Finding Love Pt. 02

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Babes

This is the second part to a two-part short story about a married woman who is taught the meaning of love by an exotic Indian woman. There will not be any more parts or chapters: sometimes a story just has to end where it ends.

*****

I continued to observe the area for the next few days. I knew one thing: open garage doors were an open invitation to come inside and have sex. It was happening all around. I had checked out other neighbourhoods, and it did happen elsewhere, but nothing with the volume of this area. On any one given street there was at least one or two open garages.

They all had visitors. There was gay sex, straight sex, orgies, threesomes, and who knew what else going on. It was all very exciting.

By Friday, I realised I was getting soaking wet watching the secret trysts happening right before me. I started bringing my bullet with me. I inserted it and used the remote to vibrate it. I came a few times watching these strangers committing sins right in front of me.

At night I worked on the story. I had taken a few pictures with my phone. I blacked out faces and house numbers. I had three fantastic articles ready for print. It was my best work.

Then I watched the owner of The Examiner walk into a house to meet another man. The large black man greeted him like an old friend. They were kissing before the front door closed. I put down my voice recorder and cursed.

My story was over. There was no way the paper owner would print this. I would be fired. Tossed out. Done.

“FUCK!” I screamed in my car. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

I pounded my steering wheel and then pressed my forehead against it. I was defeated. The best story of my life gone.

I leaned back and stared out the window, trying to think of what to do.

A car drove past and pulled into a driveway not twenty feet from where I was parked. I watched as an Indian woman emerged from the car. She was gorgeous and my heart thumped in my chest. She was exotic as only Eastern women can be. She had long dark hair that shone in the sunlight. When she turned sideways I could see her massive chest. Her breasts had to be size DD. She had an impossibly thin waist that descended to a large round ass. She was perfect.

I had managed to not think about woman for years. I committed myself to my marriage and my monogamous, heterosexual lifestyle. Seeing this woman before me brought back all my desires. She was exotic and beautiful and sexual in a way I had never seen before. I wanted her. I needed to taste her. Feel her softness and hot wetness.

I gasped at the sudden sexual desire that rose hot and furious within me.

She turned and looked at me in that moment. She had dark eyeliner around her eyes. I could see her eyes were dark, and almost black. She wore a bright red lipstick in stark contrast to her complexion. She looked right into my soul and I saw her eyes widen.

We stared at each other for a long moment. Then she smiled at me and went inside. I sat there panting and fumbled for my remote. I flipped on my bullet and groaned at the pulsing inside my pussy. I turned up the level and was soon gasping at the waves of pleasure fanning out from my pussy.

Then the woman’s garage door opened a foot and stopped there. I stared at the door in surprise. I caught a motion in an upstairs window and saw the woman looking down at me. My orgasm hit me and I cried out. The woman grinned at me. She recognised it. Her teeth were bright white against the red of her lips. Dimples formed on her cheeks and her eyes danced with mischief.

I gasped through my orgasm and fumbled with the remote and switched it off. The sudden loss of vibration had me groaning. I pushed the starter button of my car and my Prius came to life. I turned the wheel and sped off. I headed straight home and went upstairs.

I played with my myself with my toys for an hour. The image of the exotic woman forefront in my imagination. I hadn’t come like this since college. At the time I had three pairs of hands pleasuring me and three mouths. I curled up in the foetal position and lay on my bed panting. The bedroom smelled of my pussy. It lay thick like a cloud.

God, I miss pussy, I thought before I drifted off to sleep, thinking of the woman smothering me with her tits.

* * *

Sunday arrived. Since Friday, I had done little else than think on how I could release my story and meet the exotic Indian woman. I could always release the story elsewhere, under a pseudonym. I thought of changing the town name, too. I dismissed all these options. They would work, but I wanted my name on the story. I wanted my maiden name on the story.

That took me aback. I always wrote under my married name. I took Paul’s name, it was expected of me and Paul had wanted it. I was now Jennifer Jennings. I hated the alliteration. Peter thought it was cute. Of course, everyone called me Jenny Jennings. I preferred Jen, but no one called me casino oyna that, except my dad. He always understood me.

