Fred's Night Out

"I guess the wife thinks so too," I tell her, and she takes my hand again for a moment then drops it.

I ride back to the bar in silence, feeling almost like we had sex. I look at her while she drives, and I wonder what it is about her that I have needed for so long.

Maybe it's affection.

We reach the bar, and as my hand is groping for her unfamiliar door handle, she puts a hand on my chest to stop me. She looks at me, and I look back, and of course it happens, it has to, it's inevitable that she should pull me close and set her lips against mine.

My heart pounds and I can't find my breath and I feel her soft lips and I taste just a trace of lipstick and our lips move against each other, slowly, suctioning together, and then opening, sucking and grasping and tangling tongues and moaning softly into each other's mouth and pulling each other close and her lips are so sweet and I never want it to stop and it is easily the best kiss I've ever had in my life.

We separate, and she looks stricken. "Good night, Fred," she tells me, and we get out of her car. She walks into the bar and I get into my car for the short ride home.

Carol's car is in the driveway, and I hear the engine ticking as it cools. I walk into my house and Carol is lounging on the couch, her clothes and hair mussed, her lipstick smeared, and a certain glazed look in her eye. Carol looks like a fucked woman. Which she is. She just doesn't know it yet.

"Fred, I'm really sorry about today," she says first. "I shouldn't have left like that--"

I don't care. I just ask the question. "How was Cleveland?"

Carol looks away, and she probably thinks I can't see that little smile. "Oh, you know, Cleveland. It's always the same."

And that is the answer I expected, the answer that tells me that I am still the ignorant dupe in her eyes.

"Carol, your eyes are fantastic." She looks at me, confused. "I wouldn't have thought you could see Cleveland from the Shady Rest."

Her eyes go blank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The Shady Rest, on Route 15? You should be more careful where you leave your car, it's right on the way to the bowling alley after all."

Now her eyes have a wild, trapped look. "I...I met my co-worker and we took his car to the airport."

"You met your co-worker and took his what?" I ask mildly and she gets pissed.

"I don't care if you don't believe me. I was in Cleveland with Frank Caswell."

I shook my head; I wonder why she even wants to try to fool me. I keep my voice level. "It's too bad you didn't have time to watch the news in your comfy little motel room, or you'd know that Cleveland is under snow and has been all day." My eyes bore into hers; I pull the wedding band off my finger and let it drop to the floor. "Now you can go on back to Frank Caswell and tell him he can take you to Cleveland for the rest of your life." I cock my head toward the door. "Get out of here. You have until tomorrow afternoon to pack what you want. Goodbye," I finish in a pleasant voice, smiling, and I leave the house with the customary bitch-tirade following me.

As soon as I'm in the car and around the corner, I pull out the number Emma gave me; I see she put X's and O's on it. I dial but there is no answer. I'm not surprised. I call the bar.

"Jerry's," and it is Emma. I can't speak for a second. Instead I put on some gas and easily cover the distance to the bar. Hello?" she asks.

"Emma, it's Fred," I tell her and there's a moment's delay.

"Fred? Aren't you supposed to be home?"

I'm hoping that's a hopeful sound to her voice. "Can you come out to the parking lot?" I ask her.

I hear her draw a breath. "Okay, give me two minutes." The connection goes dead and I pocket the phone.

It's less than a minute later when she runs out of the bar with no coat, her breath steaming between her shiny-again lips. I open the door for her. The car is still cold but it's better than being out in the wind.

"You're looking at a single man," I tell her. "Estranged anyway."

Emma's eyes get cloudy. It's weird to see. "You're kidding me." It's not a question.

"No ma'am," I told her, and showed her my empty ring finger. "I asked her how was Cleveland, and she said, Oh you know, the same. She said she had gone to the airport in a co-worker's car."

"God, what a bitch." Emma looks not angry but sad. Then she brightens. "Hey, come see what I've got!" She grins like a kid and we get out of the car.

Emma doesn't go into the bar like I'd thought she would. Instead she drags me down the street to a house two doors down. She is shivering and I wrap my coat around us both as she lets me in.

"This my place." She says it like a kid, and waves her hand to take in the house. I look around at her tiny tidy little living room, with everything put neatly away. Emma takes my coat from me and drapes it over the back of her couch and then she is in my arms and I feel her nipples, still peaky from the cold, brushing against my chest.

