tagLoving WivesOne Piece of Paper

One Piece of Paper


He lay in bed in the darkness, cocooned in the safety of his invisibility, but he couldn't hide from his mind. His pulsing erection demanded attention as he thought of her, his open eyes staring at the ceiling above that he couldn't see, his mind showing her to him in the room above it. He emitted a sound somewhere between a sob and a growl, and encircled his long, thick cock with his fingers.

Just a matter of feet above him, not even three metres in modern parlance, almost close enough to touch, she would be lying in her own bed. Naked. Her black skin, no, his mind baulked at that, she wasn't black, though she wasn't white. He silently cursed the politically correct. Her skin was the colour of coffee cream, neither white nor black, just gorgeous.

Yes, she was now a shade of grey that had once been white, metaphorically speaking, but Marijka was a woman that could only be appreciated in the fullness of colour, and she took his breath away. His mind showed him the contrast between her crisp, white bedsheets and the gloriously waving tangle of her long dark hair spread over her pillow. It showed her naked, a sheet barely covering her lower half, her full breasts bared rising and falling gently in sleep, her soft lips moist and the expression on her beautiful face dreamy.

In his mind she moved, the sheet slipped, and her legs parted as she turned in sleep. He saw the exquisite curves of her then, the soft fullness of her breasts with their liquorice nipples in repose, the tapering of her narrow waist and the exciting flair of her hips, the firm roundness of her delicious ass and the length of her spectacular, shapely legs. His mind showed her to him void of body hair, though he didn't, couldn't know what her preference was in that regard, it showed her to him as he wanted her to be, and by God he wanted her, but should he? Could 'they' ever be? Regardless for now, he saw the exciting, smooth rise of her pubis that heralded the delicious plunge into her core.

He moaned softly as his hand started to move slowly up and down on his engorged cock, and in his mind he was in her room, not the guest room. He was stood looking down at the awesome, exotic beauty of her, the truest friend he had ever known in his life, and the loveliest person with it. His own sheet slipped from his powerful thighs and his cock pointed directly at the object of his desire directly above as he stroked it, surrendered to it and his lusty thoughts.

How many times had he paced the room beneath hers, either crying hopelessly or burning with desire for her? Whichever it had been, he needed her. Her sunrise smile warmed him somewhere deeper inside of him than the the sun itself could actually reach, where history had left him cold. Frozen. Hurting. She warmed him. She was life and hope and the future and ... hopeless!

He released his aching cock, voiced his anger by way of a frustrated growl and turned onto his side. He shouldn't think of her like that. It wasn't fair. She had stood by him, not his cheating wife with whom she had been friends first, but him! He shouldn't defile their friendship with his seedy thoughts after all her kindness!

Yet, they weren't seedy at all. Through all his pain, and hers, through all his suffering and anguish, for all his desperate need of somebody, anybody, she had been there, never asking nor wanting anything in return. She'd just been there, a coffee cream angel to watch over him, and he didn't dream of fucking her senseless, he dreamed of kissing her with all of the passion his damaged heart could summon, of caressing her reverently. He dreamed of loving her. Was that so wrong?

He rolled onto his back again, a sheen of sweat coated his restless body and his cock still ached. His mind ached. His hand returned to his throbbing erection and gripped it tightly. His mind was in her room again, looking down at her, wanting her so much, wanting to lie down with her and touch her, to feel the beautiful warmth of her against him, to hold her so close and never let go. He saw her beautiful brown eyes open as his weight on her bed roused her, saw the welcome of her smile, her arms reaching for him, heard her soft, sensual gasp as his hardness pressed against her, as his lips joined with hers, as his hands so gently stroked her stunning body, as his mouth devoured hers, her neck and throat in a steadily southward course.

His stroking hand grew quicker, more determined, as he left his morals beneath the sheet on the floor if only for this moment, and his mind took him to her fully as he nuzzled and sucked on her perfect breasts, as her hands pushed his shoulders down, over her flawless belly, the smooth and exciting rise of her pubis and into the liquid heat of her sex, where his tongue tazered her, arching her back and soliciting the hottest moan from her moist, parted lips, her hand in his hair pressing him closer to her as her hips rose to him and her silky thighs caressed his ears.

