Lunchtime Chronicles: A Yummy Sub

by Olivia Gaines

  “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I didn’t know,” she said softly. “With her not talking, I could only assume it was because of you. Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I work in the Obits Section to give a voice to people’s lives. Maybe you’re onto something, and I need to get out from behind this desk and get back out there and start living again.”

  “I really don’t want you to leave your job on my account, but if I get one complaint from anyone in your Department or Ms. Jones for that matter, you both are out of here,” she said with authority. “Let me know what you decide, either way.”

  “Tomato, ta-ma-toe,” he replied, opening the door for her to make her exit.

  Wyatt took a good look around the office where he’d spent the past 13 years writing about the lives of others. Looking over all of it, looking back at his life, which had been his whole thing, living life through the eyes of others. All the awards, the accolades, and the journey into words all led to the same empty fucking room with him in the corner with a pencil and paper jotting down notes on someone else’s life.

  Jeffrí Jones had gotten out there and told the story in real time. She was a doer. A goal getter. An action hero that made apple turnovers and pot roast dinners in between kicking ass while he sat behind a desk clicking keys and hitting enter.

  “I want to be a doer,” Wyatt grumbled as he made his way to the car and sat in the vehicle, gripping the steering wheel. An odd sensation came over him, and it was troubling in more ways than one. By the time he made it home, he realized that he’d taken the job to hide from the world. Just as Stacey hid behind the cats and Catherine behind the power suit and position of authority, he’d relegated himself to the basement to also hide.

  He was tired of hiding.

  He wanted to be in the light.

  Chapter Seven – Condiments

  Museum. Mausoleum.

  Dinner was simple. Grilled chicken breasts and roasted artichokes with rice pilaf. A nice buttery Chardonnay had been chilled, and the table was set for two with candles. He started the bath water in the very large tub in the master bedroom, and after dinner, he planned to wash her back, middle, and everything in between those sweet thighs of Jeffrí Jones. It felt like he was 20 years old all over again as his cock sat on rock hard ready.

  “Dinner or fucking first? I don’t know, buddy, you decide,” he said, as he changed out of the jacket and tie into a pair of comfortable slacks and a polo shirt. He really wanted to put on a pair of sweat pants, but that would be too presumptuous.

  Jeffrí arrived on time with a bouquet of flowers and box of chocolates, handing them to her hot date with a wide smile.

  “Turnabout is fair play, don’t you think?” Wyatt couldn’t help but notice that it was the same box of chocolates he given her the night before, minus two which had been eaten, along with the same bouquet of flowers.

  A kiss was handed out along with her gifts as she stood in the foyer of the 4,000 square foot home, looking about the space with eyes quickly glazing over at the ornate furniture, walls covered in art, and a stale smell to the house that stung her nose.

  “Wow. Just wow. This is your home,” she offered.

  “I’m a bit of a collector,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Welcome, make yourself at home.”

  Jeffrí didn’t think that would be likely with the regal furniture and glass cases of priceless antiquities. She was surprised he wore pants, considering the way he looked at her each time he’d seen her today. It became a slight disappointment to arrive and not find him in a pair of silk pajama bottoms and a satin smoking jacket.

  “Did you give some thought to what I said to you about the pattern in the death of the Jane Does?” she asked, following him into the chef’s kitchen complete with Sub Zero appliances. The large island held their dinner in chafing dishes, and the salad was enough to make four meals.

  “Somewhat, but I want tonight to be about me and you,” he said, locating a crystal vase to place the flowers. “I want to talk about us moving forward. I like the feel of what is developing between us and think we should chat a bit about how to make it more permanent, that is if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested, but we have some others matters to talk about first,” she said, looking at him from the opposite side of the kitchen island. “One of the things I want to talk about, if we do choose to go forward is your, uhmm, dirty talk.”

  “Talking dirty turns me on,” he said, almost offended at her broaching the subject.

