Beetlesmith's Ch. 10

The line crept forward, slowly.

I looked around, and at a corner table saw a young woman. She was no more than twenty-five, with long, auburn colored hair. Even from this distance, I saw the faint trace of freckles donning her nose and cheeks. She wore large, tortoise-shell glasses, and her face was buried deep in a book. I'm not sure how or why, but she captivated me. Maybe it was the sweet innocence she tried to hide under the cover of false maturity. As if reading so overtly in public while trying to ignore those around her would signal a sense of aloof maturity to others. I felt that surge of power, again.

Thoughts of her reeled in my mind—oh, such delicious thoughts:

She opened her legs wide for me. Her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders and across her firm, young breasts as she fingered herself in anticipation of my tongue, my lips, or my cock. I saw nothing but freckles, her childlike freckles, covering her chest and breasts, as I suck on them. She pushed them out further, offering her hardened nipples so that I might play with them with greater ease. I pushed my cock between her breasts as she clamped those soft mounds around me, heightening my pleasure; shifting them gently against my shaft while opening her mouth for the gift I was about to give...

She looked up from her book. I captured her eyes. Holding her in my gaze, I continued to think those salacious thoughts of her with me. Finally, she lowered her head. The telltale blush of scarlet covered her cheeks and neck, masking her freckles. I saw her swallow hard, as she closed her book to look out the window.

The line moved up again.

There was Kimberly, lovely Kimberly, the barista for the day. Her dark eyes intent on the order at hand, plying the espresso maker and steam with equal expertise. Taking orders as she filled the previous one with no thought or hesitation. Money changing hands expertly, orders filled correctly, with no flaw evident in her delivery.

I was a regular and knew her quite well. We would chat innocuous pleasantries while she filled my order each morning. She had long, dark hair—raven dark that extended down to her waist. Her skin was pure, smooth, and olive colored—she must be of Italian descent, maybe Greek, definitely Mediterranean, I thought. When she looked at you, her dark eyes melted any anxiety you might be feeling at the start of the day. Such a simple thing as a simple order of coffee, and you felt glad to be alive just by the look of her eyes.

...I pictured those eyes looking up at me. Her long hair, wrapped tightly around my arm as I pulled her lustful, opened mouth onto my cock. Such a vision of innumerable lust in her eyes as she swallowed me whole...

She stared at me as she filled the previous order. Her lips parted slightly. I saw perspiration along her brow and neck. The erotic scene augmented by the steam from the espresso maker wafting over her face.

Swallowing hard, she asked, "Hi Mister Henry. What can I do for you?"

I smiled, trying not to further the sexual implications of her last question, and said, "The usual Kim, and a toffee nut latte for my sweet wife."

...I continued to stare at her with visions whirling through my mind of her mouth gripped tightly around me as I slowly pumped in and out of her...

She set about filling my order, and quit inexplicably asked, "Do you want room for cock..."

...I pictured Kim slow stroking my cock as forceful jets of cum shot into her open mouth and extended tongue, and across her creamy-textured, olive face...

She caught her verbal blunder, and blushed, "I mean room for cum..."

I smiled at her, knowingly.

She stopped herself again in mortifying embarrassment. Slowly, and with great strain in her voice, she pushed out the words correctly, "Do...You...Want...Room...For...Cream?

I beamed at her, "You know I always take it black, Kimberly," then leaning close to her, I teased her with a whisper, "You know, you don't have to talk dirty to me for a good tip. Your wonderful service is enough."

She was flummoxed and tried to regain her composure but embarrassed herself further, "I would love servicing you...That didn't come out right...I mean, I'd love it if I could service you...Shit! Brian, would you take over for a minute?"

Just then, Karen tapped me on the shoulder, "Do you see that girl?"

Still looking at Kimberly as she quickly made her way to the ladies' room, I said, "Oh yes, I see her."

Karen smacked my arm, "Not her you dope, the one over in the corner."

I looked over to where Karen indicated. It was the table where the auburn haired girl sat, but it was empty.

Karen looked around the coffee shop, "Funny, she was sitting right there. A pretty young woman with reddish-brown hair and freckles."

"What about her?"