His own back arched, alone in the guest bed, his hips rose to meet his hand and his strokes grew faster, more purposeful, more urgent, yet the guilt of his thoughts stung his eyes. His mind shut out that though as she writhed for him, their moans different in tone yet so in sync in purpose, their bodies burned for each other as she cried out, thrust her hips frantically at him as she called out his name. Trevor. His lips curled up in a self-deprecating smile. It was hardly the name such a sensual beauty as she should be calling out in her desires, but it was his name. His mind took him back upstairs and she wrenched him from her, her nails gouging him as she dragged him up and over her, fingers gripping his hips as she pulled him to her, into her, and he buried himself deeply inside her wet heat and wallowed in the woman that she was.

She matched him thrust for thrust, making love to him as surely as he did to her, moved beneath him in perfect rhythm, an erotic ballet for two. Perfect. Unrehearsed. So sensual and yet so blisteringly hot, so erotic and yet so earthy, so loving and yet so utterly desperate, so needy, as they gave all of themselves to each other, their cries and moans escalating in volume, their bodies responding more urgently to each other until their collective dams burst and he flooded her with his essence and she clung on to him as she was swept away in the passion of the moment.

He sobbed as his hot emissions splashed onto his chest and dribbled onto his belly, the guilt taking over the need, the logic taking over the burning desire. He lay trembling for the longest time, his cock now soft in his hand, yet not satisfied, not satisfied at all. His need to love and to be loved still uppermost and still unquenched, his confusion more rampant than his loins now.

He hauled himself from his bed and padded to the en suite to clean himself up, ashamed of his actions, by his inability to control them. He was forty-eight! He was wanking like a teenager for a woman he just wasn't good enough for!Yet still, as he washed the evidence of his nocturnal pursuits from his body, his eyes turned to the ceiling longingly and his heart ached for her.

He grabbed his robe, a brand new towelling one that dropped to below his knees, and quietly slipped out of his room in search of a cold drink.


"Tell me you're kidding me!" Marijka shouted, rising to her feet and glaring at her lifelong friend, "Tell me this is just a sick joke!"

"What?" Zoey answered, equally angrily, "I'm baring my soul here and you think it's a joke!"

"Baring your soul?" Marijka responded, the fight draining from her as quickly as it had started. She slumped back into her seat. "Is that what you think you're doing? Really?"

"No," Zoey sobbed, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"You got that right at least, you stupid bitch!" her friend responded, "And how long has this been going on for?"

"Seven months!" Zoey said quietly.

"Seven fucking months!" Marijka repeated, "That isn't a one-off mistake, Zoey, that's an affair!"

"I can just end it and he'll never know, it won't hurt him. It's what they say to do in the problem pages, even in psychology magazines that's what they advise," Zoey said.

"You want shitty advice from 'Dear Deirdre' you go right ahead and write to her," her friend bristled, "All those people do is condone cheating, all they do is to tell people that it's okay to betray and lie to the one that you're supposed to love without suffering any consequences so long as they can get away with it. They just give people like you an easy way out with no thought to the one they shit all over! They don't think once about the poor bitch or bastard who did nothing wrong!"

"Marijka!" Zoey gasped, shocked.

"Have you forgotten how my marriage ended already?" Marijka asked. Zoey reacted as if she'd been slapped, with shocked silence. "If you could just end it and forget about it, Zoey, why have you waited seven fucking months to do it?"

"I," Zoey started, paused to catch a sob in her throat, "I," she tried again, "Because I, umm, because I can't fucking end it, okay?" she admitted.

"So," Marijka went on, a little more calmly now that her lifelong friend was being honest with her at last, "Are you leaving Trevor?"

"No way!" Zoey responded, "He'll have a queue a mile long to choose from if he's ever single again and that ain't going to happen!"

"Yes and I'll be at the fucking front of it and why is that?" she hissed.

Zoey's lips trembled and more tears spilled onto her pretty face. "Because he's a wonderful man," she said brokenly.

"A wonderful man who doesn't lie, who treats you right, whom you've told me is all any woman could want in bed, a man who's been a superb father to your boys and whom you've totally fucked over. And for what?" she demanded, "For what Zoey?"