  “Well, when you yell in my ear that my pussy feels like little tiny midgets running up and down your power hammer, it is kind of a turnoff. Also, saying my pussy tastes like candy corn is not a big whoop for me, especially considering no one really likes candy corn,” she told him. “I’m a grown woman that has seen the world. A man in bed with me talking about his throbbing member poking my kitty is kind of, you know, yucky.”

  “Yucky? You want to know what’s yucky?” he asked, coming around the corner to stand next to her. “A grown man telling you that your vagina is luscious, and I can’t wait to place my penis inside of you until your muscles constrict, taking a grip of my male member, until I spill my hot seed inside your womb. That sounds yucky.”

  Jeffrí pulled her face back as if she were trying to unite her neck with her chin. “When you say it like that, well, yeah!”

  “I’m a grown ass man,” Wyatt told her. “When I’m in bed with a woman that I’m enjoying, I’m going to tell her so. This grown man is going to tell her that he’s going to shove his cock so far up her hot juicy pussy that when she stops cumming, she’ll start crying. My penis can interact with your vagina if that’s what you want to hear, but I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you so good your pussy is going to learn to speak voice commands to Siri and dial me on her own. I’m going to put this dick on you, blow out your back and make your right eye twitch, and in the middle of the night, I’m going to wake you up again and lick that sweet candy corn tasting pussy until you beg me to make you squirt hot pussy juices all over my face so you can take your ass back to sleep and fight that motherfucker in your night terrors with a vengeance. Any fucking questions?”

  The more he talked, the wetter she became. Her eyes blinked each time he said the word ‘pussy’; her own reacting to his words, throbbing and preparing herself for his physical assault, since the verbal one, did in fact elicit the reaction he must have derived from saying such salacious words. Nipples erect and ready to play, Jeffrí was dry at the mouth, she wanted everything he just said.

  “Uhmm, shit, can I have some of that right now? Damn, you just turned me the hell on,” she said, grabbing for his polo. “Get your candy corn eating ass over her and fuck this pussy.”

  “Good, because my shit has been hard since 5:15,” he said, pulling the shirt over his head. It was a scramble to get out of their clothing, and finally totally undressed, he spotted the tattoo, the trademark skull with wings coming from its ears with black bold letters underneath reading “Death from Above.”

  “Holy shit! That is sexy as hell,” he said, dropping to his knees to kiss the emblazoned skin. “It should say ‘Death from Below’ because if I die, I want to go with my cock buried deep inside you and a smile on my face.”

  “Jeez, you never let up, do you?”

  “Nope, and I’m not going to now either,” Wyatt said, popping to his feet like a daisy springing from a pile of old shit. In one move, he had his arm around her waist and made a beeline for a gold and white brocade Louis XVI couch, complete with tufted back cushions and arched raised ornamental scrolled trim and crown.

  Wyatt turned their bodies so he could be seated on the couch. He didn’t trouble himself with small details like allowing her to remove the underpants but instead ripped them off her body. Jeffrí straddled his lap, pressing her breast into his face as she reached between them, taking the hard, thick rod into her hand. She aimed it at the wetness that didn’t seem to want t
o stop as slid forward in incremental movements.

  “Talk dirty to me, Jeffrí,” he whispered. “Tell me how good my cock feels inside of you.”

  “How about I show you how good it feels,” she whispered back, gyrating just a little, then slamming her hips forward. “How does that feel, Wyatt? How does that feel inside of me, all wet, slippery, and gobbling you up?”

  “Good. Good. Gimme more,” he said, trying to tame his filthy mouth. Greedily, he sucked at her breast, relishing the feel of her around him.

  Jeffrí couldn’t hold back much longer. She began to bounce up and down on him like he was a hobby horse that needed to be trained. “Damn, this feels good,” she moaned.