Paul drove to church and pulled into our usual spot. In small towns people had their spots, and you respected that. Because we were a young couple, we parked the farthest from the church in the parking lot. At least it was under a huge oak tree and shaded the car from the oppressive Southern heat. Paul drove a Ford 150, with all the bells and whistles. He paid for it in cash with an advance from his magazine. He was proud of it. It was bright red, had a full gun rack on the back, and stickers proclaiming him a republican through and through.

He hid is poetry from the world. And the town. I was forbidden to talk about it. He wrote the most touching and beautiful poetry. He truly had a gift. I knew he thought it was too womanly. He wrote his garbage for the magazine. All about country life in Texas, where men chugged beer and shot armadillos for fun. Where women are eye candy and vapid and hang off their men like trophies. He was a lesser man for believing all that bullshit. We fought about that, too.

He blamed me for not getting pregnant. He didn’t know I was still on the pill. We had been trying for a child for the past three years. I once suggested he get himself checked out. He lost it. Screamed at me and drove off. He was away for three days. He came back and threw a piece of paper at me. He had himself tested. I had only meant it as a joke, but he had gone through with it, despite his reservations. His sperm count was perfect.

So, from then on, it had to be me that was broken, according to Paul. I had myself examined. I came back with flying colours. I swore the doctor to secrecy. He knew I was on the pill. And he knew I didn’t want children. He understood. He was one of the few democrats in the town. He respected my body and my rights as a woman. He’s a nice old man pushing seventy and an oddity in town.

We walked into the church and met the pastor at the door. We grabbed the service flyer from him and sat at our usual pew, next to my parents. The church was stifling hot and my mother was, like the other women, fanning themselves. I never felt the heat. Not really. I wore loose clothing and never overexerted myself. My mother was dressed in her Sunday finest and couldn’t breathe through the thick material. She suffered it and said it was God’s will.

We spoke cordially and exchanged little bits of news and gossip. My husband and dad sat together as always and chatted about football and baseball. The church started to fill quickly. I looked over and saw Anne walking down the centre aisle. She spied me right away and I swear she took a step backward. Her eyes went wide and she stared at me.

I was enjoying this. I stared back at her and then slowly smiled at her. It was smile full of knowledge. I let her know I knew as only women can communicate. I could see in her expression that she was caught. She lowered her eyes and slid into a pew. Her husband slid in beside her and whispered to her. From where I was, I could hear him: their children were in Sunday school and did she have the donation envelope.

I watched her open her purse and hand him the small donation envelope. He tucked it inside his suit jacket pocket and smiled at her. She looked over at me and then away. I turned to the front of the church. The organist started playing louder and we all rose on cue and turned to the back. We watched the pastor stride down the aisle to the pulpit. He was in his late sixties and still had a full head of grey hair.

We sat and he started the service with the usual public announcements. He spoke of the school bottle drive and the upcoming church picnic. He praised God and we all sang from the hymn book. The choir sang next and then the pastor gave his sermon. He was known to go on for twenty minutes or more. I steeled myself for the length and started thinking again on how to release my story. I really wasn’t listening to him until he started to speak about adultery.

The pastor cleared his throat and started his sermon. His first words drew a broad gasp from the congregation. “A recent survey indicated that sixty-six percent of American men and fifty percent of American women have been unfaithful to their spouses. If there are hundred people in a congregation, the chances are that someone in that congregation is sleeping with someone else’s spouse. I look out this morning at two hundred people in our good community. There are those of you right now who have been unfaithful. I hope that makes you uncomfortable. It does me! I am certain that there are some of you here today who need this message. And many who do not. Bear with me please and heed my message. I urge you to read Hebrews chapter thirteen verse four.”

The pastor flipped through his notes and then smoother them. He lifted his head and glared out at us. I was laughing inside. I knew one woman who would be squirming in her slot oyna pew right now.

“Adultery versus fornication,” boomed the pastor into the deathly silence of the church. A few elderly women were fanning themselves fast enough I was sure they would burst into flight. “Adultery is when someone has unlawful intercourse with the spouse of another. Fornication is when someone engages in illicit sexual intercourse. Adultery and fornication. Fornication and adultery. According to Exodus 20:14 they are a sin against our most Holy God.” He thumped the pulpit with an open hand, the sound echoing off the rafters. “My friends, it is one of the Ten Commandments! You heard this in Sunday school as a child! You recite them by memory! Jesus repeated this commandment, validating it for our time. Matthew 19:18.