Zoey was having trouble holding herself together. She'd never anticipated such a hostile reaction from her closest friend, despite her marriage having ended after her husband had had an affair. She gulped in deep breaths and steadied herself, but she couldn't answer the question.

Marijka went on. "Is he hung like a mule? Does he get you off better than Trevor? Is he younger and fitter? Does he gets his mates to gang fuck you, WHAT Zoey?"

"No, no, no," Zoey responded, "It's not seedy like that. He's a nice guy, he's attentive and charming. Yes younger, but not a kid, he has kids of his own!"

Marijka's eyes flared at her friend, but her tone was calm now, dangerously so. "Oh my God, he's married isn't he?" Zoey could only nod in response. "You are such a fool." Marijka stood up, her long legs carrying her across the room quickly and with feline grace, the anger gone now. "You have to tell Trevor and you have to come up with some better defences and arguments if you want to keep him." She fiddled with glasses and ice and sat down once again next to her friend, or the woman that used to be her friend, she didn't know any more. "Here," she said softly, handing Zoey a glass.

"How can I tell him, Mari?" Zoey sobbed.

"You should have thought of that," Marijka began but stopped herself. "I don't know but you have to. You owe him the truth and he should hear it from you. It'll come out sooner or later, it always does."

"What will he think?" Zoey said, her voice barely a whisper.

"He'll wonder if it's the first, and if not how many there have been before," she answered sadly, "And he'll wonder why you're telling him this time. He'll think that everything you ever had together was a sham, a lie. He'll wonder who you are because he won't know. He'll be hurt like you've never been, he'll be angry and confused and scared." Marijka paused to sip at her own drink, remembering the way that she had felt when she'd found out.

"Why couldn't you forgive Boyd and get passed it?" Zoey asked.

"I could've maybe gotten passed that he'd screwed some bitch," she answered, "But I never could get passed the deceit and lies, the betrayal of trust. For me that was the issue more than the sex."

"Do you think that Trevor can?"

"Right now all you can do is hope he can," she answered.

"I don't like those odds, I won't tell him," Zoey blurted.

"Not an option Zoey," her friend said quietly, "Because now that I know you have to. If you don't tell him I won't have a choice. He's been my friend as long as you have and I will not be implicated in your web of lies by keeping quiet. He really should hear it from you, though." Marijka knew that she was about to lose one of her closest friends and her sadness almost overwhelmed her.

Zoey drained her glass and put it carefully on the table, realising that she'd heard what she'd come to hear. It was too late to change her mind now, all she could do was throw herself at Trevor's mercy and as her friend had said, hope. She still didn't know how she could tell him though.

"I'm sorry Mari," she said as she rose to her feet, "Will you be there for him if he needs a friend?"

"You better believe it, Zoey," Marijka replied, "He was always there for me."

"So was I," Zoey said sadly.

Marijka nodded. "I know, but Trevor didn't bring this on did he?" She took a deep breath and stayed seated as Zoey crossed the room and didn't relax until the front door slammed behind her, then she exhaled slowly. "Jesus, what a fucking mess!" she said out loud, then crossed the room to pour herself another drink.

It had been four years since her world had shattered in similar circumstances. She and her husband Boyd had two girls, thankfully grown up and living away by then, just like Zoey's boys were, all three of them. Marijka's girls had shut their father out since, wanted nothing to do with him despite her own attempts to keep him in their lives, and to this day still urged her constantly to 'get dating' and 'live' again. It was hard though.

Boyd had been her first and only lover, and he'd left her longing for the cosy nights in, just sitting and reading together, separate books but cuddled up on the sofa, or watching a movie, those intimate things that couples do that aren't sexual, as well as the tenderness and heat of lovemaking and the blissful contentment afterwards, but despite the longing she was just too scared of it. It was a perfect irony, fearing that which you wanted the most. To be too scared of getting hurt again to try.

In all of those four years Zoey and Trevor had been there for her. It had been only a few months back that Trevor had called in on Valentine's Day on his way home from work to give her a small bouquet of flowers, to remind her as he did every year since Boyd left town, that a beautiful woman should always have flowers on Valentine's Day. He always had a bigger bouquet on the back seat of his car for his wife, and Zoey knew well enough what he did, but that was Trevor. Poor bastard!

