The summer of that year had been warm and lengthy, my husband and I lived in a small one-story condominium on an elevated corner road with neighbors directly across from us on a shared lot.
My husband worked as a gourmet chef, I, a student and homemaker. I recall that James disappeared for hours at a time, working, drinking or betting on Poker. Many nights I spent amiss his presence, and often I didn’t see his face until the light of day.
Pastimes awakened my passion for life, kept me entertained — walks, computer games, shopping at the mall, browsing the web, or smoking marijuana with girlfriends. Preparing food, drinking wine, and decorating and crafting were among our best hobbies, you see, Friends are not something I have been without. To make life more interesting, I knew my neighbors well- A group of interesting young men rooming in an identical condo shared our space. Alex worked nightshift at a television station running shows and late-night commercials. Mark, a tall thin blonde man with a witty personality, worked in advertising at a local radio station. Michael worked as a part-time prep cook in a shoddy cafe downtown throughout the summer, and was into home repairs and remodeling throughout the fall and winter of 2001.
Six months subsequent to making our vows, my husband and I barely saw one another. He was a hostile and insecure man, as I came to discover, and I learned to enjoy my time alone. I spent a lot of time over the seasons with the guys, especially Michael, as he was also home frequently, and of whom shared many of my tastes.
There was no hope of reviving James, or bringing him home before his time; this was well established. In fear of losing everything to Poker, I entertained myself with the company of my friends and hobbies. Michael and I found the company of one another when no one else was around. Fine red wine, grass, relaxing and talking about much of nothing usually. Sometimes we’d play board games or cards or stroke Michael s cat, Foster. In the evenings this group of men would often convene for a party.
“You’ve got to try some of this cheese” — Michael’s mother would send bricks of it from home in Wisconsin. “Sweaty…” he’d say.
“Sweaty?” I grimaced.
“Sweaty Cheese, that’s what it becomes after it’s been sitting out for awhile.” I looked at him, then at the cheese, and burst into joyful laughter. “Indeed, it is sweaty!” I exclaimed at such delusional, joyous
We sit outside in the bright daylight. It is warm, summertime magic. I am wearing my light gray sundress. The dress included spaghetti straps I remembered, which I could never pull off dude to the enormity bulging from my chest, necessitating my bra. Nevertheless I rocked the gray dress, bra straps and all in my carefree youth. Imbibing ourselves until drunk, we passed the time with either extreme — conversations which were deep meaningful, purposeful, or those which were based on entirely moot subject matter. I with my tea, my wine, and blackberry beer, getting bahis firmaları high while he played renditions of “Dark Star”, sharing memories, laughing with movies, returning back into our respective homes, or sitting outside while he strummed his guitar were my favorites.
Through the months my friendship with Michael flourished. I sometimes …waited…for him… to return home from the workplace, a flutter in my belly. The fall had passed by quickly and the Western valley wet with snow. I recall taking short residence upon the porch swing with a cigarette, shivering beneath the blanket I wrapped into, Michael there, calm and collected he says, “you know in Wisconsin it’s much colder than this, this is really warm,” I thought it was always within his character to speculate laughingly, on these observations of the blatant type. Michael originated from Wisconsin and traveled into the western states just when he moved to the condo in Salem. I’d never known any different. The mild Oregon climate was one I’d grown with my entire life; for this Michael’s history of travel, and experience of the world, was appealing.
“Do you have any more of that Chianti?” Michael nodded to his kitchen area (a kitchen dreadfully kept in a houseful of men), I followed Michael in the dark for the Chianti. Bad television we watched for awhile; his house always smelled of stale air and pizza, which both disturbed and humored me.
Near Christmas my husband and I endured a horrid fight and he had left the house for several days. I was frightened and fearful of my husband’s rage and was somber yet, relieved that he was gone.
Meanwhile, everyone was preparing for Christmas, I with my tree and ribbons and cards, decorating the walls, wrapping presents, decorating with wine and candles, hanging mistletoe. I was listening to Dave Matthews , a few special romantic songs that I had grown to love, music that inspired my dreams and fueled my fantasies. For the first time, I thought about Michael consciously, and for a moment, what it would be like together, how exciting he would be in play, wrestling and showing him my skin. Ooh these naughty thoughts! I ‘d realized I hadn’t seen Michael for a few days, though I suspected that he was aware on some level, of the growing tension. Somehow I felt certain that he would never act on the obvious sexual energy between us, we both feared it; perhaps he more than I. Nevertheless, I put the idea out of my mind, quickly.
Several months would pass before our passion for one another would confront itself.
“Listen, Kendra,” unexpectedly, words flowed from his mouth that I never feared. “I think you are very hot, and sexy…”
A cold sweat covered me, and I turned white. My heart picked up; I thought I heard my dream coming true. I was uncertain the context and became fearful. “Why, Michael…” in my attempt to breathe out a response.
“Well, I just have this feeling like…”
“Like what?!” I ask, desperately, in disbelief.
“I believe that maybe you are kaçak iddaa curious about me in the ways I am about you. I can feel it.”
I want to throw my arms around him, to kiss him, and fuck him. Finally sharing everything, I can imagine it as I have so many times before.
