Slippery When Wet.

Disclaimer: This contains explicit sexual content. 

8:00am.

Just woke up from bed and noticed the man lying by my side. He's handsome, more so that he's naked. His dark chocolate complexion glistening with dried sweat and bodily oils. He's slippery. The white sheets just cover his genitals and his right thigh. His well carved torso and rock solid chest heave and fall with every breath. He's amazing, a work of art, a masterpiece, and he's my lover. He's twenty and I'm forty. Yeah I thought so too, he's too young for me, but he doesn't think so. He thinks we're soul mates, he thinks we're made for each other, I'm beginning to think so too, at first I didn't. I felt we were a mismatch, even now I sometimes do. But his kisses and his touches make me forget. He fogs my brain with lust and desire. I'm in bondage. This shouldn't be, I'm married.

The white curtains dance in the gentle breeze blowing through the open balcony door. We had forgotten to close it last night. We had made love there, staring at the slow traffic down below. It was amazing as always. The lights from the traffic down below became just a streak of light as I came and shuddered in his arms. I became faint. Maybe the wine we drank contributed too. I still don't remember how I got to the bed, but I do remember what happened on it. 

9:00am

I'm in the shower. The warm water rains on my head, soaking my hair, coursing it's way down my body, caressing me, my breasts, my belly, between my thighs, my legs, unto the floor. It reminds me of my lover. His tenderness, his patience. Touching me till I'm hanging on the edge, atop a hill, he rides me to the moon, I climax, we hike a falling star and come tumbling down to earth, beneath white sheets. 

He touches my shoulders. I turn around and watch him smile, his boyish smile. He's so young he could be my son. I don't have children. I can't have children. I lost my womb after my sixth miscarriage, it was too weak. He hugs me from behind and I feel his erection pressed against my buttocks, between my crack. He plants a wet kiss on my neck, and his hands cradle my breasts. I love it when it happens like this. When we're so wet and slippery, when there's not much friction, when his hands glide down my body just as they are doing now and unfurl the petals of my hidden rose. I love the tingle when he rubs my hard clitoris, when he bites my neck, and pinches my nipples simultaneously, then I moan, I arch my back away from him, and part my thighs that he may exploit deeper. He always responds accordingly. I love that mixture of pain and  pleasure, I'm most alive in those moments.

"I want you inside of me" I plead. 

We leave the shower without turning the tap off. We don't go straight to the bed, he's not done teasing me. We stand in the middle of the room, kissing ferociously, I'm drinking his essence, his youth, he's taking my desire, turning my little flame into a bonfire. Water from our wet bodies pool on the tiled floor.

My legs are spread, we're on the bed. His head is between my thighs, I'm insane. He lifts himself and aims his shaft at my opening, my swollen vagina. His entry is always dramatic. He slides up, slides down, draws a circle, slides only the head inside, pulls out, slides it inside again, pulls out, slides inside again, pulls out, and all this time, I'm on the verge of crying, begging him to just fill me up, then he just rams his full length into me and watches me scream and squirm, and shudder, like I'm undergoing an exorcism, then I come and faint.

10:30am.

Breakfast is served. I sit across the table watching him eat. He's famished, he should be. He winks at me. I'd have blushed if I were white, but instead I hide my face. He laughs. 

I tried breaking up with him yesterday. He wouldn't have any of it. He's madly in love with me, I see it in his eyes. He proposed to me a few moments ago. He wants me to divorce my husband and be his legally. I didn't reply. He wasn't hurt, he was hopeful. What he doesn't know is it might all end today. Well it will. But not in the way you'd expect it, or he'd expect it. 

My husband had started to cheat on me after our sixth miscarriage. I was fat and ugly. I was binge eating to take away the pain. I had neglected myself, had stopped caring for myself, I was empty, hopeless. When finally I had come around, my husband was one leg out of the marriage. A friend of mine had advised me to start taking gym classes and recommended one to me. Rockies. She was a patron there. If only she had told me I'd find a lover there instead of health and fitness. That's where I met him. He was assigned to me, to be my personal trainer. After some time, I didn't want to go to the gym anymore. People stared too much at my fat body. It made me uncomfortable, but I was determined to win my husband back, I was determined to be slim again. So I bought the required gym equipment and turned the guest bedroom into my gym. Now instead of going to the gym, my personal trainer came home to me. He was gentle, he was kind, he was encouraging, always cheering me on. Then one-day after breakfast, he told me he loved me. He loved me even when I was fat and ugly, why couldn't my husband love me same? Looking at this, everything is his fault not mine. That's why he has to end this himself. My lover first made love to me in the shower while I was still fat and ugly. My husband couldn't even stare at me fully clothed. But that changed when I lost all the excess weight and some. He came back, but then, I already belonged to my lover. My little sweet sin, my Apple of youth. He had opened my eyes to certain pleasures, and now I wanted more, I was addicted. 

