A Story Led Me Here

The pool mirrors the moon in its stillness.

            I dip the tip of my foot in and watch the moon’s reflection break into tiny pieces just as my life has shattered within the last twenty-four hours.

            “I’m filing for divorce.”

            My eyes sting as a fresh batch of tears form.  I do everything I can to prevent them from falling.  Clear my throat, swallow, cough.  Nothing helps.

            His familiar scent of Sicilian citron, apple, and cedarwood tickles my nose and betrays my emotions.

            “How did we get here?” I ask as I feel him standing behind me.

            He doesn’t answer right away.  Instead he sits down next to me, rolls up the legs of his pants and sticks his feet in the water right along with mine.

            I look over at him, beg for answers with my liquid emotions.

            He wipes away a tear just before it falls from my chin.  “I think this is something we’ve both been wanting for a while.  Why prolong the inevitable?”

            I sigh.  “It doesn’t have to be this way.  I – I don’t want you to leave.” 

            Trevor looks up at the sky, says, “Full moon.  Emotions always get the best of folks on nights like this.”

            I lean my head against my husband’s shoulder.  The shoulder that has carried the weight of my infidelity for the last two years.  His love for me kept him around all this time despite my indiscretion.  It wasn’t intentional, wasn’t planned.  It was a moment of weakness.  I was lonely.  Married and lonely.  Two words that should never be used in the same sentence.  His job kept him away more than a husband should be away from his wife.  Seemed like the more I spoke up about it, the more business trips he would make.  One trip lasted a week longer than planned.  When he came back, I had already broken my vows.

            “It wasn’t the way you think.”

            His shoulder tenses under my head when I refer to that night.  He tenses and shuts down every time I try to talk about it.  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

            “Are we really over?” I want to know though I already know his answer.  I just need to hear him say it again to make it official.

            “The papers are on the dining room table.  Movers will be here in the morning.”

            My eyes begin to burn again.

            Trevor leans his head down and places his lips against my forehead.  “You’ll be okay.  We both will.” 

            Maybe a full moon does get the best of people because as hurt as I am, another feeling between my thighs won’t let me break down the way my heart wants me to.  Been fighting my hormones since he walked out smelling all good.

            I lift my head, turn it in the direction of the lips that were just on my skin.  I close my eyes and kiss my soon-to-be ex-husband.

            “Let’s not—”

            “Shhhhh,” I say as I try to have some control over what happens in my life.

            For a second neither of us move or say anything.  Contemplation is in the air.  Him debating if he should oblige my offer.  Me wondering if I should take it off the table.

            He wins.

            He removes his legs from the pool and walks back in the house.

            I cover my face with my hands and tremble as the flood gates of my heart break open.

            Footsteps entering the shallow end of the pool silences my sobs.  I open my eyes to see Trevor walking toward me.  He stops right in front of me, looks me in the eyes as if to ask if I’m sure I want to go there.  With my irises I tell him yes.

            He moves in between my parted legs, reaches his hands behind me and scoots me to the edge of the pool.  Scoots my heat closer to his face.  Long, slender fingers creep underneath my skirt and trace the edges of my thighs and the curve of my hips until they reach the top of my panties.  I raise my torso up slightly for smooth removal.  My panties are tossed to the side just like this marriage after eight years, but I refuse to think about that right now. 

            His eyes are intense as his face nears my warmth.  He licks his lips, kisses each thigh softly.  Again he grabs my rear and pulls me closer than close.  His tongue navigating its way around familiar territory. 

            My head leans back, glazed-over eyes glaring up at the moon as his tongue swims to depths only his tongue can go.  My inner walls tighten around his thick tongue, tries to pull him in deeper.  Causes me to close my eyes and bite down on my lip at the same time.  A moan trembles from my lips.  He’s always been a gifted eater.  I run my fingers through his locs, pull him closer than close.

            His moans makes my love below vibrate, tickles my pearl in the worst way. 

            I feel his eyes on me.

            I put my eyes on him.

            We stare.

            He wants me to know this last time is personal.

            I want him to know this last time is personal for me, too.

            He flips me over on my stomach, throws my legs across his shoulders.  Devours me from the back.  His lips against mine, tongue flicking in between my folds.  Smacking noises loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.  His tongue moves in and out of me as I ride his face like Secretariat going for the Triple Crown.

            My trembles make me lose my balance.  He helps me turn back around and yanks my shirt above my head.  Tosses it and my bra over where he tossed my panties a while ago.  He doesn’t take my skirt off for whatever reason, and refrains from removing any of his clothes. 

            He submerges under the water, swims to the stairs on the shallow end of the pool.  Sits and waits for me, pants pulled down to his ankles.  I know what that means. 