  Her pace increased as she reached the height, but he stopped her, whispering he wanted to finish together and shifting their bodies until she was on her back while he pumped his hips hard, going deeper until she cried out. Then he slowed his movements, enjoying the moment of watching the paleness of his skin, sliding in and out of the dark opening.

  “Oh goodness, I’m cumming!” Jeffrí yelled.

  “Me too!” Wyatt cried as he thrust hard, emptying everything he had into her. “Good grief, Jeffrí!”

  Collapsed in a heap, they lay entangled in each other’s arms. He wanted to say so much to her, yet this moment was more than enough for now.

  “Dinner’s getting cold,” he whispered.

  “How about a hot soak in the tub first?”

  “Sounds good,” he said, pulling their bodies apart and standing. He offered her a hand to get to her feet. “You’re even more amazing naked. That ass I would follow anywhere.”

  “You can’t follow it for long because I have no idea where I’m going,” she replied. “This is a rather large house.”

  “Big enough for more than one person,” he said, looking at her butt as she walked. “I bought it to raise my family in so they could grow up here.”

  “Not with that foo-foo furniture you didn’t. This place is a mother’s nightmare. Who wants to raise a kid around all this glass and antiques? A child would have to play in one room of their own house, which would suck,” she told him. “Plus, you do know that it smells weird; like one of those stores that got a fresh shipment of goods from China.”

  Wyatt stopped, looking around the house. All of the collectibles he had spent so many years taking the time to hand pick during his travels were lined against walls, hung on display, or adorned shelves. It never dawned on him that others would find the space stuffy.

  “So much for me asking you to move in with me,” he said, looking forlorn.

  AFTER NEARLY AN HOUR in the tub and a quick round of finish me off sex, Wyatt and Jeffrí sat at the table across from each other, looking, asking a million silent questions, yet saying nothing. The chicken, he’d prepared for dinner had become dry, the artichokes were choking, and the rice was a gummy mess. Dinner ending up being just the salads.

  “Jeffrí, I want to know everything about you,” he said. “Your family, hopes, dreams, and anything else you want to tell me.”

  “Nothing much to tell, Wyatt. My father was a pediatrician, whom we lost the year before my accident, which is how we frame things in my family, before and after my face was cut up and burned on one side,” she said. “My mom is a nurse at Grady Memorial and my brother teaches history at Emory. You?”

  “My mom passed several years ago; my two sisters see me on holidays and birthdays since they live in Tennessee. My nieces, Shayla and Margo are in college at the University of Tennessee and Vanderbilt, respectively. I have no nephews and don’t care for dogs, and I absolutely detest cats,” he said.

  “When did your wife take a liking to her little feline friends if I may ask,” she said, pushing the lettuce leaves around on her plate.

  “Two years into the marriage,” he said. “She had this function at an art gallery downtown and came home with this kitten. After that, she went all weird on me and our marriage went downhill. Plus, I can’t get that smell out of this house.”

  “Maybe it’s time to start fresh,” she told him with a slight crinkling of her forehead.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “My offer for you to move in with me still stands. It may help with the night terrors to go to bed in a different place, surrounded by different objects other than those connected to your past.”

  “You’re asking me to move in with you after three days? That’s a little aggressive. I mean I have mad skills, but I don’t think my sex is that good, Wyatt,” she said, laughing. “I appreciate the offer but...”

  She paused, looking at him with a strange expression on her face. Jeffrí left the table to go to her bag. Digging inside the messenger satchel, she pulled out her notes. Papers could be heard rattling when she returned to the table.

  “Two years into the marriage, which put the year when?” she asked, flipping through the copies of data she’d pulled.

  “I guess about 2012,” he said, leaning forward in the chair and waiting for more information before he spoke.

  “You said your ex was at an art gallery downtown. Do you know which one?”

  Feeling a bit alarmed, Wyatt got to his feet. “The one right off Centennial.”

  “Day or night?”

  “Night, about 10:00 pm,” Wyatt said, fearful of what she was going to say next.

