Annual Leave

by Ben Boswell

  A bad line of thought to pursue. And yet, she knew at some point she’d have to think about it. Think about what, if anything, she’d say to her husband when she got home. But not now. Now was just now.

  She climbed into the shower, delighting in the powerful, waterfall showerhead. She slowly soaped herself up, her hands triggering memories of her time with Damon. The way he’d played with her nipples, nearly bringing her to orgasm. His hand on her belly, rubbing her clit as he took her from behind. The way he’d kneaded her ass, and massaged her back. His palm on her throat. His fist gripping her hair. He was so rough…. No, not rough. Strong, confident, dominant.

  Most of all, she felt that sweet soreness between her legs, a constant, delicious reminder of how good he felt inside her. She could easily see how addictive a man like Damon could be. Could see why women would make fools out of themselves for him.

  She lathered up her legs and ran her razor along them, and then under her arms. She always loved the sensation of her newly shaved skin, so soft, especially when wet and soapy. She ran her fingers through her trimmed muff. She knew she shouldn’t. Knew she’d have trouble explaining it to Jeff. But she also knew she wanted to do it. For Damon. A treat for him and for herself.

  She lathered herself up and began shaving away her pubic hair. It was slow going, and she felt her way along carefully with her fingertips. It was oddly sensual. Touching herself. The scrape of the razor. The sensation of water flowing over her newly bared skin. And constantly, in the back of her mind, Damon. How he’d react. What he’d say and do to her when he found out she’d shaved for him. An arrogant smirk, the twinkle in his eyes, his hands cupping, exploring her, finally pulling her to him, his tongue licking and tasting, thrusting inside her….

  She grabbed the wall to keep from falling as an orgasm rippled through her. Not a climax. No, more of an appetizer. Nothing compared to what he did to her, but still a reminder of how close to the edge she was always when she was with him. Her sexuality, buried, dormant caring for three children, now right there, near the surface.

  ***

  “Dayum, Soccer Mom, now that is a suit.”

  No false modesty this time. She spun around and shook her ass at him. A Brazilian bikini, a skimpy, fringed triangle in the back that crept partway up her ass, and an even skimpier triangle in the front that would have almost required her to shave had she not done so already. Another two small wedges of fabric held in place by a string constituted the top and barely covered her areolas and did nothing to conceal the size and shape of her prominent nipples.

  “You know, I have a name,” she noted as she sat down beside him.

  He laughed. “Oh no, you’re not going to make me call you Heather.”

  “What’s wrong with Heather?”

  He peered at her over his aviators. “It’s so white.”

  “No more than Shelby.”

  He nodded. “True, but I’m not fucking Shelby.”

  “God, you’re so crude sometimes,” she replied with a smile.

  “I’m so sorry, Heather,” he replied in a nasally, white guy voice. Then back to his normal tone, “What do you want for lunch? You certainly burned off enough calories last night –“

  “And this morning.”

  “And this morning,” he continued, “to justify a bacon cheeseburger.”

  She grinned. “It’s not about how many I burned, it’s about how many I expect to burn.”

  “Then order two,” he suggested.

  It made her all tingly to talk about sex with him, to think about what they might do later.

  “I think I’ll take one, and a Bloody Mary. But lunch is on me.”

  He laughed. “Oh sure, I pay for the expensive dinners, and you buy me lunch by the pool.”

  “It’s hard being a man.”

  “Sometimes,” he replied, nodding with a mock seriousness.

  He ordered their food, joining her with the bacon cheeseburger, but substituting a beer instead of a Bloody Mary.

  “So,” she said, “can I ask you a question? And don’t say, ‘you just did’.”

  “I’d like to think I’m more witty than that anyway. Are you going to ask me how I became so handsome and irresistible?”

  She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “No, it was about what you said before. About Heather sounding too white.”

  “It was just a joke.”

  “I know. But you’ve made a few jokes like that. And I know they’re jokes, but, I dunno, I wonder why race is so important to you.”

  “You don’t have a lot of black friends, do you?”

  She started to protest, then checked herself. “No, I guess I don’t. Not on purpose, but….”

  “Just not a lot of black folks move in the same circles?” he suggested.

  She nodded.

  “Even among professionals,” he said, “I work with mostly white guys. We get along. Have each other’s backs. But yeah, I socialize mostly with other black folks. Anyway, to answer your question, I’m not all hung up on race. I don’t have a huge chip on my shoulder. My dad was a doctor, my brother’s a lawyer. I’m not underprivileged. But look, the fact is, black people are still marginalized, despite the president. So yeah, it’s something that we’re just more conscious of. I make jokes to reassure myself and others. It’s a coping thing.”

  “I guess…. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem that important to me.”

  He chuckled. “Well, of course not. You’re white. It doesn’t affect you. That’s the point.”

  “But you just said it didn’t affect you either.”

