picture.”
Melissa wanted to say no, stop this, this is crazy, you can’t pretend to be Marcus, that’s not what I want. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the photo, Marcus’s confidence and manhood oozing out of the page.
Something in the corner of the photo caught Melissa’s eye, a lava lamp and an old poster, it had been a throwback party, she remembered it exactly now.
Richard pulled her blouse loose, his hands running up her back, snapping off her bra strap. He slipped his hands around, freeing her from her bra, her breasts now hanging down. He gently played with her nipples.
Squeeze them, Melissa screamed in her head. If you want to be like Marcus, squeeze them hard, pull my nipples between your strong fingers until it hurts.
But Richard’s just kneaded her breasts. It felt good, and he probably thought he was being rough, but it was far from what she needed.
That party. Melissa remembered it. Not because the party was something special, but because of what happened afterward. Back at the car, parked on the sidewalk, Marcus had asked her to sit in the backseat. She remembered wondering about that, but she what he told her to do.
Melissa closed her eyes, the night coming back to her. Richard was lifting up her skirt, pressing his hips against her. She could feel his erection, he must not have finished masturbating, she didn’t think he could get hard again so quickly.
Or maybe he could, thinking about her with Marcus.
Her mind slipped back to the car, surprised when Marcus didn’t get in the driver’s seat but opened the rear door and sat next to her. ‘Since it’s a throwback party’, he had said, ‘we have to do things the way people used to before they had their own places to go.’ His hand had dove under her skirt as he pulled her in for a kiss. Melissa had hesitated, hearing the sounds of people walking by on the sidewalk. They were in clear view of anyone who glanced in the car. But she had kissed him back, his hand brazenly up past her thighs, cupping her, her tongue seeking out his.
She heard Richard’s zipper, he was pulling down his pants. He pushed his cock against her ass as his fingers sought out her panties, but Melissa reached back and just pulled them aside, grinding against him, touching herself and feeling herself swell.
“In a hurry, are we?” asked Richard. “You must be thinking about Marcus.”
And she was, Melissa was back in the car, Marcus grabbing her panties, violently pulling them down, and Melissa was fumbling at his belt, the rush in her head not enough to drown out the sound of party goers and who knew who else walking by the car, maybe even stopping to stare at them. And then Marcus pulled her on top of him, and Melissa was guiding his huge cock into her, laughing, trying to keep her head from banging on the car’s ceiling, her laughter stifled as Marcus thrust into her, filling her, a little pain as she stretched and then that rush of fullness, so complete, and then she was fucking him, wild, so turned on by it, almost in public, wondering if the women who had been crooning over Marcus at the party could see her now. Maybe they were standing on the sidewalk, watching, but she didn’t look, she couldn’t take her eyes off Marcus. . .
Richard thrust into her, and she was more than ready. “Who are you thinking about?” he whispered.
Melissa didn’t answer, she was caught up in it, Marcus fucking her like he didn’t have a care in the world, like they were in some private place instead of in the backseat of a car on a busy street.
“Who are you thinking about?” demanded Richard. And he began to fuck her hard, her breasts swaying, her knees scraping the floor, reminding her of her knees on the backseat of the car as she straddled Marcus.
Melissa shook her head, she couldn’t say it.
Richard stopped suddenly, pulling his cock out until just the tip was in her, teasing. Melissa squirmed, pushing back toward him, but he shifted so that she couldn’t have him.
“Marcus,” she whispered, not just because that’s what Richard wanted to hear, but because it was the truth.
“Louder,” said Richard, still holding himself back.
“Marcus!” she screamed, and Richard shoved himself into her so hard her head fell onto the yearbook, and she opened her eyes, feral, her face inches from Marcus, and she felt the cum shooting into her, just as it did in the car that night, and then her orgasm hit, so fast this time, just like then, and she squeezed her pussy, holding on as long as she could, not caring who heard or who saw, only that Marcus had been hers, he was fucking her, cumming into her, not one of any other women he could have had.
She felt Richard pull out of her, not speaking, and she watched as he got up, dazed, holding his pants, and staggered out of the room.
Chapter 10
That night Melissa curled into bed, her mind awhirl. Things had gone too far. It was her fault. Though Richard had brought it all up, she had let herself get caught up in it, had let her own fantasies take over. And now Richard was caught up in a dangerous web, caught between his newly discovered sexual desires and his marriage.
I need to stop thi
s, thought Melissa. Before it is too late. It would be a letdown for her, she accepted that, it would be hard to get it all out of her head. She could live with that. But she didn’t want to hurt Richard.
She waited up for hours, but he didn’t come upstairs. He must have gone to the guestroom. She wasn’t sure if Richard was embarrassed by what had happened that afternoon, or in shock at his own actions. She thought about going to him, but realized he maybe wanted to be alone for a while.
She drifted in and out of sleep all night, anxiously awaiting the morning so she could get this fixed.
Melissa ended up actually sleeping late since she had forgot to set the alarm. In the bathroom mirror her eyes were puffy, her skin pale. She looked like shit. A decade ago, she’d stay out all night partying and wouldn’t miss a beat. Now missing only a few hours sleep threw her for a loop.
Coffee, or two, then a shower. Maybe a run first. She plodded down into the kitchen, her mind still locked onto how she was going to unravel everything she had set in motion.
She was surprised to find Richard there, leaning against the counter like he was waiting for her. Melissa had expected that he would already be gone. Self consciously she pushed back her hair, she hadn’t even run a brush through it. Richard looked his pulled together, neat and tidy self.
He turned from her without speaking and poured her a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” she said. “I really need that.”
“You slept in,” he said, not accusingly. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I had a lot on my mind, I couldn’t fall asleep right away. I guess I finally drifted off late.” Melissa noticed his briefcase on the floor. “Have you been waiting for me?”
“Kind of,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s my fault,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve let things go too far. I wanted to talk to you too. We need to stop this. All of it.”
