Guilty Pleasures Ch. 11

Why was I the only one dead set against this situation?

And was I?

*

The next weekend, Sunday was supposed to be nice. Possibly, even probably, the last chance for Becca to bring her crowd, so I shopped as per usual.

Then, the impending cold front heralding Fall accelerated and Sunday dawned cold and blustery.

I called Monica about eleven in the morning.

"There sure as Hell will be no pool time today," I grumbled. I liked having all the kids around my place, and not just because of certain scenic individuals among them. "Want to ask Wanda and Yancey if y'all can come over and watch the afternoon Braves game? I have so much food."

"So you want us all to get fat together because of your inventory problems?" Monica snorted. "Game's at one, right? We'll see you about then!"

I had already cleaned everything, because I'd been expecting a party, so I sat down at my computer and did as much work as I could. Unlike if there had been a party, I was now going to watch an important game between two teams a game apart atop the standings, with both aces on the mound. Work wold not be an option, come first pitch.

At 12:45, the doorbell rang. It was Monica. Just Monica. "The lovebirds already had tickets to a matinee, and are thinking about dinner out after that," she explained, shrugging her shoulders and waving a bottle of ten year-old Bordeaux.

"That's a helluva bottle to have with baseball and brats," I observed as she sailed inside.

"Thought I'd class things up, since we won't have kids wanting a taste today."

"Ah yes," I said. "No kids. Whatever will you do for fun this week?"

There had been yet another set of sheets in the washer again the prior Sunday. I never had figured out who she'd settled on. She did indeed select for discretion.

"I had some grown-up fun with one of our company's bankers on Thursday," Monica said archly. "He's your age. I think you are the one of us more likely to have missed out this week. Mary and company have been thinking dark thoughts about how you owe them all 'thanks' for helping get you your shot with Stephanie. Your daughter is trying to ignore them, mostly because I think she still hopes you will get more than just a single shot with the cheerleader in question."

"Christ."

We agreed upon cooking the brats at the top of the third inning and settled down in my living room, with me in my favorite chair and Monica lounging on my couch.

The bad guys jumped out of the gate, putting up three in the top of the first. Monica had thoughts about the pitch selection, and I mostly agreed with her.

With the Braves going down one-two-three in the bottom of the first, I began to contemplate the need for alternate entertainment for the afternoon. Fortunately, I had Monica and her tales of amazement close at hand.

"So you must be slowing down in the sex front," I said idly, sipping at the really rather excellent cabernet.

"On what planet am I slowing down?" she snorted dismissively.

"Well, you just went for that most boring of all sex--Banker Sex."

"Dennis was sweet," Monica said, leaping to her banking playtoy's defense. "In fact, with him, I checked off a first on one of the really big sexual adventures."

"Having your brains debited and credited out?"

"Soixante-Neuf, " she said smugly.

"Really?" I asked, thunderstruck.

"Yep. First time," Monica said. "And honestly, I wasn't that impressed. Seems like one of those things everybody is excited about in principal, because, I mean, it sounds awesome. But really? Kind of an uncomfortable nothing burger, right?"

"What?"

"I mean, we went at it for a while, but neither of us came close to coming, And I don't think I ended up even much more aroused than before we got started."

"Seriously?" I asked, deadpan. "Tell me what you did exactly."

"I like fucking with you by giving details, Clark, but you want me to tittilate you with the most boring part of the sex?"

"Monica. Toward the end of my marriage, when the ex and I were down to wanting sex at the same time about once a month at best, we still made time for the occasional sixty-nine. If we got naked, that was usually happening. You do it right, and it's the fucking best."

The best? Well...

"Um, well, it's fucking great. Tell me what you did, and I'll tell you what you did wrong."

"You wouldn't rather I tell you about how we did it doggy style on his kitchen floor until I came until I cried?"

"What? A banker did you doggy-style?" I asked dumbly. "I... no. First, I want to hear how he fucked up an ouroboros maneuver."

So she told what they did. And I told her what they did wrong, and how to do it better the next time.

"Aww! Aren't you cute," Monica said sweetly. "Now you are teaching me about sex. You are such a mentor. I should tell The Trinity."

"The who?" I asked, a little shocked.

"The Trinity. Anne, Carol, and Mary."