  “No, I didn’t quite say that. My point was that it hasn’t been a crippling limitation, for me. But I respect the fact that it is for others. And anyway, it’s more real that you realize. We’re in a nice resort. Everyone is well-behaved, but if you and I went into town together, we’d get our share of hostile looks. If it got late enough, some drunk asshole would probably try to start something over it. But look, assholes are assholes. It’s not like I hate white people.”

  “I should hope not. You’re actually quite loving toward this particular white person.”

  He laughed. “Oh don’t get me started on that.”

  “What?”

  “The sex thing.”

  “The sex thing?”

  “Maybe it’s just a southern thing.”

  “A southern thing?”

  “Seriously, you’re going to need to stop doing that.”

  She grinned.

  “You know what I mean. Seems like people down south see a black man and a white woman and they think he’s with her because he’s a black man and she’s a white woman.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Well, that she’s just with him out of some liberal guilt, and he’s just with her because all he thinks about is despoiling her white pussy.”

  “But that is what you think about!”

  He laughed. “Yes, but I’m focused on the pussy part, not the white part.”

  “So it doesn’t matter to you.”

  He groaned. “Okay, I give up. You got me. The only reason I had sex with you was to make up for the fact that your great, great, grandpappy probably owned my great, great, grandmammy. Probably raped her too. You’re just payback.”

  “Okay, you’re right, that sounds crazy.”

  “See?”

  They each took a bite of their burgers. Heather could see the grin on his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Though some girls do get off on that, you know.”

  “On what?”

  He leaned in close. “On all that kind of nasty talk. Suck on my big, nigger cock you dirty, white whore.”

  Heather blushed, feeling also a weird surge of heat in her belly. He read her expression immediately.

  “See Soccer Mom? Even you’re not immune to it.”

  ***

  They moved over to some lounge chairs by the pool. She thought she’d get some reading done, but ju
st being next to him left her all tingly. She felt like a schoolgirl, the mere proximity to her crush getting her all hot and bothered.

  He was just so sexy. He had a gorgeous body. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. At first, she tried to stop herself, but ultimately she gave in, letting herself ogle him openly. She wanted to imprint the image in her memory, have it there always to call upon.

  “I think you’re drooling,” he teased.

  “You really are beautiful,” she sighed.

  He laughed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “No, I mean it. You could be, like, a model or something.”

  “Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?”

  She giggled. “Pretty much.”

  “I’ll give you a piece of meat, alright.”

  “Not just a piece, I hope.”

  He laughed. “Soccer Mom, you are turning into a horny little slut.”

  “I am,” she admitted. “I have a little treat for you later.”

  “Yeah?” He glanced down at her crotch, guessing correctly.

  She nodded. “Nice and smooth.”

  “Show me.”

  “I told you, later.”

  “Now.”

  She laughed. “What, out here?”

  “Uh huh. Just a quick flash. No one will know.”

  “You’re crazy,” she replied.

  But she did look around. The pool deck wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t deserted either.

  “Do it,” he insisted.

  It was crazy. She knew it was crazy. But she wanted to do it. Wanted to give him a peek at her smooth, newly shaved pussy. Her bikini was so skimpy, it was already almost as if she were on display. Heather reached down. She took another quick glance around to make sure no one was looking. Then with a quick flick of her wrist, she lifted up the sheer fabric and immediately let it fall back into the place.

  “Do it again. Longer this time.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes you can. Come on. Give me a good look. You know you want to.”

  It was awful, but he was right. She did. The thought of it was so exciting. Her nipples were rock hard and suddenly so sensitive that even her thin bikini top seemed oppressive. She wanted to tear off every last stitch, stand before him naked, invite him to take her, to use her body for his own pleasure, and hers.

  “Let’s go back to my room,” she veritably panted.

  “Later, Soccer Mom. For now, I want you to let me see that pretty, little shaved snatch.”

  “Oh God,” she groaned.

  She peered around again. Okay, okay, no one was watching. No one but Damon.

  Heather slipped a thumb under the fabric and lifted it, an inch, then two. He was looking. Smiling. It felt like an eternity, being on display like that, but it was just a few seconds. She replaced the bikini.

  He was grinning. “Looks good enough to eat.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” she replied, blushing.

  “Of course, I’m going to do a lot more than just eat it,” he added.

  “I was hoping you’d say that too.”

  He chuckled. “Come on Soccer Mom, let’s take a dip in the pool. You’re looking a little flushed.”

  The back wall of the pool was faux stone with flowering plants, and a series of small waterfalls. They swam in that direction and Heather ducked under the flowing water like it was a shower. Damon splashed after her, and playfully chased her along the back wall. He backed her into a small gap in the rocks, the waterfall behind them shielding them from the pool.

  “Looks like you’re trapped,” he noted.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked expectantly.

  He leaned in and kissed her hard. She melted into his arms, her hands caressing the muscles of his powerful back. He snaked his hand into the front of her bikini.

  “I love a shaved snatch.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “It turned you on to flash me, didn’t it? You’re wet for me.”

