42 Filthy Fucking Stories (46 page)

“What is it?” Clayton said beside her, lifting his head from his puzzle and turning it toward her, his voice blending curiosity with slight irritation.
 

“He’s just depressed, Love,” Sarah said with a reassuring smile. “And drinking.”
 

Clayton said, “He should know those two don’t go together, at least not well.” He turned back to his puzzle.
 

“Easy dear, you’re the one making him depressed.”
 

Clayton took a minute to consider before looking back across the pillows. “Well, then I’m glad he’s depressed. That means you’re still here.”

Sarah’s heart was racing, though her face surrendered nothing. She hoped Clayton couldn't catch the uncertainty stinging like nettles in her eyes.
 

The reassuring smile never faded from her lips, so Clayton must have believed her. He leaned over and kissed her, gently enough to gild her with guilt. Sarah was grateful Clayton didn’t push his mouth harder against her, and instead returned to his puzzle again, along with the familiar furrow of his brow.

Sarah was exhausted, letting her gaze drift back to the words on the phone’s screen:

I could give you the life you want. I want to be the man who puts the smile on your face and wake up beside you each morning.

Grass was greener on the other side because it was usually fertilized with bullshit.
 

Curiosity finally winning over reason, Sarah slowly and deliberately texted into her phone:
What kind of life do you think I want?

She stared at her own words as though someone else had written them.
 

Did she really want him to answer? Did she expect him to reach inside her head and draw a description of her perfectly imagined life?
 

If anyone could answer, it was Oscar. That man, more than any other, had a way of knowing exactly what she wanted - no needed.
 

Sighing for the hundredth time, Sarah hit send, then closed the phone and tried to concentrate on her book, catching Clayton’s sideways glance and keeping her nose pointed at the page, even though her mind wasn’t registering a single word.
 

Clayton probably felt the tension in her body. He had to, even if he wasn’t touching her. She willed her taut body to relax. Sarah found the calm in her breath as Clayton set his puzzle on the nightstand, then turned toward her with his gentle smile.

Guilt soured her insides.
 

She softly touched his arm, watching him look her up and down in a way that should have turned her on (used to turn her on) but didn’t now. Clayton was looking her over like she once loved, his eyes running from her face to the split horizon between sheets and body.

The thought of having sex with him right then put a sick in her stomach. It was because of him, not her. Too much emotion and confusion inside her would make it difficult to go from dry to wet. Unlike with Oscar where it only took a glance.
 

“Going to bed sweetheart?” Sarah smiled again, slightly more relaxed. As she hoped it would, her smile softened Clayton’s face.

“Yeah. Good night, Babe.” Clayton planted a soft kiss on Sarah’s forehead, then turned toward the opposite wall, tucking the covers up around his neck.
 

When he turned, the smile dripped from Sarah’s face like wax from a candle. Clayton’s breath grew quickly into steady until it was punctuated by the small snores that swore he was sound asleep.
 

Forty winks were easy when shame wasn’t screaming in your ear.

Sarah picked her vibrating phone. The new text said:

You want to be happy. You deserve to be happy. Not the act you put on for everyone else’s peace of mind, but true happiness. I want to give that to you… I want to give you everything you want and need. You know I can give it to you.

Tears stung Sarah’s eyes. She
was
happy, dammit. She made herself happy. No person or situation could take her happiness from her, and how dare Oscar insinuate that he alone could give that to her.
 

The sudden tightening in Sarah’s chest betrayed her thoughts, as hot tears stung her cheeks. She felt her breathing gather speed, and her heart start to pound loudly enough to make her worry that Clayton’s eyes would fly right open.
 

Sarah told herself to get a grip as her double crossing hands picked up the phone, shaking. She read her words three times before hitting send.
 

I have my happy times.

Truth was always safest.
 

A few beats passed and then:
 

When?
 

Damn him.
 

When I watch the sunrise with only animals making noise, when I can open the doors and not have to worry about neighbors, when I imagine my future and grow from my past…

Sarah pressed send, willing herself to conjure more happy times in the space before he answered her back. She thought of the many moments she and the man on the other end of the line had spent together. Despite the guilt, they had been happy; lying on the river bank talking and laughing about nothing, or sneaking off in the middle of the week to a trashy motel room, for no other reason than they could no longer be without each other.
 

The soft sound of tears slapping the pages of her book shattered the memories and returned her to reality. The buzz of the phone told her Oscar had more to say.

I won’t give up on you again, Sarah. I can’t. You aren’t happy and it’s not right. I made you happy once; give me a second chance to prove I can do it again.

A second chance, the same words she’d heard from men her entire life. Why did it always take a second time? Why couldn’t they just get it right to begin with?
 

She had given too many second chances in her short 25 years. Hell, too many in just the past five. Her chin grew defiant as stubbornness replaced her longing.
 

She typed defiantly:
Why should I?
 

She was staring at her answer four-seconds later:
You shouldn’t have to. I should have done it right the first time.

Who was this man, a mind reader?
 

Sarah vented a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He
had
made her happy. Truly happy. The thought tightened her chest and pushed tears from her eyes.
 

