Healing Matthew

Walking inside the room, Joan immediately smelled the foul odor of cigarette smoke, vomit and oh yeah, sex all over the place. Yeech. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she approached the bed just in time to see a naked blond emerge under the sheets.

"Come on handsome,let's fuck some more."

Who obviously didn't notice her standing just a few feet away.

"Give me that huge cock. I want it now baby. Inside me. Splitting me open..." And hel-lo there it is, halfway up and inside the blond's mouth faster than Joan could even say blowjob.

O-kay. Awkward? Not so much.

Joan rolled her eyes heavenward as Miss Playboy Playmate continued her one-woman assault by straddling Mr. Sleepy, inserted what needs to be inside her then pumped her way to heaven. She even pulled her own nipples and groaned and moaned all by herself.

Interesting.

Masturbation with a twist.

Enough already. Taebo is waiting to be crossed out on her Things To Do Today list, right next to Go see Matt. It's not like the blond didn't score last night. The entire room is reeking of it. "Sorry toots, time's up," Joan announced loudly making the blond bombshell glance her way in alarm, give out a squeak, pulled herself out of her...ahem, present position and jumped out of bed.

"Who the hell are you?" Miss P.P yelled as she gathered her things in haste.

Tricky.

What to tell Miss Playmate? Hmm..okay, the truth. "I'm the wife." She hoped Miss Playmate won't blabber about that piece of news though.

The blond's eyes widen in shock then ran outside the room without a stitch of clothes on muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

She approached the closed windows with a shake of her head and opened them, breathing in gulps of fresh air. What a relief. For a while there she thought she'll die of sex-soaked air suffocation. Sheesh. What an undignified way to die especially to someone who has not been laid for years.

Undignified and embarrassing.

"Hello wife."

"Hello yourself," Joan greeted back and walked towards the bed, sit beside the barely awake man and kissed him soundly on both cheeks. Then ruffled his hair fondly.

Matt sat up and groaned when the room tilted with his sudden move. Shit. "If I'm not too dizzy right now, I would complain about the kiss and the hair ruffling."

"You already did," Joan pointed out with a grin, "And you deserve every bit of room tilting, vomiting and everything that goes with a hung-over Mr. Price. You should have known better than to get drunk and bring home a Pamela Anderson clone."

"Have you seen her tits? How can anyone say no to those?"

"Rubber tits, however huge they were, are still icky," Joan replied with a snort, "The way she's pulling and twisting those nipples had been nightmarish to watch. It's like welcoming breast cancer in her life with open arms and neon-colored streamers to boot."

Matt throws her a look then burst out laughing. This in turn made her laugh.

"You are, without a doubt, a class act Jo. I haven't laughed that hard in days," Matt smilingly said, momentarily forgetting his hung-over to gaze fondly at the brunette by his side. Or the fact that it's been months since he last laughed. Technically, Joan Elizabeth Montgomery is his wife. Of ten years. They were married when she's eighteen and making a statement to her overprotective, ultra-wealthy family. While his been twenty-three then, another product of the ultra-rich, ultra-snob pretentious fuckers that are his parents. They both lived in Boston then, with lawyer fathers and socialite mothers. Not really friends because of the five-year gap and obvious difference in the world they evolved in. His the rebellious only son who dropped out of law school and the one that usually started gang fights and deadly car races while she's Harvard educated and completely wholesome.

Although they do know each other, it was during Joan's seventeenth birthday party that they connected. He was forced to attend it and hating that, decided to ditch the party after five minutes of polite talk to whoever his parents pulled him to talk to. Meaningless talk, however polite, is not his thing. Never will. So he went outside the Montgomery's palatial home, with every intention to leave when behind him Joan appeared. She was wearing jeans and a sweater. A drastic change from the peach, strapless gown she wore minutes ago. "Are you leaving?"

Fuck. "Yes."

"Can I leave with you?"

"Why? It's your birthday party."

"I don't want it. I never can stand parties. And dressing up. And fake people who smiles at you but the moment your back is turned will laugh at your huge butt or whatever imperfections you have."