            I go under the water and come back up with my face right in his lap.  His firmness stands at attention waiting for me to salute.  I lick its girth, let my tongue linger in the juices on the tip for a second before I let half of him disappear in my mouth.  I know how he likes it; not too much at first.  I flick my tongue up and down his shaft, take his cleanly-shaven sperm holders into my mouth.  Let my moans vibrate against him like his did me moments ago.  This time I take him all the way in my mouth.  Feel him slip down my throat. 

            He massages his fingertips against my scalp as I massage his manhood with my mouth.  He thrusts deeper down my throat and then nudges my head away.  The hunger in his eyes is now a look of revenge.  He grabs me away from the stairs and pulls me to the wall of the pool, turns my back to him.  He prefers it that way.  Hasn’t been able to face me as he enters me since my moment of weakness. 

            His hardness enters my soft spot without hesitancy. 

            I scream in torture and in pleasure.

           “Is this how he did it to you?” 

            Trevor’s question catches me off guard.  I don’t know what to say.

            My silence takes him to another level as he grabs my breasts with both hands and fills my inside in a way he never has before.  Pumping in and out like a drill trying to reach the bottom of the earth.  If I said it didn’t feel good I’d be lying. 

            I toot my butt out to push him outside of me.  I want to stare at his wrath face to face. 

            He understands.

            I reach in the water and escort him back into my fiery dungeon .  I shiver as he enters me again. 

            They say to never look an animal in the eye because they will be able to see your fear.  At this moment I wish I had listened.  Fear is in my eyes.  Looking in Trevor’s I can see my fear of being alone.  And if I can see it in his eyes, I know he can see it too. 

            Alone.

            The reason we are here.    

            I rock my hips hard, try to ride him back into this marriage.

            He makes short, hard thrusts, tries to get my mind off the matters of this marriage. 

            We’re going at it like animals.  Bucking like kangaroos and howling like wolves.  Going at it so hard I feel my flesh scraping against the edge of the pool.  Trevor sees my pain.  Without removing himself from me he moves us back over to the stairs.  He’s on top of me, growing inside me.  The tip of his penis trying to knock my cervix out the ball park.  I bite down on his neck until I taste blood.  That excites him all the more.  He puts both of my nipples in his mouth, sucks hard like he’s trying to suck a thick milkshake through a too small straw.  It hurts and feels good at the same time.  My fingernails claw at his back, his drill digging deeper into my earth.  He’s trying his damndest to leave a lasting impression in my womb. 

            My legs shake.  Not from ecstasy.  I’m in pain.

            Trevor’s too far gone to even realize this is no longer pleasure for me.

            This is too much.  This is vengeance.  Not the way I want to remember my final hours with my husband.

            Again, emotions get the best of me, and I lose it.  I cry like I did when I confessed my adultery and saw how thin the line was between love and hate.

            He wipes away my tears, wraps his arms around me.  I realize it was no longer pleasurable for him either.  Again he pulls me closer than close.  My inner walls throb against his manhood as my outer walls crumble against his chest.

            “Are you sure we can’t work this out?” I hear myself plead.

            He looks at me, kisses me with the love he’s always had for me, the love he had before everything changed. 

            My answer is in his kiss.  Nothing else is to be said.

            I loosen my legs from around his waist.  Feel life escaping from me as he withdraws from between my legs for the last time.

~          ~          ~

            Going in the house is the last thing I want to do.  I want to stay in the pool until the water doubles over with my tears and drowns me in my apology.  Doing so would be insane.  It’s my fault that life has come to this point.  Nobody made me do what I did.  Can’t blame Trevor.  Can’t blame circumstance.  It was my actions.

            I let my body drift to the bottom of the pool, but my damn skirt acts like a life preserver, refusing to let me sink.

            What the hell?  This is futile.  I walk the floor of the pool toward the steps.  With each step, the weight of my emotions decrease as less water engulfs me.  My nipples harden as the air lays kisses on my wet skin.  I take off my skirt and wrench the water from it, grab the rest of my clothes from the ground and enter the house of lonely.

            “I thought you were going to stay out there forever.”

            I use my clothes to cover my exposed flesh.  “Trevor?  I thought you left.” 

            “I did.  Came back.”

            “Oh,” is all I’m able to say.

            Neither of us look at each other.  Probably both feeling a mixture of shame and  remorse from where we let our emotions take us a couple of hours ago.

            “Come here,” he instructs with an outstretched hand.

            Still holding on to my clothes trying to cover as much of my private parts as possible, I take his hand and move to where he is. 

            He grabs an orange envelop from the dining room table and walks us over to the fireplace.  He removes papers from the envelop, takes our ending in his hands, rips it to pieces.  Tosses it on top of wood.  Clicks the remote to the gas a few times until the hum of gas kicks in and fire slowly begins to burn what would have been our demise. 

            Our hands tighten around each other’s as we watch those divorce papers turn to ashes. 

            Trevor turns to me, says, “This is our beginning.”  He clicks the remote again to shut the gas off. 

            Though the light from the fire diminishes, the light in my eyes grow. 