"Who told you I think of them by that name? Sometimes..." I considered it. "I doubt I've ever spoken that term out loud," I asked, borderline incredulous.

"I just think of them that way myself, whenever the subject of you and them comes up. You seriously call them that?"

"Silently... when I'm not thinking of them as the hellions."

We both laughed, then we were totally distracted by the opponents managing to put four men on base in a single inning without scoring a single run. It was an Houdini-level act of escape artistry by the bullpen.

When the ads for bad beer and reverse mortgages started, Monica looked at me and asked quietly, "Is it weird that we talk to each other about the sex we have?"

"Yes," I said, matter of factly. "But I don't intend to stop, if you don't."

"Hang onto your ass, Clark," Monica chuckled.

"I am jealous though..." I added gently.

"What?" she asked in alarm.

"Not of what you are doing," I added hastily. "I'm just way behind you on material to share."

She snorted. "This from the guy who just jetted off to the Far East to bang exotic, leggy Vietnamese women with bad tits."

"Hey! Careful what you are saying! Bad teeth. I never in a million years said that she had bad tits. They just... Okay, they weren't that big, and they weren't that pert. I sure as hell enjoyed sucking on them, though. But... well, she just was very genital-centric when it came to sex That was where her focus always was."

Monica was laughing so hard, she almost spilt her wine.

The wine reminded me, we were late to cook the brats.

The fucking Braves chose the time we were in the kitchen, grilling the sausages on my stovetop grill, to hit a three-run homer and tie the game. We both groaned, if happily, when we returned to my living room and saw all the jubilation in the dugout. We both groaned, much less happily, when they struck out to end the inning now that we were watching again.

I plopped down on the couch next to Monica so we could share a single bowl of Doritos between us as we enjoyed our bratwursts. They were huge. I still ate two anyway, Monica only devoured one.

I belched before I could stop myself, and we both laughed. "Almost as good as at the ballpark," I said, patting my momentarily noisy stomach.

"Not even close, Clark," Monica shot back, keeping me from getting too ridiculously arrogant. She punched my shoulder.

Moments later, the bad guys hit a double, giving them men on second and third with two outs. Shit was getting real again, and we both leaned in toward the TV tensely. Their cleanup hitter was up and he was the kind of batter the shift was created for. The shift that had been recently outlawed.

"Still happy with the new rules now, you radical?" I asked, poking Monica in the ribs. I was careful to keep my finger well away from any... soft tissue.

"Fuck off, Clark," she murmured. The hitter popped up and we escaped the inning still tied.

We both sat back in relief on the couch. "That was close," Monica said, leaning over to her side a little. A lean which brought her shoulder to rest against mine.

The Braves put two men on... and stranded them.

The douchebags put a man in scoring position... and stranded him.

The Braves... put two men on and stranded them.

The hope and disappointment, the fear and relief, had us bouncing back and forth on the couch the whole time. By the end, Monica was practically snuggled against me. Do not for one second think that her progression against my side was missed be me in any way.

During an ad for beer that... was not up to beer ads of yore, Monica sighed. "What the fuck is this?" she murmured, half to herself, but loud enough for me to obviously hear.

I paused for a moment. How to answer?

"You are good with what you are doing, right?" I asked her, as idly as I could manage.

"Sitting a couch?" she asked, straightening up away form me.

"Eh," I said waving that off. "I mean, what you've been up to since your divorce. All the guys. The variety?"

She glared at me. "That pretty judgmental for a guy who keeps saying he doesn't think I'm a slut!"

I didn't rise to the bait... much. "Like I'm going to judge," I said, as casually as I could manage. "This one summer, I've been with more women than..." I did a quick mental inventory to double check. "Yep, I've been with more women this summer than I had in my entire life before now. That's why I'm asking. Are you good with it? Are you happy? Do you want to go on?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning back against me. "I do. It is... fun. And it is... oddly fulfilling."

I nodded. "I feel that way too, much as it kills me."

Now Monica actually snuggled down against me. Almost (almost) without thinking, I lifted my arm and pulled her against my side. She flowed under my embrace easily.

We sat there, not saying a word while each team added another run. We never said a word.

After the Braves squandered an opportunity to finally take the lead, I sighed again. "So why are the two of us snuggling all of a sudden on this couch?"