He had look at Joan hard that night, weighing the honesty of her words. And she looked back, straight up. And then he knew. She's real. So he straightened, shrugged then smirked at her. "Your not afraid of fast cars are you?"

"I am. But that won't stop me from leaving."

He had been impressed with her honesty. So much so that when they're both inside his black Porsche and he was about to start the car, he couldn't resist quipping, "There's nothing wrong with your butt you know."

From which Joan answered sheepishly, "Thanks. I guess."

Complete with an ewwww expression on her face.

He laughed hard then too. Just like right now. However fucked his life get, Joan somehow manages to make him smile. And laugh. And forget.

It had been a good decision to follow her here in Pinewood. The small town Joan settled in after they got married. It was light years apart from their respective families which gave her the chance to live a normal, peaceful life. While he in turn settled in New York and became a full-fledged race car driver. They continued to be married in name only at first until they both became so involved with their respective lives that divorce was forgotten.

It's not like Joan would sue him for his affairs. Or vice-versa. Not that she have them. He seriously doubts Joan would sleep around. She's not the type. She could even still be a virgin for all he knows. She never mentioned anyone special the entire ten years they exchanged e-mails and phone calls. If it's not about the bakeshop, it's something else. But never about a man. He smiled as he tried to picture her expression when she saw the Pamela Anderson clone minutes ago.

"I'm sorry about Mike."

The smile completely left his face. "I don't need this right now Jo."

"I beg to disagree," she began then shifted to fully face him, "I read the news Matt. I watched TV. I saw with my own eyes how you tried to save him from the explosion. And I especially saw your face when you weren't able to do so. Six months after, you stopped racing and you've become a tabloid favorite. Running drunk and naked in Central Park, public sex with an eighteen year old groupie..... God knows how relieved I am when you showed up yesterday afternoon at the bakeshop, telling me you're on vacation. I'm so happy you're here. I had been worried. So worried I actually contemplated going to New York."

He remained quiet.

"We need to talk about this Matt."

He shook his head. "No."

"You can't out-smoke, out-drink and out-sex the pain," Joan persisted wanting him to open up and talk about it. God knows the accident had been six months ago. And Mike's dead. However hurtful the process may be, Matt had to move on.

To heal.

"It does. Especially the sex. When I'm banging someone senseless, the sensation clouds the memory of..... Fuck it Jo!" Matt snapped angrily, "It's not like you would understand anyway! You haven't even experienced an orgasm all your life."

Joan snorted. "Of course I did!"

"Yeah right."

"This talk is not about my sex life or lack thereof Matt. You're deliberately turning the conversation around to avoid talking about Mike. Fine. If that's what you want then so be it. I'll leave you alone. You know where to find me if you need me."

Exasperated, Joan stood up to leave but was stopped by Matt's hand on her right wrist. "I don't want us to fight. Come back here."

"We're not fighting," she said and grudgingly sat down again.

Matt sighed and pulled her closer. Wrapping his muscular arms around Joan, he gave her a hug. "I don't know when I will be able to talk about Mike. And you're probably right; I can't out-smoke, out-drink or out-sex the pain at all. I went here to be with you. To forget, at least for awhile, everything that happened. It may not be the healthiest way of handling my situation but it sure does hell beats trashing my life with booze and casual fucks."

Joan sighed. "I hate to remind you but that's what you did last night."

Inspite of the seriousness of the conversation, Matt can't help but tease her. "If you only welcomed me in your bed, I would not end up with the clone."

"Hello, I'm not your type."

He pushed her away from him and shook his head. "I'm not your type."

Joan nodded. "That's right. It doesn't impress me at all when a man five years my senior, who's barely an acquaintance too, comments on how okay my butt was at age seventeen. Creepy old pervert."

They exchange smiles at the memory. Then he leaned and planted a quick kiss on Joan's naturally pouty lips and went back to cuddling. All without malice of course.

Then Matt made the mistake of shifting to a more comfortable position pulling the sheet that covered his lower body down and that's when he saw his dick, all hard and standing to full attention.

Unfortunately, so did Joan.

Their eyes met and held.

Hello trouble.