            Hand in hand we walk upstairs.  When he opens our bedroom door, several candles are lit.  Sheets are pulled back on the bed with rose petals sprinkled over it. 

            “Remember our honeymoon?”

            I feel my cheeks spread from ear to ear.  “I do.”

            On my pillow, petals form a heart and a letter with my name on it is in the middle of it.

            “Read it,” Trevor says.  “When you’re done, join me in the bathroom.”

            We decided not to write our own vows when we married.  But my husband surprised me on our wedding night by putting his written vows on my pillow for my eyes only.  I thought it was the sweetest thing ever.  I went to a printer and had them overlay the vows over one of our wedding pictures.  It’s been on my nightstand ever since. 

            I unfold the paper to see a resignation letter to his job.

            With the letter in my hand and tears streaming down my face, I join my husband in the bathroom.  “You did this for me?” I ask him.

            He helps me in the tub, gets in behind me.  Says, “Couldn’t imagine doing it for anyone else?”

            We settle into the tub together.  His legs straddle around my body.  I lean my head back on his chest.  “I can’t believe you’re letting your job go.”

            “It needed to be done.  In order for this marriage to work, it had to be done.”

            Nothing else needs to be said.  I understand him and he understands me. 

            He rubs his soapy hands up and down my arms, rubs my neck.  Takes a few suds and teases my nipples.  He smoothes my curls to the side, whispers in my ear, “ I miss making love to my wife.”

            “I miss my husband making love to me.”

             He kisses behind my ear.  His lips make love to my burnt-almond skin.  He turns my face up toward his and our lips connect.  My mouth opens, his tongue greets mine.  I can still taste my love on his tongue from earlier.  Can feel him hardening against my back as my love below coos.

            “Wait,” Trevor says.  He fumbles in the water for a washcloth.  He pours my favorite black orchid and velvet hibiscus body wash on it and lathers me up from my neck to my toes.  He leaves no skin unclean.  I take the washcloth and do the same to him.  We jump in the stand-alone shower to rinse the suds off and run water through our hair to get rid of the chlorine.  I hand him a bottle of lavender oil for him to rub me down before I pat myself dry.  I take the bottle and do the same for him.  He squeezes as much water out of his locs as possible then carries me back into the bedroom.

            Everything about tonight reminds me of our honeymoon.  He did the same exact things the night we married. 

            He lays me on the bed ever so gently.  “Turn over.”

            I do as told.

            He warms oil in his hands and places them on my back.  He’s careful around the scratches I got from the pool.  Soft kisses apologize to my tender spots.  His hands work out every worry in my body, every fear, every doubt.  His lips do the same thing to the opposite side of my body, starting with my face.  He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, my lips.  We stay mouth to mouth for a while.  Slowly tonguing each other with so much passion.  He sucks my bottom lip before heading further south.  Locs tickle my skin as his tongue traces the roundness of my nipples.  He does one then does the other.  Goes back and forth before putting both breasts in his mouth at the same time.  He does that and I swear the rivers of life flow from between my thighs.

            His lips continue down to the land of milk and honey.  “Baby, you are so wet.”

            “You did that,” I say.

            Instead of draping my legs over his shoulders, I spread them wide placing one foot on each side of his ribcage.  Opens me up something serious, allows him to dive face first into my heated waters.

            He licks and sucks like I’m a double scoop of ice cream melting down his cone.  Surely my juices are dripping down his chin and he doesn’t want to lose one drop to the sheets.

            My husband holds my hips in his hands as my freshly waxed folds grind against his face.  He holds me to keep us going in the same pace.  His tongue flicks my swollen clit and for a minute I lose my breath.  I can’t moan, can’t yell, can’t scream my infamous, “Shit.”  I fight to find air, yet I ride his face until he comes up for air.

            On his way up, he stops at my breasts again and perfumes them with the scent of my love.

            I feel my sweet spot revving up again, ready for round two…three…four.

           He kisses me, damn near tongues me down.  I try to eat my flavor off his palette.  Feel myself grind against his pelvis until I find what I’m looking for.  I draw him in like quicksand, feel him hit the bottom of my pit.  He makes slow, deep strokes, and enters my soul in a way he never has before.

           Every stroke is an apology to what went down earlier this evening.  Saying, “I’m sorry for treating you as anything less than my wife.  Sorry for pushing you into the arms of another man.”

           He pulls all the way out to the tip and then glides back in.  Every time he does that he promises to never leave me lonely, to always listen to what my heart says, and to be a better husband. 

           With every rock of my hips, I apologize for not trusting in his position as the head of this household.  Every tilt of my pelvis begs for forgiveness for stepping outside of this marriage for comfort and validation. 

           I open my eyes and see my husband’s on me.  I tell him, “I promise to never leave your side again.” 

           He kisses my tears and reminds me, “This is just the beginning.” 

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This short story was published in Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3 – an anthology by Zane, also included as a sample at the end of my novel, The Last Exhale.