"Okay, show me what you got," I tell her, and her lips meet mine and the kiss is even better without the seat belts, the car, the cold, and with an armful of warm Emma coming alive beneath me. She must know her nipples were so very tactile, she rubs them against me and I feel a shiver. My lips move against hers, nipping them, my tongue slides into her mouth and her moan is music in my ears, her nipples, her arms a symphony, her curls, her blue eyes filled with desire a choir of angels. She moves against me like a wave, I feel her fold herself against me and we move together, I'm rubbing my hardness against her buttocks and she's moving it with me, a simulation of soft love. I feel her hand slip over my belly and under my shirt and I let my coat fall to the floor. Emma's hands are m oving all over my chest, rubbing my nipples, and now chewing on my neck and my cock is so hard and I can feel her hands slip down to me, she's kneeling before me and she's blowing hot breath on my cock through my pants. I let my fingers entwine themselves in her curls and she looks up at me and her fingers are at my belt buckle. My pants are down and my boxers are down and she's holding me...hope it's big enough, long enough, thick enough, to impress her. She looks at me with those eyes and then looks down...her mouth so close, her breath hot against my throbbing cock..I feel her tongue on it, she's drawing circles around the head with her tongue, and now she puts her lips on it, and it's sliding in between her gorgeous lips, and she gags a little and then takes me all the way into her mouth, with her wrapping her tongue around the sides.

"Emma," I whisper. "You should stop now or else."

She stops, "Or else what?" then resumes driving me completely insane with her lips and tongue. She pulls my cock from her mouth and sucks it in, her tongue wriggling all the way down, and now she pulls it out with a scrape against her teeth and I gasp for breath and she's sucking the bottom while her tongue plays on it and she sets her lips on the head and sucks me in slowly...and she looks up at me, and those eyes do it, I'm losing it now and coming so hard and my gaze is locked with hers, and her eyes are narrowed and it looks like she's smiling as she's swallowing me. And she swallows, and she takes it out of her mouth and smiles at me, and I throb again and throw a milky droplet onto sweet Emma's cheek. She's laughing now; she wipes my juice from her face with a finger and looks at me as she sucks her finger clean.

"My God. Where'd you learn that?" I'm trying to catch my breath. She just gives me that smile and my heart breaks.

"PBA tour."

I push her onto her back from her kneeling position and lower myself between her raised knees. I'm on top of her now, Emma is wriggling under me, and I wish I could get hard again so soon. I have other things in mind though. I kiss her, and her lips are slightly sticky and I don't care. I kiss her chin, her neck under the jawline, I'm opening her shirt, her bra fastens in the front. I unfasten it.

Her breasts are beautiful C cups, each tipped with a sumptuous nipple and an areola the color of pink roses. I kiss my way slowly up the side of each breast, nearing the nipple but stopping just short to breathe upon it, giving her a taste of what she gave me. Now I'm rubbing my tongue around her nipple, not actually touching the nipple, and Emma likes this, she writhes under my tongue. I suck the hard nipple between my lips and Emma hisses in breath, they're apparently very sensitive, and so I blow on them while licking the areolae, and she purrs. I'm kissing downward now, kissing her belly and I learn she is ticklish, she wriggles and laughs and pushes at my head. I unfasten her belt and jeans, and she's still wriggling, but she obediently raises herself off the bed as she is bared and my lips got to the demarcation where her pubic hair begins. Her pubic hair does match her hair! I plant kisses there, and on her white thighs and her lower belly, and she is so ticklish, I have to hold her down to take that first lick--

And Emma stops wriggling like her wriggle switch was turned off and she gets very still. And I realize I have found the woman I want to taste for the rest of my life. Carol's taste is acidic, vinegary; it was a disappointment to discover, but we overlook these little things. But Emma, oh God, Emma is nectar, ambrosia, and I wonder that I overlooked it at all. My tongue slides along the length of her cleft, tasting her, I breathe her scent and I am smitten. Emma's clitoris responds to my gentle touches, and I feel the muscles along her thighs tighten with each caress, and she tastes of sunshine and promises and hint of vanilla. I rub circles with my tongue on her clit, and she responds; she rocks her hips in time with my tonguing and her moans are low and throaty. I taste her juice flowing out of her, I feel her tremble, I continue licking, this time in an up-and-down motion right on her clitoris, and her moans are continual and faster and I think she's about to go pop. I place the tip of my finger just at the opening of her pussy and I press, gently, in and out--

And Emma comes all over my face and my hand and she is writhing under me, bucking, and I suck her labia and she writhes and cries out and motions me away. I lick my fingers and move up to kiss her, but she grabs my head and licks her juice from my face. I hold her close and she wraps herself around me. "God, Fred," she says softly. "Why didn't your wife cheat on you before?"