“But”.. he continued.
“You are married. How could I…”
“I understand,” I say, with a nod. In disbelief, I hold back tears, and I fight for my strength. I cannot allow him to see my heart breaking. How did he know? Perplexed, I stand.
“I want to be friends,” he says. “I don’t want to do wrong by you or James.”
“I understand,” I say. I realize he is right. The status of my relationship, as a wife, precludes me from such horrid and wonderful atrocities.
Michael and I don’t see one another for many days. I don’t go to his house, nor does he come to mine. James arrives for brief stints, but he is hostile and unreachable, therefore I keep to my lifestyle, my hobbies and my music. Each day I do my housework, my exercises, my errands. I am heartbroken. I am lonely it seems, even when my friends are near.
Later the following week on a Sunday night, I was returned home from a Christmas party at my mother’s. I had been gone for hours, and was now listening to my music while unloading some Christmas treasures from my car. One gift was a microwave in a box that was quite awkward for my size as I attempted to carry it. I glanced at the boys’ porch to see the lights appeared dim. My heart sank as I recalled the pain. I grabbed hold of the microwave box with my dainty arms. To my surprise, Michael appeared outside on his porch. My heart fluttered, and I nearly fainted. The love we never had was already over, and I was as stoic as I was excited to see him standing there. I disguised my excitement and gave a generic nod. This proved effective I thought, when he offered me a hand. I was so happy to see him, his long brown hair dangling and his brown eyes which sparkled. He took the box gingerly, and with masculine ease, carried it inside, setting it upon the kitchen countertop.
I felt our energy bursting with hot color and I did not want to let him go. I retained my passion for him, holding it back silently. With desire, I had missed him and felt, sincerely glad to have him there as my very good friend. The moment felt suddenly awkward as we grasped for words to fill the silent tension. Instead of turning around to leave at that moment, Michael took another step forward, much to my surprise. I offered a cold Henry Weinhard, which he accepted merrily, and again to my surprise. “So what have you been up to?” He asks.
“I was at a party, I have been exchanging gifts, wrapping gifts, decorating, you name it..” I want to come off occupied — that I am strong and full of life, unencumbered by Michael’s subtle power. As we made eye contact I discovered that he was standing directly beneath the mistletoe I had hanging just in the doorway to the kitchen. A short and stocky man, he had not seen it, but looked up kaçak bahis when I did and made the same realization silently. I expected him to lunge backwards, laughing, but much to my surprise he remained there for the seconds that followed. I knew what must occur, or I should experience the regret for the rest of time. I sauntered forward slowly towards him, my heart pounding, waiting for him to stop me – until he and I were lip to lip. I smiled crookedly and then joined his lips with mine, locking into a passionate, magical kiss.
I surmised that Michael was stunned and frightened altogether, intensely erotic and excited. I grabbed his jacket, pulling him towards the living room where it was tidy and dimly lit with candles, music gently playing. I motioned his jacket off, “oh, I can’t believe this,” he groaned. “This is naughty, what are you doing…?” Clearly not rejecting me now, he helped with his jacket off and then removed the rest; I removed my red and white Christmas dress and silky panties. He took the Thong from me and sniffed it, his beautiful erect cock was suddenly revealed, begging me to play with it. I realized that his rejections were false, that in fact, this is what he wanted. Alas! Again he surprised me, taking me into his arms and kissing my chest, my breasts, my stomach, then tonguing my pink areas for what seemed a lifetime. “Kendra… you are so.. beautiful…”
After such foreplay I could not wait, what was so right and so wrong simultaneously fueled my passion as I felt his lips hands on me. There was no question that this felt as good as imagined. Seeing and feeling his cock near me for the first time, his lips hot upon mine, his long hair playing over my skin as he massaged my delicate pink with his tongue – I climbed atop him and allowed his cock to penetrate deeply, deepest. Hot and hard, his cock filled me. I began to fuck him wildly, intensely, hot on him as my dreams came to fruition and my soft, wet flesh throbbed with joy.
“Ohhh, woman,” he would groan as we thrust our hips, in disbelief at the wonder and beauty of this experience. We continued in several positions, loving one another for hours, I orgasmed in delight as his cock tickled my insides and as he’d go periodically downward to tongue my red swollen labias.
He would stop periodically to kiss and caress. I admired the way he’d grab onto his cock and stroke himself in between breaks like a pro– I felt he was experienced and so uninhibited in this fashion. Seeing him this way just made me shiver. He stroked and kissed me until he was ready to return to pounding me joyfully and caressing me all the while.
“Michael… you feel amazing,” I breathed out with exhaustion. Saturated with sweat and his smell, I now knew what David Matthews felt when he performed “Say Goodbye” with perfect excellence.
At long last Michael could no longer contain his joy. He moaned, ever so deliciously, his glaive rendering cream for my audience as he stroked his shaft, covering my large breasts with creamy fluid, drawing, on them, even. Oh, how he emerged with great power and passion. We lied together, in the heat and light of Christmas candles so blissfully, sweating, exhausted. This was what Michael wanted. He wanted me his way.