The Anniversary Gift (Re-Connections) (2 page)

When it is
no longer dripping, he closes in tight behind me. His erection presses against the small of my back. Knowing I’ve turned him on so completely brazens me and I push back against his length. He hands find my breasts, his fingers rolling my nipples and then gently pulling and tugging them rhythmically. His hands move down from my breasts, over my stomach and down to the juncture of my thighs. His hand cups my sex, startling a gasp from my throat.

“I want you
… now,” he moans against my ear and begins to walk me toward the bathroom vanity. Still standing behind me, he lifts my hands and places them on the mirror, his eyes intently reflecting into mine. With me now leaning over the counter, he runs his hands down my back, over my bottom and around to my thighs. His eyes meet mine in the mirror again, and I watch as eyes shift from tender, to passion and then harden into something else that I don’t recognize.  Before my own eyes he changes, his look is so intent that a trace of fear runs up my spine.

As if he feels the fear, he
grins and whispers in my ear, “Good, be afraid, fear is good, wakes you up, makes you feel more.”

Oh yes
, it does. Every part of my body is singing, completely alive. He pushes me hard against the mirror, bending me over. His hands grip the cheeks of my bottom, kneading them as he had my breasts, spreading them apart. He licks his thumb, and I hold my breath as he touches a place he’s never before touched. I jump and begin to protest and he hushes me again, this time a little bit more harshly.

This strange sensation feels so wrong, he’s never shown a desire to play with me this way.  I close my eyes.  It’s also amazing … naughty … forbidden.  I wonder what he’ll do next.

“Be still,” he whispers and our eyes reconnect in the mirror.  As one hand continues to circle the tightness of my ass, the other moves around to my stomach and his fingernails trace a path down and around my navel.  Oh, it’s heaven and the anticipation of his hand moving lower creates a tension in my body that sends another moan from my lips.  When his fingers find my clitoris I’m overwhelmed with these many sensations and I lean my forehead onto the mirror.  Round and around his fingers circle and my body quickens, constricts as I move closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Look at me,” he says and I slowly lift my head and meet his eyes
once again.  “I want to watch you come,” and those words send me over the edge and I do, almost violently into his fingers. 

“I love the look on your face when you climax,” he says and leans down to kiss my neck.  He straightened and I see him look down, “you’ve got such as sexy ass, I’
ve always wanted to do this,” and I feel the tip of a finger press inside.

“No
,” I try to say, but as the words begin to come from my throat, his other hands moves down from my clitoris and he sinks two fingers into my throbbing wetness. 

T
he embarrassment of what he is doing behind me evaporates as waves of pleasure wash through me. Seconds later, the finger behind me slides in further and I’m filled up, completely, totally. Pain and pleasure are so interwoven I’m not sure which is which. My breath fogs the mirror, and I lose his gaze through the haze. He increases his motion, stroking the tips of his fingers in a way that creates a build up inside of me.

Oh god!
I’m going to come again, so close, so close.

His fingers begin to move with more purpose, stroking in and out of me
as his eyes continue to hold mine.

“Come for me,” he whispers
.

I explode violently into his hand, a g
ush of liquid spilling out of me in a way that has never happened before.

“
Mmmm,” he murmurs and lifts his hand to his lips to taste his now wet fingers. It’s so erotic, watching him taste me one finger at a time. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” and his erection is suddenly inside of me
so hard that I gasp in surprise. His roughness comes as a shock…but it’s exciting too…I feel small and vulnerable to this man I’ve known for so many years.

It feels so good.
The angle of his entry is just right and the arm that surrounds my waist is pushing into my belly, creating a force that makes everything seems tighter, more intense. I begin to feel the build up again.

Again!

I’m going to come again, and there’s nothing I can do but survive the impact of my climax.

“Oh yes
, baby,” the stranger I’m married to says.

The force of his thrust
s pushes me into the mirror, and I’m too weak to do anything but rest my cheek against the coolness of the glass. His breathing becomes desperate, and I know he is close to his own release. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or glad. I’m exhausted … mentally and now physically, but I also love how wanted he is making me feel.

He c
omes, spilling deep inside of me, biting my shoulder to stifle his loud groan. He slumps against me, breathing sharply, his front to my back, his arms tightly surrounding me. I allow my eyes to close again.

After making love
…no, after fucking ... Ethan carries me to bed and holds me until I fall asleep. I’m simply too worn out, exhausted mentally and physically to continue the discussion from before.

A threesome?