“But it is much larger than you. Your sin affects others. It is a sin against your neighbour’s spouse, Exodus 20:17, for you have stolen from him. Nathan likened it to stealing the farmer’s most precious lamb. It is a sin against your partner in sin, Mark 10:11; Matthew 18:6; Luke 16:18, because you cause your mate to sin. If it leads to divorce and remarriage, you will never have God’s blessings upon your next marriage.

“It is a sin against your spouse and family. You give away that which was not yours. 1 Corinthians 7. You shatter your testimony to your own children, betray a trust relationship with your spouse, break a three-way covenant with God, your spouse and yourself, and bring damnation to yourself.

“And it is a sin against your own body, First Corinthians 6:18. With STI’s on the increase, and an AIDS epidemic, you have sex with every person your mate has had sex with! You endanger your spouse.

“How do you defend yourself? Let me tell you. Don’t allow your eyes and mind to wander. Remove yourself from temptation. Don’t allow sexual desires to flow. If someone interests you or they show interest in you, avoid them. If it persists, tell them no. Do not fall into sin.” He looked around the room. When his gaze swept past by me, I almost flinched.

He thumped his pulpit for emphasis. “If you do commit adultery, you know your spouse will find out. They will find out as surely as the sun will rise in the morning! You must tell them! Confess your sin! It is better they hear it from you than someone else and face that humiliation and shame. When the weight becomes unbearable; when you need to confess to someone, see me. John chaperons 8, verses three to eleven tell us adultery is not an unpardonable sin. You can seek and find redemption in the eyes of God and Jesus Christ, our saviour. Finally, you must end the relationship, sin no more, and repent and ask God’s forgiveness. Let us pray.”

I sat stunned in my pew as the pastor took us through prayer. I wondered who in the congregation the pastor was speaking to. I thought of Anne but knew I couldn’t turn to look at her. It would be the same as shouting out her name. I looked sideways over at Paul and saw him blushing red. I blinked at that and sat back farther in our pew. Why was he embarrassed. I knew him well and when he blushed it was because some truth about him had come out. Was he cheating on me? That seemed impossible to me. I watched him mouth the replies to the prayer and thought long and hard. Who is Paul? What do I really know about him?

Church ended. We lined up to shake hands with the pastor as we exited. I watched Anne scoop up her kids and drive off with her husband in their minivan. I reached the pastor, shook hands, thanked him for his words, and rushed out to the parking lot. Outside the church, even in the midday heat, it was cooler outside. Mom and dad joined me. I looked back and saw Paul chatting with the pastor. Probably booking a time to come repent, I thought.

I smiled at mom and dad. “Mom! Dad! So good to see you again. Please, come by the house tonight. I’ll make a roast. Dad, you love that. Please?”

Mom nodded and dad smiled. Mom stepped closer and I steeled myself for her weekly sermon. “How are you dear? Are you feeling all right? You look wore slap out. How’s that grandchild coming along? Anything?” She patted my stomach and I flinched. It wasn’t appropriate.

I looked over mom’s head at dad. He rolled his eyes dramatically for me and that made it more bearable. I took mom’s hands and lied to her as I did every Sunday. “We’re still trying, mom. With God’s will, we’ll bring you a grandchild.”

Name-dropping God always appeased mom. She nodded and gave me her prayers. I hugged dad and they left me alone in the parking lot. Paul sauntered up and looked at me. He looked like the cat who caught the canary. I knew I could peel back the layers of this and discover his truth. My journalist instincts were screaming at me. Then it went silent. I realised I didn’t care what my husband was up to. I rocked back mentally.

Why don’t I care if Paul is cheating on me? Where does that come from? I searched my feelings and recognised canlı casino siteleri the truth. I was hiding from Paul that I was taking the pill to stop from getting pregnant. But letting him cheat on me? Does that make us even somehow? How fucked up is that?