  His finger slid up and down her slit.

  “That’s the pool, silly.”

  “This isn’t.” He pressed his long, thick finger inside her.

  She knew he could feel her hot, slick wetness within. She gasped and looked over his shoulder. The curtain of water gave some privacy, but not every much. Anyone looking in their direction would see them embracing, his hand below the waterline hinting at what he was doing.

  “Damn, you’re hot, Soccer Mom. You’re a nasty, little whore, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  It was what he wanted to hear, but it was true as well. What other kind of married woman would have sex with a near stranger? Make out with him and allow him to molest her in public?

  “I took it easy on you last night,” he purred in her ear.

  “Oh God,” she groaned.

  If that was taking it easy, she didn’t know if she could handle it hard. His finger curled up inside her, seeking out her g-spot. Her hand sought out his, though she wasn’t sure whether she meant to push him away or hold him close.

  “You’re so sexy when you’re screaming for it.”

  With his thumb resting above her clit, and his finger inside her, he pinch them together as if to rub his digits against each other, but with her most sensitive organ in between. She gasped again, all thoughts of pushing him away now long gone.

  “You’re going to make me come.”

  “That’s the idea,” he replied. “You owe me, you know.”

  She did. She knew it. He’d made her come so many times, and she hadn’t even….

  “I want to suck your cock,” she moaned.

  “Now you’re talking. Tell me.”

  His fingers squeezed harder, inflaming her nerve endings. She wanted to cry out. She couldn’t. Not out here in public. He slowed. She could breath again.

  “I want your big, hard cock in my mouth. I want to taste it.”

  “Taste what, baby?”

  She looked hard into his eyes. He rubbed harder again.

  “Your come,” she gasped.

  The combination of her own words, her thoughts, and his probing fingers pushed her over the edge. She shuddered, clenching at his forearm, even as her mind was filled with the fantasy of jerking his huge prick until he shot load after load of hot come into her mouth.

  He chuckled as he slowly withdrew his hand from her bikini bottom. “Man, you’re a quick trigger.”

  She blushed. Only with you. No man had ever made her come like he did, so often and so hard. She resisted telling him, though. He was already full enough of himself.

  “Come on, let me buy you a drink,” he offered.

  “It’s more like I need a cigarette.”

  “You smoke?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then a drink it is.”

  They returned to their chairs and ordered some frozen margaritas.

  Heather felt tingly and lightheaded. The sun, the alcohol, a recent orgasm, and the rush of being with Damon, thinking about what they’d already done, imagining what he might do to her later. She passed the afternoon in a giddy, boozy, haze.

  It was, of course, just temporary. In a little more than forty-eight hours she’d be back home. Soccer Mom, not just as a teasing nickname, but in reality. Shopping, cooking, cleaning, picking up kids from school, supervising homework. And then, if they weren’t too tired, a little, married, beneath the cover sex. Satisfying. Comfortable. Boring. Now. Next month. Next year. On and on for the next decade and half and then some. Life on hold until then. And then what? Pushing fifty and nearly thirty years into her relationship with Jeff, would passion bloom then? Not likely. She was thirty-two and her life was... already… over. Written in stone.

  She wondered what it might be like with Damon. Right now, it was exciting. Mindblowing even. Explosive. Surprising. Joyous. Isn’t that what life should be like always?

  But that isn’t marriage. It can’t be. Sooner or late
r, that ardor fades. Routine takes hold. Of course, with Jeff, there had never been that passion. Oh sure, it was fun to date, and that first time in bed, awkward and yet exciting always brought a smile to Heather’s face. But there had never been a moment where they just couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Heather always assumed that just wasn’t how she was wired. Too grounded, too practical.

  Because yeah, this, was practical. She chuckled to herself.

  “Seriously, Soccer Mom, you have to stop that. It’s creepy.”

  She looked over at him and giggled. “Oh, you love it.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded. “You think it’s cute.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Does it bother you that I’m married?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Bother me? No, I think it’s sort of hot.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, you know, the whole having another man’s woman thing. Very primal.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I’m not a possession that you’re poaching.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was rational. Just said it was hot.”

  “Men are crazy.”

  “Maybe. But the real question is, does it bother you that you’re married?”

  “It should, right?”

  “I dunno. I’m not married.”

  “What if this is a good thing? You know, I come back recharged, relaxed, with some good memories. That was the idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Was it?”

  “Well, the result was, not the process, I guess.”

  He laughed. “I’m not sure I like being thought of as a process.”

  “Better than being thought of as a possession you’re only interested in because I belong to another.”

  “That’s not the only reason I was interested in you. I always thought you had a nice ass. Even on the bus, I was thinking how much I’d like to wear it as a hat.”

  She giggled. “I’m not even sure what that means.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “So you were interested in me right from the beginning!”

  He laughed. “Going to try that one on for size?”

  “Huh?”

  He leaned over and removed his aviators. “The rationalizations, Heather.”