That night, I laid awake thinking about Mr. Burkle. I wished I could be with him right now. I remember his thick cock slicing in and out of my pussy and I started squirming. I couldn’t do this. Finger fucking isn’t going to make me cum this time. I slipped out of bed threw a pair of skimpy booty shorts, a white tank top on, and my favorite leather jacket. I grabbed my tennis shoes and put them on. I glanced at my reflection. My blonde hair hung down to my shoulders and nipples stood erect through my tank top. I smiled. Boy, would Mr. Burkle be surprised to see me. I sneaked downstairs and went out the back door of the kitchen. My mom takes hydrocodone pills to help her relax and sleep so I knew she wouldn’t hear a thing.I walked down the sidewalk to his house which was right down the block from us and stood looking up at the windows. I could see a TV on in one of the bedrooms and figured he must have a fallen asleep. Maybe I should just come back tomorrow like he said, I thought. . The rush of endorphins, the primal effort, the way the single-mindedness of the act drove out all the despair, all the thoughts; some people take anti-depressants, other people fuck and jerk off. Doug was one of the latter.Reflecting on this tempered his arousal. But, his analysis was not wholly effective, and he noted the pleasurable feel of his slacks running across his semi-engorged stock as he eased himself off the couch. He was careful to wipe the expectant sneer off his face as he heard her footsteps down the hall.A deep breath, and she slid the pocket-door open and entered the den. Lights low, sound down on whatever college basketball game was on the TV. She registered it all even as she focused on the preternaturally still figure of her husband in front of her, his tension revealed to her by the unnatural stillness of his neutral expression. He had told her, years ago, that his training as a litigator had trained him for that; a reflexive response to uncertainty. She had seen.
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