For some reason the thought didn’t feel so vile, so intrusive.

A threesome.

L
ess so when I think it again.

As I slip into oblivion, I promise myself to be open-minded to the idea.

T-Minus Ten Days to Anniversary…

As I walk into the coffee shop, I see them … two of my best friends in the world, gathered at a table and looking serious. I’ve called them for an emergency chat, begging them to meet me, to help me understand my own thoughts.

Since that night,
Ethan has been polite to me … but distant. He seems embarrassed around me, uncertain of how to act or what to say. I feel the same, shaken by his admission that he needs more than just me in his bed. I find myself looking at him differently, waiting … and hoping … for Mr. Hyde to re-appear. He doesn’t.

Our politeness feels like a rude intrusion into our life.
I don’t know what to do, so I call on my two best friends in the world.

Amy and Renee
… the two solids of my life, the two people I’ve known forever and who understand me better than anyone, are sitting by the window. Both married now with kids, we still make it a priority to meet every week. Our relationship is a safe harbor, and we try to nurture it with our time.

After a round of hugs, followed by a round of drinks, I get to the point.
Sipping my mojito for moral support, I tell them about Ethan’s request, our sensual follow-up and the distance that has been between us since.

As expected, they are both stunned, sympathetic to my hurt.
Then, unexpectedly, Amy says, “That’s not so bad.”

Renee and I both stare!

“What?
” Amy shrugs and grins at me. “You love each other, and it’s not a bad idea to spice things up. Ten years
is
a long time. The seven-year-itch has been itching for quite a while.”

“No,” replies Renee.
“If she adds another person to their bed, it will be like a stamp of approval for him to add anyone else he wants.”

Renee glares at Amy.
Amy glares back, and I find myself in the middle of these two opposite personalities. When they say opposites attract, they mean that for friendships too … these two are perfect examples.

“I don’t know what to do,” I cry, hoping to bring the center of attention back on me.
“I know things have been cool between us, we’ve both been so busy, but it didn’t occur to me that he missed me. You should have seen his face, he was in so much pain. I’ve been hurting him with my busyness and didn’t even realize it.”

Renee hands me a napkin, to
wipe away my tears.

I share
more about the sensual aftermath in the bathroom, leaving out the anal details, but sharing the hot desperateness I felt from my husband. And how he seemed to morph into someone I had never met.

“I didn’t recognize him.
He wasn’t buttoned up or logical, he was so sexy, hot, so forceful. I felt small and desired. I want that back. I just don’t know how to bring that side of him out into the open.”

“Then spice things up your way,” suggests Renee.
“Go to an erotic store, buy some toys and sexy clothes and bring back that spice with just the two of you. Make him see that you are all he needs, remind him how good things can be. Don’t sit here wiping away tears. The Goddess Store is my favorite.”

The Goddess Store?
I gape at Renee, my mouth open and my eyes wide. Her favorite? Renee has a favorite sex store? Really?

Renee, sitting there in her prim button
-up top, laughs at my surprise. “Yes, I buy toys and other items, but only there because it’s a “ladies only” store.” She grins.

I’m still gaping
, and she laughs out loud. Amy joins in and finally … finally … my shock is interrupted and my own giggles ring in my ears. A sex shop? Renee shops at a sex shop; how is it that she never shared this secret? Amy, yes, I could believe that, but not Miss Prim and Proper Renee! More to think about!

After lunch, I decide to drive b
y The Goddess Store as Renee has given me their address. Amy volunteers to go along, excited to spice up her marriage too. With a two-year-old at home, I’m thinking she should be thinking of sleep rather than sex. Of course, it’s not
her
husband wanting a
ménage a trios
so I decide I could use her moral support.

The building is actually tasteful, not the red door, satin
-curtained establishment I expected. Thankfully they have parking in the back, or I would never … ever … have pulled in to park. Giggling and with our heads downcast, Amy and I nearly run to the back door. We’re both out of breath when we reach it, nearly knocking each other over in our rush to get in.

I thought I couldn’t gape any longer
, after my lunch with my friends, but gape I did as my eyes land on a large display of dildos directly across the room. The ‘King Kong’ grabs my attention right away and I grimace at the thought of it being anywhere near my … anywhere. Turning my head slowly, I notice Amy has recovered faster, and a big grin is on her face.

“Hello, welcome to The Goddess Shop,” says a
… a … motherly elderly woman with a gray bun and navy suit. My shock couldn’t have been any greater, my gape couldn’t have been any gapier than when my eyes swept down over the petite grandma in sensible shoes. I was expecting sex kittens, scantily-clad bombshells waving vibrators over their heads. Grandma is a surprise, to say the least, and my mouth says nary a word.