"Truly," Monica said, not moving an inch, and snaking her arm across my belly to hold me in turn. "We are supposed to be ages away from so much as looking at each other without feeling guilty flashbacks about being such assholes to Stain."

"Full confession," I said. "I have been happily checking you out without a single qualm since about three weeks after that whole mess happened."

"Thank you," Monica said, pushing her head of blonde hair against me. "For the record, I have been enjoying your stares guilt free from the beginning."

I chuckled. "So it would seem like this is our chance to maybe explore that relationship thing we skittered away from before?"

"Yeah," Monica said unhappily.

"Yeah," I sighed in reply. After a pause, I added, "But you really don't want to give up the new experiences."

"No," Monica said, still unhappy. "And you?"

"I'm skittish as hell about feeling locked in again. I... don't want to be trapped," I muttered. "And..."

"And?"

"And I also have been enjoying some pretty gratifying variety. I'm not sure I can give that up. Not any time soon..."

"Not ever?" Monica guessed, as if speaking for herself.

I shrugged.

"I've seen much of your variety. I don't blame you," she said drily.

"I've seen at least a segment of yours," I chuckled back. "You have some good taste, woman."

"Yes I do," she said, and suddenly, we were kissing. It was a nice kiss. A bonding kiss. Not a prelude kiss though.

"Whoa," Monica said, breaking it off.

"Yeah," I muttered.

Monica didn't pull away, but our cuddle morphed into a huddle, as we sat in silence for another while.

I heaved a sigh at last. "The thing is, Monica... I want you. I want to be with you. I want to always hang out with you. I want to bust each other's chops. I want to harass our friends together. I want to know you are there. And incidentally, I'm quite interested in balling your brains out on the extremely regular. And I do nott see any end point to those desires..."

Her eyes caught mine in a sparkling embrace.

I was running out of steam, but not out of nerves. "While I think this is what we both want, can we make it work?" We shared a doubtful gaze and I voiced our look. "I doubt it. Much as I want you, Monica, I can't see myself exposing myself to the faith test every day of my life again, just like I don't see you giving up a life of endless variety."

"I... I want all those things with you, too," she said slowly, a crease in her face between her lush blonde eyebrows. "But you are right," she said, pain in her voice. "I also am not sure that I could give up..."

We stared at each other silently. The douchebags put up a run, and neither of us even whined about it. I didn't want to give up... either.

I shrugged. "So we don't give it up."

Her eyes narrowed at me.

"We don't give up sleeping around," I said.

Her nostrils flared at that. "We let ourselves be together, but we still go off on our own?"

"Yes."

"Whenever we want?"

I shrugged.

"It sounds perfect," she said flatly. "It also sounds deranged." She thought just a moment. I marveled at the way I could already tell the times when I needed to wait and when I needed to speak between us.

"Also, you have gotten a little addicted to the variety yourself," she said teasingly.

"Also, I have gotten thoroughly addicted to some variety myself," I admitted good-naturedly.

So we sat there, closely, companionably, and fretted.

"You hear about open relationships," Monica said. "I've seen one or two. They always... Oh yeah, baby! Go! Go!"

"Outta here!" We both crowed triumphantly as the Braves center fielder jacked a solo homer down the left field line to tie it back up. Monica sat up long enough for us to high five, before she settled back against me.

Fortunately(?), she was not to be derailed from our conversation. "Relationships where the couple open things up always... mostly, seem to fail, though."

"I am not interested in any more failed relationships," I said.

"Exactly," Monica said, then fell silent.

"But we are agreed that we will both be miserable if we try to be just the two of us, and thus would probably fail" I said. "And we will probably fail if we do the open thing?" I was really, really not liking what I was saying.

Monica didn't agree aloud, but she obviously felt much the same way. "So, what do we do? Just keep being buddies and wait some more to see what happens?"

"I'm really not a fan of that approach," I said, pulling her tight against me once more.

An entire tight, scoreless inning went by and neither of us said a word. A McDonalds ad came on after the eighth, and the old Big Mac jingle popped into my head... Special Sauce...

"I say we go for it," I said swiftly, before I could chicken out. "I want us. We both want others, so be it. I mostly want us. There are details to hammer out, for sure, but let's be together, Monica!"