Regret was a feeling now as familiar as the man lying beside her.
 

What do I have to do? Tell me, please. I’ll do anything.

Oscar was pleading, begging really, and without using text speak. Like her, he was deliberately typing every word, elongating the truth of each message.
 

She texted:
I don’t know,
trying to keep her tears quiet enough to stop from waking Clayton.
 

*****

The cool summer night rustled the curls of dark blonde hair over his eyes.
 

I don’t know,
his phone read.
 

He smiled. Well, at least he had her thinking. His muscular arm was slung over his knee, dangling a bottle of beer. Oscar brought another swig to his lips and tried to smile. At least the picture captured over the rim of the bottle calmed his spirit, with the wind ripping water from the lake, stretching for miles from the dock while boats bobbed and rocked above the ripples.

The scene gave serenity to his heart’s chaos. Why had he told her everything? What on earth was he doing? Oscar shrugged off his uncertainty, and tried to convince himself he was right.
 

Oscar was restless. He needed…something.
 

You need her,
a voice in the back of his head told him, the same voice that had been repeating the same thing for far too long.

Oscar looked at his watch: 1 a.m.
 

“No, I need sleep,” he thought, stretching the length of his body over the softly rocking boards of the dock. There, maybe that would do the trick.
 

Ping!

The noise of his phone hit his ears like a bomb. He shot upright and looked at the screen.
 

Convince me.

***

 
Oscar’s eyes drank the words, and thoughts of the many ways he’d love to convince Sarah flooded his mind, fattened his cock, and pushed against the denim of his jeans.

He would love to describe what he wanted to do in vivid detail, get her wet as she lay beside her husband. But Oscar had just one chance, one opportunity to get things right.
 

Meet me.

She texted back immediately:
Why?

Because I need to see you.
 

Oscar waited as silence swallowed night. He sighed, took another swig of beer and willed the phone to reveal her reply. More silence.
 

Come on….
 

Ping!
 

When?

Triumph vibrated through his body as he typed:
Now, just give me 5 minutes.
 

Now if she would only bite he might stand a chance.
 

Fine. 5 minutes, but I’m timing you!

In that case give me six.
 

Oscar grinned as he hit send, imagining her gorgeous green eyes rolling.

He popped up from the boards, energized by her response, then ran his hand through his hair and sprinted, case of beer in tow, to his truck, racing toward their usual meeting spot just up the road from her five room house.

*****

What the hell is wrong with you
?!
 

Sarah chastised herself for agreeing to meet him. Groaning, she turned from Clayton to face the wall. He turned in his sleep, laying a warm hand on her sweating leg, adding to her rapidly rising guilt.
 

She had only agreed to five minutes.

Nothing could happen in five minutes.
 

Sarah slipped from under the covers, then pulled her nightie over her head and slipped on a pair of gray shorts and a tank top. She tucked her feet into a pair of walking shoes then crept out the door, starting up the hill from her house without looking back.
 

*****

Oscar saw Sarah surface at the top of the hill. A moment later she was hopping into his open door and slamming it shut behind her. She looked at her watch, then said, “Ready, go.”

He laughed. “I’ve missed you,” he said, leaning over the center seat, landing a long hard kiss on her lips. She melted beneath it. He released the pressure and pulled back, hovering just inches from her face.
 

“God, could you please not do that?” she pleaded, her eyes holding his. Her breathing accelerated and he could feel the heat of her breath on his lips.
 

“Do what?” he said, lowering his head to plant a series of soft kisses along her lips and down her chin, the trail ending at the start of her perky tits. His hands took over where his lips had stopped, massaging her small tits through her thin tank top, feeling her nipples rising in response to his touch.
 

Sarah’s back arched, increasing the pressure of his hand against her.
 

She groaned, then desire swallowed them both as they spiraled out of control into a fury of kisses, hands stripping clothes from passion-heated bodies. She put a firm hand on Oscar’s hand, stopping him from rubbing her already swollen pussy beneath her shorts.
 

“Please,” she panted, “please, don’t.”

“I won’t do anything you tell me you don’t want me to do,” he said, his voice in a dare. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Sarah groaned as he continued rubbing the quickly soaking crotch of her shorts further into her fur box and sending her into uncontrollable twitching fits. Her back arched against the seat of his truck as Oscar slid over, pinning her between his body and the door. His treacherous hand kept working wicked circles around her clit through the shorts. He moved swiftly from the outside, snaking his hand to touch the smooth shaved pussy beneath.
 

With one hand in place and the other steadying himself on the headrest of the seat, Oscar penetrated her hole, working his fingers inside her the way he knew would make her cum quickest.
 

As anticipated, Sarah shoved her hips into his hand as a scream flew from her lips. The dim light of the dash lit her face just enough for Oscar to see the same wild in her eyes she always got while at the edge of no control.
 

Sarah stripped her shorts and in one furiously fluid motion, swung a leg over Oscar, and was straddling his lap in seconds, swapping roles and pinning him hard against the seat. She pressed her hips down on him and ground herself into his bulge.