Karen leaned close to my ear, whispering, "She was staring straight at you. I mean hard. And I swear she was almost playing with herself."

I looked at her as if she had just started walking upright.

"I'm not kidding," she said, defensively.

A table had just opened up on the outside veranda as I paid for the coffees. Settling into our seats under a colorful canopy and an overcast sky, I said to Karen, jokingly, "So, what you're telling me is I can make young women cream in their panties, just from my looks."

"I swear to you. She was looking right at you and had her hand on a boob, and she wasn't being too sly about it either. And by the look on her face, I swear she was going to put a hand down her panties at any second. Right there in front of everyone."

"Oh, come on, Karen," I said, incredulously.

She held up a hand in a silent gesture of, 'God's honest truth.' Then a look crossed her face. It was only for a moment, but I didn't like what I saw. It wasn't just a look of jealousy, but one of jealous loathing, as if she hated me because of some other woman's 'supposed' interest in me. Our wonderfully, loving, cuddly mood was shattered in an instant. Karen remarked, barely concealing her contempt, "I guess I'll have to keep an eye on you from now on."

I couldn't let her rebuke go by, unchallenged, "I would think between the two of us, you would be the last one having a jaundiced eye."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I've never given you cause to worry that I might dip my wick in someone else's honey pot behind your back."

Karen sat back in her chair in frustration, "All right, can we at least talk about 'it' for once. I'm getting tired of your snotty little innuendoes on occasion."

I kept my voice low, but it was hard for me to hide my growing anger, "Why do women always feel the need to talk about 'it?' Just when a guy finally puts the shit that's ripping him open into a deep hole, and starts to cover it up with a little bit of dirt so he no longer feels like slitting his wrists, you broads feel the need to dredge it all up again by wanting to 'talk about it.' I swear it's some sick, sadistic, mind-fuck game you all like playing on us."

"We need to talk about it because it still bothers you. I can see it in your face right now. I saw it there, the other night with Mark. Every time we're watching a movie or TV show and one of the characters is having an affair, I see that look come over you, and I feel bad."

"Poor baby, it makes 'you' feel bad. Don't you mean uncomfortable, because that 'look' reminds you of what you did?"

She didn't answer, and just looked down at the table.

"Yeah, it bothers me. It still fucking hurts..."

She cut me off, which was a mistake, "Then let's talk about it for Pete's sake."

"Okay, let's talk about it," I began to say with dripping contempt, "Tell me, did you let him fuck you in the ass the first time, or did you at least wait a while until you got comfortable with him?"

She lowered her eyes again, and stayed silent.

"Come on. You wanted to talk about it, so let's talk. How many times did he fuck you in your tight ass? How many times did you beg him to fuck your mouth after he made you squirt? How did he taste? Did you let him come on your face, or did he taste too good for that and you swallowed?"

Tears started running down her cheeks, "That's not want I meant by talking. I thought you would want to know why."

"No, you wanted to talk about what was bothering 'you' about it, not what was bothering me."

"Then why do you want to talk about 'that' stuff for?"

"I don't want to talk about any of it, you do. But, if I have to talk about it, then I'm going to tell you about 'that stuff,' because it's 'that stuff' that bothers me. It's what rips me open from time to time. It's the reason for my look." I paused for a moment thinking about the can of worms she just opened, then told her what was really bothering me, "Do you think it's easy for me to walk out the door every morning for work, and not think about you going off again to satisfy your itch I can't seem to scratch?"

"You told me you forgave me," she said, defensively. It was her roundabout way of telling me I didn't have to worry about someone else scratching her itch.

I ignored her comment for the moment, "You want to know what else I was thinking, now that were talking about it? I'm thinking back over those months you were fucking Kendall, and I can't remember once during that whole period where you kissed or even touched me, let alone wanted to fuck me. Tell me since we're telling each other things, was that out of some form of guilt you carried around, or was it because if you had fucked me, it would've been like committing adultery on your lover?"

