Just in the Neighborhood

She pats my hand. "That's why it should be a girl thing for now, Ben," she says. "We're quite good at controlled anger. My first priority is to get Sophie to tell both of us the whole story, so that might take a while. You know, I wish I had someone like you I could call over, to hang out with you."

"I'll manage," I tell her. "Usually when I get super worked up, I'll go play some dumb video game where you always win. I think that's the way to go."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," she says, "but I'm going to back it. And listen, it should go without saying, but, all plans are on hold unless and until you and Carla decide otherwise. Right?"

I start nodding. "You know, it's the funniest thing. If we could somehow trust our girls alone together anymore, honestly, I'd have just you over to hang out with me and Carla. Even though I'm a little pissed at you, I feel like we're all in it together, now."

"Oh, Ben!" she says. I can't tell, but I think her eyes are getting wet. "Do you know that that's the sweetest thing any man has said to me in years? Literally, years?"

"Well that is a damn shame," I tell her, "but you know what? You've got time. Let's try to sort this shit out, then who knows? Maybe someday you'll come over for dinner and introduce me to my new future best friend."

"Someday," she says. She withdraws her hand and knocks back the rest of her drink.

With a wave, I let her know she can just leave the glass. With another, I give her the quick'n'easy directions to Erika's room. It's not a huge house. She's opening the door to the bedroom less than a minute later.

Before I stand up, I hear Stephanie launching her opening salvo. "Well, well, well, Miss Swami, Miss Sophie. It's truth time..."

I head to the computer room -- one of only two main two rooms upstairs, and as close to a man cave as I have. I boot up some stupid video game where I'm a barbarian or ninja or some other bullshit, and I run around killing and winning and looting like a maniac whose problems are just opportunities he hasn't smashed or murdered yet.

The sound drowns out whatever's happening downstairs, and you know what? I think it's for the best. I don't have any more to drink. One beer and one bourbon was just the right amount.

*******

Carla's on her side, facing me in our bed. I'm a little taken aback. She's usually rolled over and settled in before I'm done in the bathroom. I'm not sure what else there is to talk about. Erika is "grounded" for two weeks, which means she lost her phone and can't hang out with friends after school. Like hell are we pulling her off the track team; she's applying to colleges, and that's one more feather in her cap that might get her in somewhere slightly better. That means we have to let her go to practices and meets, though, which feels like it turns "grounding" into "grounding-lite."

Stephanie's in the doghouse with me, but we both already know there's some hope for the future. She and Carla seemed to part on good terms. They must have bonded while tag-teaming the girls. God dammit, everything sounds sexual now. It was funny the first time, but now it makes me mad.

I have a sinking feeling that two weeks of separation aren't going to do much of anything, as far as the two lovebirds are concerned. We're going to have to deal with the reality that our little girl has a girlfriend, and that, at least in the blazing-high-school-romance sense of the word, it's serious. We also have to deal with the fact that Erika's had sex -- like, a lot of sex. I can think of quite a few idioms I might deploy to sum up our parental predicament, and they all sound creepy and gross. Genies, bottles, ringing bells, floodgates that have already opened, dams that have already burst... and, yeah, go ahead. Do it. You know you want to. Call them dykes. Ha-ha. Fuck you.

"She was already so grown up, Ben," Carla says.

Well, okay, we're talking about it some more. Fuck me in that wonderfully non-literal sense.

"She was responsible. She was -- no, is kind. She's driven. She screwed up really, really badly, but she's smitten. And you know, it could be worse. She's not going to get pregnant. She's not going to get some disease."

"You don't know that," I counter.

"Stephanie told me Sophie gets tested, Ben," she says. "Do you really want me to remind you why?"

That makes me feel like shit. I shake my head, but I don't want to concede the whole point. "What if this is just the smoke, Carla, and not the fire? Sophie lied. She hid things. She had sex with our -- with Erika, both at her house, and at our house. Now that we know that, are we really out of bounds worrying about other stuff that she might be up to? Stephanie works a lot. She admitted that Sophie is 'very independent.' I don't like it. Assumptions are bad in both directions. Maybe we all got conned by a Hallmark story we wanted to believe."

Carla sighs and reaches out for me. Of course I can't rebuff her. Her hand on my face feels like going back in time ten years or more. I reach up and stroke it as it strokes me. She hesitates for a moment when I touch her, but I make that worry go away. She moves in closer. She's warm. I'm pissed off, but not at her. She did some heavy lifting today. She was a good mom, and she's my beautiful wife.