Then she remembered what she'd said to Zoey about being 'at the front of the queue' for him if he was suddenly single, and shook her head sadly, her long dark mane swishing about her shoulders, a tumble of soft flowing waves. That could never happen. They'd been too close as friends for too long and the risk of losing that was just too great, but she would be there for him. She promised him that silently.

"God damn you, Zoey!" she said quietly to the empty room, "How could you do this to him?"

- - - - -

Trevor had lingered in work later than usual that Thursday night, having nothing to rush home for for the foreseeable. Zoey had been a little 'off' for a few days after her regular Friday lunch with Marijka, enough to make him concerned.

When he'd gotten home from work the previous night she'd told him that her Dad wasn't well, nothing to be alarmed about but with her Mum's arthritis and their senior years it was hard for them to cope when one of them was down. Relieved, he'd told her to drive over there for as long as it took to get her Dad up and running again and that he would fend for himself. She'd left that morning, and so as he pulled his car into his drive he wasn't surprised that hers wasn't in its usual place.

He didn't object at all to her absence, it was all a part of life's rich pattern, but the prospect of having the house to himself wasn't as appealing as it once would have been. When the boys were little such peace and quiet had been rarer than a turd dropped from a rocking horse and had been precious, but now he knew he was going to miss her, and how!

He locked the car and went inside the house, making straight for his home office to deposit his briefcase by his desk as was his habit. As he set the case down he noticed a small stack of photocopies placed precisely next to the keyboard of his computer, and he couldn't help but smile. Others would have simply dropped them there and left them as they fell, but Zoey knew him well enough to leave them neatly stacked. They'd had a running joke that he was a bit OCD with his neat and tidy approach to life, and he grinned as he thought of his usual response about it being CDO, a similar condition but with the letters in the right order!

He remembered asking Zoey just that morning to copy them and mail the originals on her way off to her parents' house. She'd hugged him, held him so tight, and told him how much she'd loved him before kissing him and sending him on his way to work. Just the memory warmed him inside. She'd called him that afternoon to let him know that she'd arrived safely and update him on the situation with her Dad and told him that she'd call him again at the weekend. He couldn't believe how much he still loved her after all the years they'd shared.

Trevor was about to sit down and check through the copies, check what he'd already checked twice if not more, and he knew he would before he filed them away, but he decided against it. It was Friday tomorrow, so they could wait another day. He turned and left the copies undisturbed, closed the home office door behind him as he made his way into the kitchen.

Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge his eyes fell on the calendar. Friday. He wondered if Zoey had thought to call Marijka and tell her she wouldn't be able to make their Friday lunch as normal. He reached for the phone as he took a pull from the beer, intent on calling Zoey to check, then changed his mind. She had her hands full, so instead he dialled Marijka's number.

"Hey Mari, it's Trev," he said cheerfully.

"Hi Trevor, how are you?" she responded brightly, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of you calling me on a Thursday night?"

"I'm good, thanks," he told her, taking another quick swig of his beer, "I just wanted to make sure that Zoey had cancelled your lunch tomorrow?"

"No, she didn't, why?" Marijka asked.

"Oh, her Dad's not well so she took off up there this morning to help her Mum get him up and about again. I expect she'll be a week or so depending on how the old bastard is!" he chuckled.

"Don't give me that!" she laughed, "You love the guy really."

"You know I do," he answered, "That's why he's an 'old bastard', such a name wouldn't be appropriate if I didn't like him!"

Marijka laughed again, but became serious. "Is Zoey okay?" she asked.

"She was a bit 'off' for a few days before she left this morning, worried about her Dad I expect, but otherwise fine," he answered, "Are you up for dinner on Saturday evening? My treat!"

"Sure, I'd love that," Marijka replied. They'd done that so many times over the years, when either Boyd or Zoey had been elsewhere, and since Boyd had left. It was just normal for them after so many years of friendship. It had never fazed them what others might think, they had all known, the four of them, that it was cool. Now there might only be the two of them left!

"I'll call you and set it up, then," he confirmed, "Sorry that Zoey didn't call you herself but she had a lot on her mind."

"I'm sure she did," Marijka said, "It's kind of you to let me know."

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