I cuddle her and she snuggles with a little keening sound. "She probably has," I tell her. "It'd be interesting to see how many trips to 'Cleveland' don't show any out of town credit card usage."

"I'm sorry, Fred," she tells me. "But in another big way I'm not." I feel her warm hand on my limp shaft and squeezes and I jump a little. "I'm still hungry, though, and I've got some stuff in the fridge. Oh!" She sits up and yanks her pants up. "Christmas tree!"

"Huh?"

Emma grins at me and leaps to her feet, and I wrestle with getting my pants up. "My Christmas tree," she says. "I brought you over to show you my tree, and I guess I got distracted somehow." She walks over to one corner of her room, where I hadn't even noticed the tree, and plugs it in. It's a beautiful tree, with ornaments and garland and tinsel, and the lights flash. "It's the first tree I ever set up by myself," and I can tell she's really proud of it, and I tell her she has a right to be.

"We don't...didn't even have a tree," I finished, because it has already come home to me that Carol is leaving and was a past-tense person. I realize that outside of infrequent sex Carol and I have little in common and we make each other miserable.

I take Emma's hand and she squeezes mine. "That is a beautiful tree," I tell her. "But it's sad there are no presents," and her smile falters a little.

"No-one to get anything for or from," she tells me.

I feel in my pocket and I find the perfect gift, and it's well after 1am so I pull it out and give it to her. "Merry Christmas."

It is a bowling-alley stub of pencil, maybe three inches long with no eraser. She stares at it for a moment, and then her eyes join mine. "Fred, you shouldn't have," she tells me, and she takes it delicately from my hand. "They have few enough of these at it is." We laugh, and I'm in love with her, I suddenly realize. I gather her into my arms and I kiss her deeply.

She pulls away and rummages around in her pockets, but finds nothing, and she looks around the room frantically.

"It's okay, Emma," I tell her. "You already gave me the best Christmas present I could have gotten." I run a hand down her side, over her skinny waist to the fabulous flare of her hip.

"Do you mean bowling, or a blow job?" One eyebrow rises above beautiful Emma's right eye and her little smile turns up the corners of her lips.

"I mean everything," I told her. "If we hadn't gone bowling I would never have known about Carol." I take her face between my hands. "And I would never have had the chance to do this." I kiss her, and my tongue runs over her bottom lip and she nips playfully at it, catching it with her lips and sucking my tongue into her mouth like a spaghetti noodle. She backs up, leading me by my tongue into her tiny kitchen, where she pushes me backward into a chair.

"I can't cook, Fred," she tells me sadly, but I answer that neither does Carol, that I've been cooking for myself so long I've gotten kind of good. I get up and push her down into the chair, letting my eyes drift into her still-open shirt, and she smiles at me, unashamed, pink nipple and blue eyes competing for my notice.

I turn away before I'm caught in her again and case out Emma's cupboards. She has lots of cans but no bread and nothing in the fridge except three bottles of nail polish and a head of lettuce gone brown and slimy.

"I mostly eat at the bar," she says, and she sounds a little embarrassed. "Fred, you give great head."

I turn and look at her and she looks solemn. "No-one's got me off like that," she says quietly.

"Get used to it," I told her, and I see her sunny smile again. I find cans of tomato sauce and a jar of pasta sauce, and an opened bag of twisty rotini. "Baby, all I see here is pasta."

"Pasta?" and she sounds outraged. "What about my figure?" I see her trying to look angry and failing.

"Your figure's gorgeous and you live on bar food," I remind her, and that wind chime laugh lights up the kitchen. I set water to boil and I sit down in the chair next to her. She immediately moves to my lap and I encircle her with my arms, marveling at how much I've missed this: Carol's idea of afterglow is to get out of bed and into the shower as soon as possible. Emma fits against me perfectly and I feel her sigh contentedly; my lips find her earlobe and I nibble. She moans and moves against me.