Thinking back on that first meeting with Beetlesmith, I realized that part of the reason I had taken him up on his offer was Karen's low sexual desire for me during the time of her affair. It wasn't the main factor, but it was in the back of my mind at the time, and nudged me in the direction of using the drug. Ordinarily, I would never have done such a thing, accept an unknown substance from a stranger and administer it unwittingly to my wife and friend. For all I knew at the time, Beetlesmith could have been some psycho who got his jollies poisoning the unsuspecting. Yet, I accepted the elixir from him, looking desperately for anything that might renew Karen's interest in me. As such, and in some small way, Karen was partly responsible for our current predicament with the elixir.

I kept these thoughts to myself as Karen screamed an answer to my latest accusation, "God, no! How could you think that?" A number of patrons turned their heads to look at us. Karen dropped her voice before continuing, "It wasn't like that and I would never think that. I was just in a low point then, and treated everyone badly, especially you. I'm sorry, but I was just being an arrogant asshole that whole time."

I said sarcastically, "No baby, you were being too much of a cunt to be an asshole."

I wasn't trying to be funny, but I must have touched her funny bone, because she put her hand over her mouth and laughed, which got me laughing as well. Strange how that word now elicits either absolute arousal or lighthearted mirth from her. We were both changing, and none more than Karen.

She was still laughing, and said while nodding her head, "You're right, I was being a cunt." She dropped her voice down to a whisper when she said the magic word. I couldn't help but find her mannerism cute, and oh, so erotic.

I took her hands in mine, and said, "I love it when you talk dirty," then leaning to her ear, I whispered, "Tell me what you are again."

She pulled my ear closer to her mouth, and whispered back, "I'm such a dirty, horny cunt, and I want you to fuck me in my dripping, hot cunt until I shit gumdrops." She put an exclamation point on her statement by biting my earlobe, before kissing me deeply.

I sighed before explaining my earlier statement to her, "As for what you asked before, I do forgive you. But, you have to understand it's going to take me a lot longer to forget. And I will forget, eventually, or at least get to a point where it doesn't bother me so much. In the meantime, I am going to give you those looks on occasion. I'm only human, Karen. I can't help myself sometimes. No matter how hard I try."

"Maybe if you cared to ask me why it happened, you could get over it quicker. But you never seemed to care enough to ask."

"You're right, I didn't ask, but not for the reasons you think. If I asked you why you fell into an affair with Kendall that would led me to the next, logical question, and I didn't want to hear the answer to that."

"What logical question?"

I looked at her long and hard before answering, "Come on Karen, is it really that easy to fall into a six-month-long affair on the first try?"

She knew exactly what I meant, and said with all sincerity, "Will, you have to believe me, there was no one else but Roger. It was my one and only mistake. Please Will...Please believe me." She began to sob quietly. I suppose out of both frustration and guilt.

That was the problem. I wanted to believe her, but how could I? My trust in her had been broken. That's why I never asked her 'why' or why I never asked her about others, even though both questions were often on my mind. No matter how she answered or what she answered, I wouldn't have believed her. Oh, she was slowly building back my trust, but it was going to take more time. I also knew that when I trusted her again I would be able to forget.

I didn't answer her with what she needed to hear, that 'I believed her,' because it would have been an obvious lie that I couldn't conceal. Instead, I took her hand in both of mine again, and said gently, "Shhh, don't cry, baby. Look at me...Look at me. I am forgetting about it, slowly but surely, with each day. Have patience. Don't get me wrong, you're going to have to accept my little digs now and then, but before long they'll start to become fewer and farther between. Eventually I'll get over them for good."

She nodded her head while giving me a small smile of relief. She was going to add something to her smile, but before she could, I said, "You know there's something you never cared to ask me in all this, either."

"What?" she asked, sniffing back her tears.

I smiled at her, "Didn't you ever wonder why I stayed with you after finding out?"

She laughed, hesitantly, and then said, "Like you, I was afraid of the answer."

I leaned over and kissed her. It was supposed to be a light peck to give her assurance, but she grabbed my head and held me tight against her lips. I could taste the salt of her tears. When she released me, I said, "You dope, you shouldn't have been. The answer may have surprised even you."

I offered her my hand as we got up to leave. She clutched at my arm again, and again we were twenty, and the world and everything in it was ours.