  Jeffrí began to sprawl the papers on the table, arranging them in an order he didn’t initially see. Twenty-five pieces of paper lay on the table. Times were on the top of each sheet as well as dates. The pattern popped out at him, as well as new piece of information.

  “We need to talk to Stacey,” they both said at the same time.

  Chapter Eight – Loads of Meat

  Action.

  Catherine Eldin wasn’t happy to have visitors at her house at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, but this couldn’t wait. It was bad enough that her ankles where encircled by mewling cats, but to have to deal with those two before her first cup of coffee took her to the edge of her limits. To add insult to crying hungry cats, Stacey was also awake, smelling up the place and in dire need of a shower.

  “What the hell do you two want?” Catherine asked, scowling at them both.

  “We need to speak to Stacey,” they said at the same time.

  “Oh great, now you’re speaking in unison, so the sex must be great,” she grumbled. “There she is. Maybe you can get her to wash her ass while you’re at it. She is funking up the house more than these little shit-making balls of furry purring.”

  “Good morning, Stacey,” Wyatt said, offering her a smile. It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen her, and she looked as if the past were taking away her ability to be in the present. The golden hair he had once loved to run his fingers through was mottled with gray strands. The blue eyes which once brought him comfort were distant and unfocused. A thin line which once was the mouth he stared at when they had late night discussions on art and literature had become puckered with sour words that refused to be spoken.

  “Are you here to put me and my babies out of this house as well?” she asked, her eyes darting over to Jeffrí. “Who is she? Your new girlfriend? Hey, new chick, does he like to tell you your pussy tastes like gumdrops?”

  “No, but I’m glad you still have fond memories of your life together,” Jeffrí said, offering her a smile.

  Stacey didn’t smile back. It wasn’t the way Jeffrí wanted to start the conversation. Locked in that head was the defining information needed to tell her itching reporter’s nose if she hadn’t lost her touch in scooping a story. She sighed deeply, trying not to inhale too much of the bad body odor from the subject she’d come to interview, or the smell of cats, which were starting to make her eyes itch.

  “Small talk,” Stacey said, “is that what this is? So, you’re fucking my ex now and expect me to have morning tea with the two of you? You both can get out. Honestly, with that face, you’re lucky that anyone wants to fuck you at all.”

  “My face is as
some call it, is my badge of honor. This wound is from a rocket propelled grenade from ISIS when I was embedded with the troops in Mosul. Because of keloids, plastic surgery isn’t an option, so I have to live with the ugly reminder. Sometimes, I wish I had something to hold onto to keep me tethered to the now, like your cats,” Jeffrí said, reaching down to stroke a passing grey and white striped cat. “I was wondering, though, about your first cat. When did you get it, the night of the gallery opening? I bet I can pick out which one it is.”

  Jeffrí pointed at an orange and white tabby, fat around the middle. It was the only cat not circling, begging to be fed or petted. That one was the leader of the pack.

  “That one, on the back of the couch,” Jeffrí said.

  Stacey seemed genuinely impressed that a fellow cat lover could see the pride of her hoard, “How did you know that?”

  “She is in control,” Jeffrí said. “That one is not worried about when it’s going to be fed because since you rescued her, she has eaten well for the past six years. It feels good to be in charge. Stacey, can I ask where you found your favorite kitty?”

  Catherine, her husband Tom, who had joined them, and Wyatt had taken a seat and were watching Jeffrí, the skilled reporter, get the start of her next big story. It was like watching a master at work.

  Stacey was reluctant to speak to the new woman she felt was in Wyatt’s life. An interloper coming to her refuge to ask questions. Immediately, she distrusted the woman until she clicked her tongue a few times, and the orange and white striped tabby, raised her head, slowly getting from the couch. She walked slow, with purpose towards Jeffrí, accepting the stroke down her back and gentle circling rub on her back, right above her tail.