Sonali B
The sound of your voice, many a nights finding solitude there, coming home late at night to my apartment, dark circles under my eyes, fatigue cloaking my badge, to find you waiting up for me. Your hands healing me, tenderly wiping away at the fraudulent residue of my craft that coated my skin in thick layers. Tasking another long drink the bottle, tired tears clouded my vision, brushing them away, I lifted my face to the dark vault of heaven just in time to watch it open before me in a silent explosion illuminating the sky, pouring rain fell from the above. I stood up, my hair hanging in wet ringlets, the men’s oversized shirt I wore now clinging to every curve of my body. Closing my eyes now, I raised my arms above my head, soft cotton plastered to me– exaggerating the contrast between my trim waist and the soft swell of swaying hips. Rain trickled down my neck, sliding between my breasts, caressing down my navel, balmy water droplets landing on my inner thigh. Thunder hummed along. I'd been alluding to the fact that she didn't seem all that interested in sex these days, and that embarrassed her. I could see her face turn slightly red. There was a brief pause, and then she replied: "So---who are you going to please with that little thing?!" Meaning, of course, my cock! That caught me a little off- guard, but I rallied by retorting: "ME, I guess!"There was a brief, nervous chuckle from those who had overheard our conversation, and that was the end of that.Fast forward now two years (this would be 1983)---At the time of the picnic conversation I alluded to above, I didn't know that my wife was involved in fucking someone else. That only came to light about six months after our divorce. I'd met the guy she was fucking, too, but I didn't know it. He was a slightly younger black guy by the name of Duane, who worked in the shipping-receiving department where my wife worked; and though I maybe should have been angry about that...strangely enough, I wasn't! In fact,.
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