“How can I help you today
?” Grandma gently smiles.

Amy recovers faster, how she does it I’ll never know
, and mortifies me with a, “My friend needs to spice up her marriage or else find another woman to sleep with her husband.”

I elbow her so hard, she doubles over in pain
. I put my arms around her in apology. Rather than being mad, she is laughing between gasps for breath and I’m soon laughing with her.

Seriously
… a dildo-peddling grandma with her slip peeking out of the hem of her mid-calf length skirt? The emotional release of the laughter is life-giving, and we stay bent over for quite some time. As this reaction couldn’t have been the first, Grandma keeps to herself, quietly allowing us to gather our composure.

At last
, we straighten, still holding our sides. We glance at each other, notice beet red and tear-streaked faces and howl with laughter once again. Could the situation be more mortifying, or more hilarious? I turn to leave, but Amy sobers first, grabbing me back with a frantic shake to her head. “We’re here,” she strangles out. “We need to brazen this out!”

Years later
it seems, we compose ourselves and turn back to the sweet old lady straightening the rack of thongs. New giggles threaten as her skinny grandma fingers handle the black and red lace, but I’m able to manage them back. Noticing our composure, Grandma tries welcoming us again. “How can I help you?”

“My friend is right,” I say.
“I want to save my 10-year marriage and spice things up. What do you suggest?”

Two hours later, my jaw hurts from laughing so much. Probably from gaping so much as well. I don’t remember the last time I was so speechless for so long. When I scheduled lunch with my friends, I expected tears and sympathy, not sex advice and a trip to fantasy land.

Grandma is a sex goddess and certainly knows her stuff.
According to her, she’s been married for 51 years, and the “sex couldn’t be better, I’m a multiple orgasmer you know.”

I couldn’t hide my wince, and she winked at me with delight.

She picks out naughty lingerie, a pair of leather handcuffs, a feather and tasty body oils. She suggests a candle, and this leathery thing called a “flogger” as well as an array of vibrating gadgets that make me giggle.

Mortification upon mortification, she
shows us
how
to use them … on a dummy vagina! I’m quite sure I’m going to combust as she explains, very clinically, how to “find the g-spot” and “how to squirt.”

Oh my.

There are no words that can adequately describe how odd it was to see her frail, thin
-skinned and wrinkled hand wrapped around a big black vibrator. Or to see her long, thin finger flicking the clitoris of the dummy model. Oh, how I wish I had a delete button for my brain. There are some things you just can’t “unsee.” I’ll go to my grave asking for forgiveness for allowing this sweet little woman to give me sex tips. I’m sure I’ll burn in hell for eagerly listening.

Before I know it,
I’m back in the car with Amy, laden with two heavy bright red sacks. Red! At least they didn’t say “dildos inside” or “a whore carries this bag,” so I suppose I should be feeling pretty lucky. A giggling Amy has her own red bags in her lap. If nothing else, we will have something to laugh about at our weekly get together for many years to come.

After dropping her
…
still
giggling … back at her car, I stop by the store for a bottle of wine, ending up with three. I think I’m going to need them.

Once home, I’m extremely relieved that Ethan’s car isn’t sitting in the driveway. I grab my red whore bags and run for the door, up the stairs and dash them to the back of my closet.

Whe
w! Why am I so nervous?

But I already know the answer
. I’ve allowed myself to stop feeling, to robotically move through my days and nights and haven’t given love or sex much thought. I’ve not been alone, but I’ve been lonely and I’ve shut down this side of me.

Why?

I’m not sure why, but I’m like a teenager now, whose hormones are awakening, and I’m just not sure how to manage it all.

Later,
I think. Right now I must pack for my trip to Boston, and prepare to land the account that will solidify my place with the firm. Maybe even Laura will get off my back if I pull this rabbit out of the hat.

I hear the front door open, and my heart stills.
Footsteps pause at the foot of the stairs and then echo away down the hall. The soft click of his office door is explanation enough…my husband is now in seclusion. I’m not sure if I’m sad or glad. After this emotionally challenging day, it is probably best that we leave our relationship issues alone. The very idea of speaking them out loud saddens me.

“Later,” I promise the mirror.

I finish packing my bag and get ready for bed, knowing that five will come soon enough. I never hear Ethan come to bed, I’ve already sunk into welcome oblivion.