Mallie's One Night Plan

For now, he held on for dear life, watched his cock being expertly sucked, and thought of the old Rocky Balboa line that Rock used in describing his interest in Adrian to her brother, Paulie, in understated eloquence, "Hey, yo, she got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps."

Mallie's oral gap was soon to be filled with another hot burst of John's semen, and mallie recognized the long-forgotten sensation of a man's impending explosion, so she pulled away slightly, continued to stroke John fervently with both hands now, and demanded, "My face, cum on my face."

So he did. Again and again and again, the stream eventually oozing down onto Mallie's big tits, and she scooped it up as one would do with a dripping ice cream cone, and lathered the cum on her finger tip and licked it up. Yum. Vanilla pecan.

Now that she had completed her mission, Mallie couldn't get dressed fast enough and rebuffed John's efforts to hug and embrace her. She walked briskly back down the trail, John following hopelessly behind, unable to match her expedient gait, and Mallie went straight past the winery's gift house and to the car in the parking lot. The elderly vineyard owner was on the look-out for the lovers' return, however, having been alerted by his grandson about the outdoor carnal display the young lad had witnessed. The man watched Mallie race by his window, cum still splattered on her hair, and thought to himself, "That must have been one helluva picnic."

Mallie was silent on the drive back to her own car, refusing to acknowledge John's gentlemanly efforts to ask her what was wrong, slapping his hands away repeatedly as he tried to console her with soft touches on the leg. Her mind was a mess, she wanted only to be alone. Again. Yes, she had just been fucked, and had the hottest raw sex that she had ever enjoyed, but her insides churned in confusion. The drive home went in a flash, and she rushed from John's car to her own, ignoring his pleas, "Mallie, wait, please, will I ever see you again? Mallie?"

She called over her shoulder to John, "Sorry, that's not my plan." He gazed at her forlornly, truly heartbroken.

She checked into her hotel, ignoring the desk clerk's startled stares at this beautiful woman's condition, hair askew, blouse still half-unbuttoned, and what appeared to be a white, sticky substance matting her forehead. When she finally procured the key, she literally ran to her hotel room, stripped off her clothes, and dashed for the shower, wishing the water would drown her sorrow.

She emerged from the shower and curled up, naked, in the fetal position on her hotel bed, and rocked herself back and forth, sobbing. She realized all too well that this wasn't what she wanted, after all. She was still alone, unable to convey any affection, any emotional attachment, and she had just run away from the nicest man and the most talented lover, a combination that she so desired, craved, and she would never see him again, she knew.

She was ashamed of herself, depressed, and wondered if she would ever be able to have a normal, loving relationship again. It wasn't just sex that she needed, Mallie now realized. It was love. I need someone to love me, and for me to love them with all my heart, she thought, as she sobbed herself to sleep.

After driving home the next morning, Mallie spent the rest of her weekend determined to prepare to absorb herself again in her job, essentially denying the ambivalent emotions within her, hoping that if she just ignored her self-disgust, the feelings would eventually abate, she could forget about the weekend, and John, and just go about her own lonely existence. Life was easier that way, less painful.

She arrived a bit later than usual on Monday morning, as school was still out for the summer and it was not a busy time. it was almost ten when she arrived at her office door and saw them. Two dozen roses at the foot of her office doorstep. She was stunned.

She opened the card's envelope hesitantly and read the words of the first line that John Lennon had written many decades ago, but they were timeless, and oh, so appropriate right now.

"Life is what happens when you're busy making plans, Mallie."

The next line contained only her weekend lover's own words. It was exactly what she needed to hear, and her heart opened like the Grinch's on Christmas morning as she read them.

"I could love you. Please let me. Love, John."

They were married fifteen months later.