"Stop, Fred, we've got to eat," she tells me. "Or else I'll wear you out."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's a warning." Her eyes meet mine and she's not smiling, and I think it must have been a while for her but I don't pursue it.

"I'll hold you to that," I say, and I'm not smiling either because I'm serious; I intend to make little Emma see God before the night is through. I can't lose her now and I make her never want to leave me either. I set her on her feet and dump pasta and a little salt into the boiling water. The meat sauce, tomato paste, and spice goes into a sauce pan and I set it to simmer. I check in her freezer on the off chance she has some frozen bread sticks or, even better, garlic bread, but there's only ice packs and a frosted pint of gourmet ice cream. Here's a girl who knows her priorities.

I stir the sauce and noodles and I sit back down. Emma spreads my legs with hers and slips between them, standing in front of me and affording me a dizzying view of her tits. "Fred, if you go back to your wife I will beat your ass with a stick of wood." She isn't smiling. "I took it on your word that you split with her before you called me."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm done with Carol."

"You better be, Fred, because I'm a possessive girl." She twines her hands in my hair and gives a little tug, and she's pulling my head against her, between her tits.

"Are you saying you're my girl now?" and I hold my breath.

She nods. "I suck a man's cock, he's my guy. Got a problem with that?"

I shake my head and smile against her chest. "None at all, Emma." I pause. "What's your last name?"

She sighs, she's reluctant. "Em.." She shrugs. "You might as well know, it's Grossberger."

I wince, I can't help it. She notices, and smiles a little. "I get that a lot."

"Thanks for telling me," I told her. You know what mine is?"

She nods. "It's Duncan."

"How'd you know?"

She shrugs, I don't think she'll answer. But she does. "I knew a long time ago. I always find out the last name of guys that I...like." She shrugs, and her breast strokes my cheek. "I've been trying to get rid of mine forever."

"I guess I don't blame you," I tell her, and she giggles a little.

"You're honest," she replies. "I like."

The water is boiling over, hissing against the stove, and I stand up quickly, holding Emma so she doesn't fall. I kill the heat on everything and drain the pasta, give the sauce a stir and taste it. It's not bad.

I find plates and forks and dish up pasta for us. She takes a plate and we sit at the table.

"Emma, why don't you have a guy already?" She looks up at me over her food and shrugs again, and I see her tits shift inside her open shirt.

"Nobody's come up except you," she tells me. "I liked you right away and I almost asked you out before I found out your were otherwise engaged."

"If you could call it that. I haven't had sex with Carol in about three months."

"No wonder you were so quick," she answers. "I went down on you for like thirty seconds."

"I was horny from watching you bowl," I say seriously, and take a bite, and I find it's pretty good. I dig in.

"You were horny from three months of nothing," she tells me. I shrug.

"Well, I found...things to do." I feel blood rush to my face.

"I know that scene," she says, her mouth full, and she suddenly looks embarrassed to have said that. I'm intrigued.

"Really? Tell me about it."

"Another time," she tells me, and cleans her plate. I collect plates and forks and give everything a quick rinse.

On cue, my cellphone rings, and I look at the caller ID and it's Carol. I answer.

"Hello, Carol," I tell her. Emma's eyes widen as she listens.

"Where are you, Fred?" Carol's voice comes through clearly. I don't answer this.

"What do you want, Carol?"

I hear her sigh. "Fred, don't be an asshole. Come home or our marriage is over."

Emma's eyes have narrowed as she looks at the phone, and she looks angry and miserable.

"Carol, our marriage is already over. I told you to get out, so get out." Emma is looking at me adoringly.

"But Fred, it's Christmas Day!"

"Merry Christmas, Carol. Now fuck off." I hang up the phone and turn it off.

Emma takes my hand and leads me through the house, past the bathroom, to her bedroom.

"Queen size bed," I remark.

"Makes me feel thinner," she says, and her hands are under my shirt, stripping it off, and I reach to undress her but she smacks my hand away gently. Her fingers are quick on my belt and pants again and I stand before her, naked, watching her watching me as she undresses herself, and I can only make out her shape in the dim light and it is gorgeous, I can see her curls and her shoulders and the sides of her breasts rising and falling with her breathing, and her thin waist and her hips just wide enough to be pure sex, cocked to one side, and just a trace of shadowed hair between her thin muscular legs. My cock is hard again, and I reach out a hand and touch her face.