******************

Just then, the sky opened up into a tremendous downpour. The rain was unusually cold for mid-spring as Karen and I rushed to get in the car, laughing and getting soaked the whole way. It was then that I caught sight of the freckle-faced, auburn-haired girl standing at the street corner. She was drenched and cold waiting for the signal to let her cross. I felt that surge of power again, stronger. This time, however, it felt different, as if a new power was awakening in me, born from Karen's jealous observations of the young woman, and from my own with Kimberly.

I called out to her as I opened the rear door of my car, "Care for a ride?"

She recognized me and hesitated for a moment, but the cold rain drove her toward me. She gave me a loud, "Thank you," before diving into the back seat.

Karen recognized her immediately. Considering that the auburn-haired girl indirectly instigated our last fight, Karen was none too pleased that I was giving her a ride. That jealousy of hers was back, as she looked at me sideways. This time I didn't take her look as an offense. 'That's right honey,' I thought, 'Time to push this envelop to the test. You, me, and the auburn girl are going to have some fun.'

I always like to take advantage of opportunities when they present themselves, and this driving rain coupled with the close confines of the car was an excellent opportunity. Moments ago, I had witnessed two young women exhibit the most unusual, erotic behavior when I stared at them in the coffee shop, Kimberly and this one. It was as if they could read my thoughts, or, more accurately, I could project my thoughts into their minds, while filling them with an insatiable desire for me. It sounds farfetched, I know, but given what has been happening of late...

I looked at her in the rearview mirror while saying, "My name's Will. This is my wife, Karen."

"Hi, I'm Beth. Thanks much for the ride. I was getting soaked...and cold."

"Where can we take you, Beth?"

"My apartment's about three blocks east, right on Porter."

I had to take my time driving. The rain was coming down so hard it was almost impossible for me to see out the windshield even with the wipers at full tilt. As I drove, periodically I looked back at her in the rearview mirror. At first, she just kept looking out the window, seemingly oblivious to my gaze, but on my third glance, I saw that she was staring back at me. I held her eye for as long as safety would allow, while thinking those naughty thoughts about her.

A lean and hungry look came over her face as I continued to stare at her, the kind I've seen in Karen lately. Really, the kind of look I've seen in all my women lately. Could I really be influencing people in such a way? Even influencing those who never took the drug, like Cope and now Beth?

At the next red light, I stared back at her, thinking about fucking her tits as I had in the coffee shop. Her eyes suddenly went wide, and she parted her lips as if she needed to draw more air through her mouth. It was done involuntarily, I think, because when I saw her hand crawling up her blouse in order to fondle her breasts, she caught herself at the last moment, and quickly put her hand down. She turned away from the rearview mirror, panting.

When I stared back at her at the next light, she was already looking at me in the rearview. Unbelievably, she had her skirt jack up to her waist, spreading her legs wide and showing me the growing wet spot on her panties. I smiled at her, and she smiled back licking her lips. I thought hard about the same scenario, but this time I pictured Karen's head, buried between Beth's legs.

Karen stirred next to me. I continued to watch Beth as she slid a hand into her panties, while I felt Karen's hand fondling the growing bulge in my pants. Karen slid closer to me, and placed my free hand between her legs. Even through the heavy jeans she was wearing I could discern warm, heavy moisture.

Karen whispered, "Maybe we should skip the mall."

"Maybe," I said, as I turned down Porter. I saw an open spot and parked the car. "Or maybe it's time for a late lunch."

Karen noticed I was staring into the rearview. When she turned around to look at our passenger, she gasped.

Beth had removed her panties, and was running her fingers through her public hair. She stared hard into my eyes while seemingly ignoring Karen's gaze. Slipping two fingers into her pussy, she quite nonchalantly brought them up to her mouth and sucked on them.

I said to Beth, "Tell my wife what you want, sweetheart."

In as pleasing a little girl's voice as one could imagine, she said, "Please suck me until I come."

Karen continued to stare unbelieving with mouth agape. I kissed her on that mouth, closing it. Then I told her, "Go on, she wants you."

In a flash, Karen's mood changed from one of shocked surprise into absolute, unabashed arousal. Serpent-like, Karen slid up over the front seat, then down the other side, putting her head between Beth's legs.