"I love you," I say.

Her eyes light up and melt at the same time. My heart reacts the same way.

"I love you, too, Benji," she says. "Come here. Scootch down. Snuggle in."

I can't resist that either. I do exactly what she tells me to do, and the feeling of her breasts near my face, even through her pajamas, instantly soothes me. She wraps her arms around me, and for the first time in years, she's the one kissing my head.

"I'm a full-time mom," she says. "I feel like I have a purpose again. I'm going to keep Erika on the straight and narrow."

See what I mean about everything being sexual? I'm not mad anymore, though. I'm being soothed. I'd call it a dirty trick if I weren't so happy.

"After the two weeks, though," she says, "I... They're going to try to find a way, Benji. We basically have to ground her until she goes to college, or try to adapt to the reality that she's almost an adult. Is it really so bad if they're... with each other? As long as I'm making sure her grades, her sports, her chores, and all that are taken care of?"

I moan in protest, but it's lame. I'm not mad enough. "I don't know, Carla."

She kisses me again. Her hands are everywhere. She's getting even warmer. She starts moving her legs.

"Benji," she says, "how about we table it for now? She's grounded for two weeks. We have time."

I nod into her.

"We're not, though," she says.

"Not what?"

"Grounded."

I make to pull away and scootch back up, but she doesn't let me. "No," she says. "Lower. Go down, Benji. Go down."

Disbelief lasts exactly one second. Then I'm on my way. She's rolling on her back and lifting her hips. Both of us are getting her pajamas and underwear off; we're a team, and that, by itself, feels incredible. With one whiff, I can tell she cleaned herself up before bed, and that's she's already a little bit aroused. Surprise doesn't stop me like disbelief did. I'm feeling it, though, even as I'm moving my head down between her spreading legs, spelunking in the dark without any safety gear.

I navigate by smell, by heat, by the feeling of hair everywhere, and, finally, by softness and just a hint of inner wetness. I can't even remember how she likes it; I feel like a virgin.

Her hands are in my hair. "Just lick, baby," she whispers. "I'll move you around once I feel you."

My lips and tongue both caress her outer folds. My cheeks and chin are tickled all around, but I don't let it stop me. I lick one hairy lip and then the other; she urges me towards the center, and slightly up. When my tongue threatens to graze her button, she pushes down.

"Not yet," she says. "Below it first."

I take the note, and begin licking again. Her heat grows; I smell the wetness before I feel or taste it. It's just at the bottom of where my licks begin.

"Little harder," she says. "Little faster." Her hips are starting to move. I'm starting to remember. I get my fingers ready. She feels me squirming, I think, and I imagine her smiling.

"Almost," she says. "Just one for now. Ease me back into it."

I grip her thighs; she twitches and moans. I don't try to hold her still. I just lightly massage and let my hands follow her rocking motion. Her hands help keep my mouth and tongue where they need to be.

"Okay."

I release one thigh and bring a finger to her entrance. It's hot and wet. I find the opening and slide my middle finger inside. There's no resistance at all, but once it's in there, I can feel her inner strength. She intentionally squeezes a few times, and then feel her quiet laughter above me more than I hear it.

"Hi," she whispers happily.

I wave hello with my finger. She likes that.

"Another."

I withdraw, then reenter with two fingers. There's still only the slightest resistance. I rotate them until my palm faces up. I go exploring, and more memories return. My tongue is still working; I'm using my neck and head to compensate for my flagging stamina. Carla's merciful, and uses her hands and arms to help me, too. It's been a long time. We both had more endurance way back when.

I find the spot inside and start working it. Carla's full-on humping, and the way she pushes my face into her blazing core is yet more proof that she's not faking anything. She wants me, and that's setting my whole body on fire. I'm not hard, but I can still feel my heartbeat down there.

Finally, it's time. She urges my head up. She doesn't even change its position, really; it's more about letting me know that it's time to lick right next to her clit -- my left side and her right, hard and fast, letting the vibrations, the heat, and just a hint of sidelong contact do the work. My nose is full of her scent and her bush. I ignore the tickling and the scraping everywhere. I ignore the cramping and the aching. I'm so close to the finish line; hers is mine. It's victory. I know I can do it. I have to.

