, Contemporary Romance
, Short Stories
, Contemporary Fiction
, Erotic Fiction
, adult romance
, Erotic Romance
, Erotic Literature
, taboo sex
, literary erotic fiction
, family relations
clients talking, without really hearing what any one of them was saying.
Some sketched out ideas were on the table in the center of the meeting room, something about a “couples retreat.” One of the proposals was a weekend getaway special on one of the nearby offshore islands.
Andy’s mind drifted—seeing Christina’s nude body on one of the swanky Lumeo beds with a backlit headboard. Couples retreat. They didn’t need a couples retreat—he and Christina weren’t in their home town or home country. People wouldn’t know who they were. They could do anything!
Someone’s cell phone rang—the tune was the Family Affair ringtone—the Mary J. Blige song that was a hit during Andy’s early teen years. God, he knew the words, about getting “crunk” and “open” and “having fun” with someone’s ass on the dance floor.
Andy took a bathroom break. He’d always been truly serious about his career—he normally gave the right appearance, and was seen as thinking about business first, especially while at work!
He’d thought he’d try to regain and sustain his usual composure, all the way up to lunch time first. But he made the mistake of looking over at Tony and Selena: the two co-workers who had an ongoing office romance—they spent more time looking over at each other (their cubicles were next to each other) than getting any work done, when they thought no one was watching.
Andy wanted to strike them both across the face, which would promptly wipe off the smug, indulgent grin on their faces. Sure, it was always “great” to hear about an office romance that led to a wedding, kids, and a “happily ever after”…except for the co-workers who had to put up with the romance itself, while it was in its initial “passionate” stages.
Happily ever after’s a fantasy. And so is just a single night, wrapped up in...
The rest of the meeting was like a bad movie in slow motion…elastic and spastic, all at once. Nothing made sense, except for the drone of surging pulsations within Andy, surges that came back all the more stronger, the more he tried to curb them. It was almost like there was an animal clawing away at the walls of his gut, to eat him up from the inside.
He was a ghost in a shell, dreading for evening to approach.
He wandered around the street outside his office for a while, after work, walking around to nowhere in particular. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be couples: holding hands, snuggling up to each other, nose kissing. Love was in the air; life was so unfair.
Andy thought the train he was on might crash. He could feel his cold, sweaty palms on the handle of his laptop bag. It wasn’t going away. He didn’t know what to do. He had to hide it. But running away from things never helped anybody, in the long run.
He dragged his feet back to his condo later in the evening, like one entering a slaughterhouse. He’d die, any way you looked at it. He’d already pieced it all out rationally, on the way home.
A part of him would die, if he never mentioned anything, if Christina never knew of the overwhelming lust that threatened to consume him. It wasn’t derogatory to Andy—quite the contrary, if looking at it just in that aspect. Sure, other girls were available, but there was a special bond with Christina which he didn’t have with any other person on the planet. They’d always been able to confide in each other, and be around for each other, just because. He knew he’d look out for her and always be there for her, even if it ever reached a point where she didn’t deserve it. The point was not whether or not she deserved it, but that he felt obliged out of a sense of respect to her as a person.
Unbridled lust was his untainted response with regards to Christina’s newfound feminine sexuality.
How’d she do a 180? It seemed like it had happened over night. The transition from innocence, to sexual confidence, and she didn’t even need to bare a lot of skin, wear a
Jonathan Kellerman, Jesse Kellerman