by Robert Price
Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time Julian and Melanie walked away from Tom’s grave, Melanie had already slipped and fallen several times, muddying her pants and jacket. Then, as they made their way arm-in-arm down the cemetery slope to the car, she fell so hard she even pulled Julian down with her.
Besides wet pant legs and damp, chilly behind, she felt comfortable in a happy, drunken sort of way. Maintaining that mood, she snuggled next to Julian when he parked the car in her driveway. She had suggested they go to her house so she could change clothes before returning to the reception. Julian was only too happy to oblige, as he had hopes of breaking a three-year dry spell by sleeping with Melanie.
“Not much has changed in here,” Julian commented as they entered Melanie’s living room.
“No,” Melanie agreed, looking for his approval.
The fact of the matter was that everything had changed in her house since she had sold the land across the street and stopped drinking. Five years ago, the last time he was over, the place was still furnished with the same junky tables, worn couches and tattered chairs she’d grown up with. After getting sober and selling the land, however, she replaced it all with new, modern, fancier-looking stuff. And the walls as well, over the past two years, received fresh coats of paint with warmer tones, the hardwood floors sanded and refinished.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Melanie said, disappearing into the first floor bathroom.
“How about a drink?” Julian called out.
“You’ll have to bring it in. I have nothing in the house,” she shouted back.
Julian went out to the car and grabbed the plastic bottle of vodka stashed behind the driver’s seat. Closing the door, he noticed the dark, skeletal frames of the two houses under construction across the street. Returning to the living room, he said, “I thought you owned the land across the street?”
“I’m in the kitchen,” she shouted back, avoiding the topic of her land. She placed crackers on a plate. Two juice glasses waited for Julian to fill. “Want to mix that with anything?” she said, head down as he entered.
“Umm, I don’t know. Do you?” He stopped in the center of the room, alarmed.
Melanie had changed into a pink, silky, thigh-length robe. She tied the matching belt so that the robe fit invitingly tight against her breasts, framing her cleavage.
She finished arranging the crackers. “There, that should do it,” she smiled, looking up at him. “There’s juice in the fridge, if you want to mix it.” Carrying the plate into the living room, she sat on the couch. He picked up the two glasses and obediently followed.
Nervously, Julian sat next to her and poured straight vodka into the glasses. Okay, he thought, we already made out. Don’t blow it. She wants me. Reaching an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to shift positions so she fit snug against his side, his penis filled with blood and began to throb. Turning, opening his mouth, he placed his lips around hers. Then pushing against her tongue with his, applying what he thought was the appropriate amount of pressure. Julian could feel her heavy, warm exhale brush against his cheeks as his hands fumbled with the knot of the robe.
Melanie really wanted to go upstairs, though she thought it appropriate to begin on the couch. She could feel from his kisses that he was nervous, even inexperienced. But the bulge in his pants proved his interest. She tried to remember five years ago. Had I enjoyed it? Was he good? Her memory of that night was gray. She had been drunk, too drunk to care.
Maybe they had both been too drunk to feel anything at all.
She felt his fingers pull on the knot. “Let’s go up stairs,” she said in a purposefully breathy voice. With his hand in hers, she led them to the bedroom on the second floor.
Julian stood silent and unsure at the foot of the bed. He wanted to be a man and lead. He wanted to be in control of the situation, his penis demanded it, but the rest of his body, awash in alcohol, was slow in responding.
Melanie saw his hesitation. So she let her robe fall open, unbuckled his pants and lifted off his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and socks and they fell together on the bed, wrapping their bodies around each other, pushing their mouths together and gasping for air. Melanie could feel herself getting wet as his hardness rubbed against her belly.
She took his penis in one hand and began to massage it. With her free hand she guided Julian’s fingers down between her legs. She wanted him to caress her like she was caressing him. She wanted him to want to please her.
“Like this,” she whispered, and placed his index finger directly on her hidden clitoris. Then she let go of his hand.
After a few uncomfortable seconds, Julian pulled his hand away from her crotch and moved it to her back. With his other, he roughly rubbed her breasts.
Frustrated with Julian’s ineptitude, Melanie went for the next best alternative—she turned him onto his back and, climbing on top, positioned her opening over him. She held his cock in place as she lowered herself. She felt her vagina fill with his hardness.
Julian closed his eyes. He could feel her rise and fall, rise and fall. Letting his mind drift to his favorite porn site, he began to fantasize about the buxom brunette she-male he had been masturbating to this past week, starting when Melanie had called to tell him about Tom’s death. He imagined that it was the she-male’s mouth on him, not Melanie’s body. Melanie’s moans became the she-male’s pleasure. The image shifted and now he envisioned his penis inside her ass, pounding harder, deeper.
Then the she-male turned on him, dominating him, forcing him to take her penis in his mouth and hold it there, fucking him and fucking him. Julian was close to coming and—his hard-on softened abruptly. The pornographic fantasy playing out in his head required a sensation far different from that of being inside Melanie. Besides, he’d grown dependent on the interaction between his hand, his penis and his computer screen—too dependent to orgasm with a real woman.
Feeling terribly empty, Melanie climbed off of Julian. Sitting up crossed-legged in bed, she pulled the sheets over her lap to cover herself.
“What?” Julian asked, his hard-on now completely gone. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she angrily repeated. “What’s wrong? You’re not here, that’s what’s wrong!”
Melanie climbed out of the bed and threw his pants at him. “No, you wanna know what’s really wrong? I’m so fucking stupid, that’s what’s wrong!”
Embarrassed by his incompetence, Julian angrily pulled his pants on.
Even with all the drunken loneliness that Melanie had experienced in her life, having Julian’s erection soften inside of her was by far the loneliest she had felt in a long time. And on top of that, she hated that she was drunk. “Two years sober, and I tossed it away on a loser like you.”
Now, drunk or not, she wanted her family. Most especially she had to talk to her auntie and she had to talk to her now—How did I let myself get so far away from them?
“Hurry up,” she yelled, rushing to get dressed. “Take me back to my aunt.”