My fingers go crazy inside of her. Between their motion and the bucking of her hips, I can barely tell what spots I'm hitting, if any at all. It must be good, though, because another set of sounds triggers another memory.

Air rushes into her nose. It's so loud that it's almost a grunt. That's the sound. That's the last step.

She bucks up and stays there while the rest of her shudders. Then her ass slams back onto the bed. Her hands are grabbing at me; they don't know what to do. They want to push my face harder into her, or yank my head all the way to her breasts or her hungry mouth. They want to hit me -- not out of malice, but just as a safety valve for the sheer intensity of it. My beautiful wife, forty-eight years old, just came harder than she has in over a decade. I know it. The memories are flooding back.

"Get it in me," she heaves.

She lets go. I withdraw my fingers, release her thigh, reach down and shuck off my bottoms. I don't bother with the shirt. Hers is still on, too. I get up on my knees; I tug and grab at my cock furiously. It doesn't cooperate, of course, because I'm forty-nine years old and life isn't fair.

"God dammit," I whisper.

"Up!" Carla says urgently. "Up!"

I'm paralyzed; I don't know what she's asking -- and hoping she's not yelling at my stupid cock. She's huffing in frustration, then scrambling around on the bed. She's on her hands and knees in the dark, and then, when she senses I'm near, she grabs onto me.

"Let me suck," she says.

Let her suck? Why, yes, I will let her suck.

I find her body -- her head, most importantly -- and, between the two of us, we get my twitching, throbbing, flaccid, stupid-piece-of-shit cock into her mouth.

It's sensory overload for me. It's been so long that I can't handle it. It's like she's doing that trick with her tongue right on the underside, but on the whole cock at once. She's the cat kneading its paws into the dog in that cartoon. I'm the dog, and I am not going to let anything stop her from torturing me.

"Oh my god," I whisper. "So good." It's sort of a lie. Fuck me and fuck my stupid cock. I don't care. "Keep going, baby, please. It's so good."

She doesn't need to warn me not to cum. She's not an idiot. She finds my balls, then my taint. I'm clutching her soft hair, but it doesn't put her off. She works like me like she used to; I have no idea where she's getting the energy. I'm still sore from pleasuring her, and she just came like a thirty-year-old.

Finally, finally, my cock starts stiffening up. As soon as it happens, she's off of it, and she's turning around and crawling forward.

"Like a bitch, Benji," she says. "I know you love it. Fuck me like a bitch."

My hand is already back on my cock. This time, its efforts are conciliatory, not angry. It's doing things the right way: changing up the grip and tempo to keep things exciting. My eyes have barely adjusted to the darkness -- just enough so I can fumble my way into position. When my cock gets close to its target, one of Carla's hands is already waiting for it, because her beautiful, womanly cunt is done waiting.

We slide it home together, and I want to weep. She quiets her joyous, surprised moan, and that makes it even sexier. I caress her plump ass cheeks. I scoot forward, pushing my hard-enough-for-married-sex cock as deep into her fiery wetness as I can.

"Wish you could spank," she breathes out. "Too loud. Grab. Squeeze. Fuck. Please."

I dig my hands into her ample flesh. I squeeze, hard, and she stifles more groans. I start thrusting my hips; I'm relieved I remember how, but I know I won't be able to go for very long. I need to start working out again. I have the errant hope that this can be a part of that new regimen.

Carla's pussy isn't tight, but that doesn't matter. I angle down and drag the underside of my cock along her wall. She shudders and groans. Her top half, still clothed, sinks down. She arches her back -- convex, not concave.

"Scratch," she pleads.

I release her ass and bring my hands up. I scratch quickly and vigorously, all the way up and down. It's a parody of a backrub, but it's what she likes. She likes the tiny hint of pain, followed by the paradoxical heat, striking her everywhere, almost at random. I can barely keep up with the thrusting at the same time.

"Little more," she says. I don't know what it means. Then I feel her hand near my cock. She starts playing with herself. I'm baffled, but I redouble the scratching and try my hardest to keep fucking her properly. She works herself over. I hear the heavy breathing again.

She cums. Her fiery tunnel crushes my cock, and almost pushes it out. I grab her ass again and push in, hard, refusing to be denied -- refusing any possible excuse for us to be finished before I cum. I need to be harder, though, and I think I know how to make it happen. I release her ass with my right hand, stick my thumb in my mouth to get it wet, and then reach back down, probing for her back door. I find it and start teasing.