1:00pm

We had played around a little. Gone for a walk in the hotel's garden, gone for ice cream, had taken selfies, had kissed and goofed around some more, like two teenagers in love. We didn't look odd, I looked fairly young, no one suspected the age difference. But now we're back on the bed, naked, between the sheets. I'm dripping wet, wet from another lustful shower together, wet from the heat he was causing inside my body. Slowly he performs his rites with tongue and fingers and sometimes teeth. He lifts his head and smiles mischievously at me, my vaginal juices all over his lips and dripping down his chin. He gathers my thighs across his shoulders, positions himself atop of me, and pegs his manhood into my wet hot abyss. I love it when he does this. It reminds me of the very first time we made love. 

After the shower, on my matrimonial bed, after eating me out till my mind was hazy and I was limp, my vagina dripping with moist, he pegged me in this same fashion. I still remember how it felt. I was so sensitive. I watched him plunge himself inside me slowly. He's big, bigger than my husband, bigger than any man who had ever pulled his pants down before me. Maybe that's why I'm addicted. I felt it stretch me, downwards, and around. It touched me places I didn't know existed inside me. I was breaking my virginity all over again, and this time it was total bliss.

Back to the present, and what we are doing in bed has a very thing line separating love making from wild fucking. He goes very fast, rides me to the top, I'm almost there, just a little more speed, then he stops and takes it slow. He's playing with my body. As much as I hate it, I equally love it. He should do all, today might be our last. I give him my all, and maybe he senses it too, he begins to give me every thing. After a forever of this sweet torture, he rides me to cloud nine, multiple orgasms, before I feel him tense, his breathing quicken, he buries himself deep into my fold, and with a beastly guttural sound he comes. His hot seed spilling all over my cervix. He collapses on me then we fall asleep again.

5:30pm.

It is time. Now here is what I didn't tell him. I had been feeling guilty lately. My husband had stopped cheating on me. Now I was his all. But I had not stopped. My plan yesterday was to break up with him and go back to my husband to try to gather the broken pieces of our marriage and stitch them together. I think I still love him. A little. But since my lover refused to break it up, I decided to go for plan B. Get both of us killed, then we would continue our little affair in the afterlife in peace, without guilt nor prejudice. I had texted my husband our selfies (my lover and I), sent him the hotel's name and room number, all anonymously, on a new phone which I threw away after. My lover doesn't know, he shouldn't. I know my husband, he's territorial, very jealous, hot tempered, he acts before thinking, and yesterday, I had intentionally loaded his gun and placed it where he'd see it. I know he's gonna come with the gun and shoot the life out of our naked bodies. The thought makes me laugh.

We're naked on the bed, kissing, playing with grapes. He's  teasing my lips with them. We burst into laughter, he kisses me, he whispers sweet nothings into my ears, then the door bursts open. 

"How could you?"

"Baby, I'm sorry"

"Love, get behind me"

He should press the trigger already. I had not anticipated all this drama and raucous. 

So now my husband is standing at the door pointing a gun at us, his eyes and nose watering. I'm standing behind my brave lover, both of us stark naked. He's shielding me from my husband. 

"I'm going to kill the both of you"

Do it already! You should have done that immediately you walked inside. Now I'm getting scared. Do I really want to die? Do I really want my lover to die? What if I had made a total mistake creating this mess? He shouts at us, I shout back. My lover tries to inch forward towards my husband, my husband rushes forward, very angry, steps into the puddle of water that had pooled on the floor from our bodies, then slips. He foolishly loses his footing and falls forward, crashing his head against the edge of the bed. Then I hear it, a crack, his skull cracking, then he falls onto the floor lifeless. 

What?!!!! 

Blood trickles from his nose, blood gushes from his head, onto the tiled floor, mixes with the water and pools around him. My lover feels for his pulse.

"He's dead" 

He looks at me pale. So maybe I didn't have to die after all, maybe my lover didn't have to die as well, I just needed to become a widow to be free. My lover hugs me. 

"We're free" he whispers sweetly into my ears. 

"Yes" I respond. 

"Yes" I say again, he looks me in the face and I nod with a smile. 

I'm going to get married, again. And I hope this time for good.

6:30pm.

Maybe I should have warned my husband that tiled floors get slippery when wet.

This post was first published on January 4, 2018.