She flowed out of my arms and sat up to look at me. It didn't feel like she was withdrawing, just wanting to get a good look at me. "But we just agreed that that kind of relationship doesn't work! That's a helluva risk, Clark. I don't... I can't end up hating you."

"It has a chance to work for us, Monica. A good chance," I said earnestly.

"And we are so special because?"

"Because we have the special sauce," I said, triumphantly. "And most importantly, we have it before we start the relationship."

"The what?"

"Come here," I said, and she was willing to play along enough to snuggle in against me again, her curiosity and hope warring with skepticism. "So I have not heard about how I managed to find yet another set of my sheets from the guest room in my washer last weekend. Who won the lottery?"

"You are trying to prove to me that you are okay with my screwing other guys?" Monica asked sharply. "Or are you trying to prove it to yourself?"

"Who won the lottery?" I asked again simply.

"Nathan Webber," she said, with a little challenge in her voice.

"Short kid? Brown hair and the beard that is actually grown in?" I asked.

Monica nodded. "He's not that short, and I'm not sure how much of a lottery win it was for him."

I looked seriously at Monica. "Fuck off. If you are the prize pool, it's the goddamned lottery."

"Thank you," she said with a small smile. "Unfortunately, the poor kid had a ten-second fuse."

"Oh shit."

"Twice," she added.

"Oh the poor bastard," I said, my horror for him overlaid by unwanted humor.

Monica was also unable to keep from sniggering just a little. "We shouldn't laugh. I certainly shouldn't laugh. I missed out on a lot, too. That guy has such a nice cock," she mused in an almost wistful tone.

"Oh yeah?" I prompted. We were easing into our strange practice of telling tales once more. It felt comfortable. "Was it big, too?"

She looked up at me from under my arm. "A good bit bigger than yours, buddy," she said challengingly, watching for my reaction.

I just shrugged. I have always said that I have nothing to be ashamed or, nor nothing to crow about. I've never had a complaint, either. I waited for her to go on.

"I should have known he had a problem when I saw how nervous he was when I got him into your bedroom up there," she said, pointing to the second floor and back of the house. "But when I worked his pants down off him, that beast of his was not nervous at all."

"'That beast'? How big is he?" I asked in amusement and fascination.

"Not quite a tripod, but getting on toward it," Monica said with a smile. I just laughed. "But I should have known there was trouble brewing from the way it jerked and pulsed from the moment I first touched him. I knelt down and wrapped my lips around that head, which took some doing, and had barely run my tongue around it inside my mouth once when the poor kid yelps and groans at the same time and absolutely unloads in my mouth."

"Unloads?"

"I could barely swallow it all, and not just because it caught me off-guard," Monica said. She smiled and snuggled harder against me. "It was good too. After yours... and Stan's, it was about the best tasting cum I've ever had. I just didn't get to have any fun getting it!"

I was momentarily derailed from the story, which was saying something. "Stan?" I asked.

Monica liked up at me. "I told you, what little he did, he did very well, the fucker. Someday, if I ever feel better disposed toward him, I'll tell you what those things were. But they included providing tasty snacks."

This time we both laughed out loud.

"But that was it for poor Nathan?" I asked.

"Hardly," Monica said. "I wouldn't have had to change the sheets for that! No, after some folderol and encouragement... I had to do some very physical reassurance to get him to calm down about the quick pop. He liked that process. But eventually, he rallied. Let me tell you, watching that creature rise from limp to full flower was something you've just got to see."

"I'll pass on that experience," I said drily. Monica shot me a look that worried me for a second.

"Anyway, we rolled around on your guest bed for a while, before I lost patience myself and climbed on top of him. I figured that I could control the pace that way, you know?"

"Makes sense," I murmured.

"Nope. I had barely worked my way halfway onto that cock of his, before he unloaded again!"

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! And worse, both times, he went limp in seconds. I never got to work him all the way in," Monica said in frustration. "After that it was all reassuring, and stroking, and petting, and him apologizing and groveling like a defendant at a Communist show trial. Clark, he is such a sweet kid, but he has a problem."

"Bummer," I mused.

"Oh, it was still fun," Moinca said with a twinkle. "As I said, he was vavoom to look at, kissed really well, and there is a certain ego boost to be had when a guy creams himself from almost just looking at you."