"Oh!" she gasps. Her orgasm extends another second or two before cooling off. My cock swells.

"Just tease," she begs. "It's been too long."

Yes, it has been -- and no, I'm not going to be the jerk who sticks something in the other hole without permission. The feel of her pucker against my thumb, plus the noises she's making -- surprise, pleading, heaving, moaning -- get me a little harder inside of her.

That's hard enough. I know I can cum.

"Can I go harder?" I ask.

"Mmmmm," she replies. "Fuck me, Benji. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

I stop teasing her asshole and resume my iron grip on both cheeks. She knows I need help, so she moans and groans as loudly as she dares every time I thrust in, drag out, or squeeze her flesh. She even makes that special coo that's designed by nature to coax cum out of a cock. I'm sore as hell. I know she is, too, and probably about to collapse after her second orgasm of the night. I force myself into the vicious headspace where I'm not making love anymore. I'm fucking a bitch. I'm breeding her. She's all mine.

My orgasm hits us both. She can feel it when my cockhead swells; when I hold myself as deep inside of her as I can, she knows what's coming. I feel the quiver halfway between my balls and my asshole, and it shoots up through my cock and into my beautiful wife. I collapse down on her and rut while I finish. I completely miss her shoulder with my head, and it threatens to slump all the way down to the mattress next to her. I hear her start to laugh. It's the best sound I've heard all night.

"Love you," I wheeze. There were more words there, but I didn't have the strength. I should've recited an entire sonnet.

"Love you," she whispers back. "My Benji. My stud. You fucked me." She sounds so happy.

I did fuck her. I fucked my beautiful wife. One data point does not make a trend, but I'm already thinking about point two, point three, and point four. I'm thinking about how to fuck her better, so she'll always want to fuck again.

She came twice, though. That's weird. It's good-weird. It's amazing-weird.

"I'm going to join a gym," she says.

I laugh, or try to. I'm still not quite there yet. It's perfect, though -- the perfect abrupt, wifely transition out of sex. She even sounds like she's making a shopping list or reminding me to take out the garbage.

"What?" she asks, sounding a little hurt. "Stephanie has a free guest membership. It won't cost us anything."

"Not you," I say. "Me. Gym. Good idea. Read my mind."

With that, I slump down completely. My cock is so soft that the twists and turns it takes on its way out of Carla don't hurt at all. She sinks down onto the bed and rolls over to face me. I just sort of lay there, mostly on my stomach.

"Oh!" she says, happy again. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Benji. I love you so much."

"Love you, too, baby," I reply. "Must. Clean. Up. Can't. Move."

Carla, ever the helpful spouse, pokes me and tickles me until I grab her some tissues. Then I clean myself up, too, though not thoroughly. She gets up to use the bathroom. I just can't. When she comes back, I've barely moved. It takes me another ten minutes to shift myself over to my side. She does the rest of the work to make me the big spoon; she's wearing panties, but she kept her bottoms off. That's incredibly sexy, but I do not have a single shred of energy left to do anything about it. My naked, flaccid cock rubs against the silky fabric. Still nothing. It's okay. He did the best he could. He was just as surprised as me, obviously.

I sigh into Carla's head, and I feel sleep coming to take me away. I know that doesn't make sense, because I also feel like I just ran a marathon. I wasn't chasing sleep, but I sure as hell caught up to it.

We are going to be so sore tomorrow. It was worth it. Hell, I don't care if I have to fuck her in a wheelchair tomorrow night. If she's in the mood again, we'll figure it out.

*******

I walk in the front door, and I still ache. Work was hell. Whatever sense of accomplishment carried over from last night was not the proverbial wind beneath my wings. Carla and I are going to compare notes on just how much ibuprofen we popped over the last twelve hours; we implied as much over our quick good-morning-and-goodbye kisses.

I do everything slowly -- especially removing my shoes. That gives Erika time to walk down the hall from her room to greet me. There's no sound of that door opening or closing. It's open all day, for at least the next two weeks.

I see her, and give her a wan smile. "Hey, Kiki-bear."

The change is instant, and it catches me off guard. She goes from shy and nervous to vulnerable -- almost weepy. "Really?" she asks, and it does just about everything to my heart, all at once.