I loved Paul. I always have. But this had been a marriage of convenience. A way for me to hide my true nature. My marriage was a sham. If Paul was finding happiness elsewhere, who was I to judge? I shook my thoughts away and smiled at Paul and kissed his cheek. “Come on, husband. Let’s head home. Mom and dad are coming over for supper. Good thing I took out that huge roast. You know how dad can’t stop eating it!”

Paul looked relieved and chuckled. “Good thing I bought another case of Bud.”

I laughed and we headed home. The perfect couple. All smiles and laughter.

* * *

Monday morning I found myself parked near the house of the Indian woman. Her car was absent and I knew she wasn’t home. I knew why I was there: I needed to see her again. There was something about her that I craved deep inside myself.

I was tired from lack of sleep. Paul and dad had finished a full case of beer yesterday starting from two in the afternoon. This meant Paul had snored loudly all night. Mom had been at me from the moment she had arrived about getting pregnant. Trapped in the kitchen with her, she offered pregnancy solutions and asked personal questions. She had no shame and no sense of my privacy. I watched dad and Paul outside throwing a baseball back and forth and wished for the first time I had been born a man. Men don’t have to put up with this bullshit.

I was just about to fall asleep from the stifling heat of my car when I glanced in my rear view and spied Paul’s pickup truck enter the street behind me. What the fuck? I cursed and ducked down and hid myself, my heart pounding. I felt his truck roar past and then heard him brake. Damn, damn, damn, I cursed to myself. What is he doing here? How do I explain this?

I lifted my head up and peered over my dash. I could see Paul was parked on the opposite side of the street about a hundred feet down. I watched him exit his truck and I felt confused. Didn’t he see me? Why’d he stop so far away?

He walked past the house of the gay black man. I saw him glance at the garage door, open about a foot. Oh no! No! I thought in horror.

Paul stopped and looked around the street. If he saw my car he didn’t recognise it. Thankfully the town was filled with them due to a massive sale at the dealership a few years back. He turned and walked up to the front door. I watched him knock and saw the same large black man open the door. Paul entered and the door closed.

I sat up in shock. My husband is gay.

My memories flooded back to college. I reheard all the rumours. I remember we all were certain he was gay. Then my friend had slept with him. Confirmed he wasn’t. She described his cock and how it bent to the left. And it did bend to the left. Drunk one night, Paul confessed to me he had been jerking off since the first day he hit puberty and that’s why it bent to the left.

But he is gay. I just watched him enter a gay man’s house for sex. Anal sex. He’s going to fuck that man in the ass. He’s gonna be fucked in the ass! By that monster dick. My husband! He’s cheating on me!

A lot of things started to make sense to me. Little things over the years. Little comments. I flashed back to all our sex and sucked in a breath. Oh my God, he loves anal sex with me! He always prefers that! Always wants it! Has he been imagining my ass to be a man’s?

I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I felt betrayed. I had given up my dreams and hope to marry him and live the perfect life. The life I was expected to live. I had stopped sleeping with women. I made vows to him. And he is in there, right now, sucking another man’s cock!

Wait? If he’s gay, why did he marry me?

In a flash I knew why. He had known me for years in college. Right at the end of our college time he approached me and started dating me. He had no have known we came from the same towns. He had slept with my friend. She would have told him if he asked. Did he sleep with her to see if he could? With a woman? I’m his cover story, the journalist in me screamed. He used me to cover his true lifestyle. How does a gay man survive in Texas? There’s no Brokeback Mountain fantasy land, here. Just a certain lynching. I’m his cover. His dutiful wife. Proof he isn’t gay.

Fuck, he’s gay like me, I realised and immediately felt sorry for him. I wiped away my tears and looked up. The Indian woman, wearing a sari, was standing in her doorway watching me. She looked across the street at the gay man’s house and then beckoned toward me. I shook my head and she frowned. She made the same gesture more energetically and I nodded. What does she want?

I got out of my car and walked up to her. She stood aside and without a word, I entered her house. The first thing that hit me was the smell. It smelt like an Indian restaurant. The aroma of exotic spices filled the air and I felt hungry like Pavlov’s dog. I stopped in her entranceway. She closed her front door and turned to me.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Genel içinde yayınlandı

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir