Free Geekus Interruptus by Mickey J. Corrigan Page B

thing to say! Her face felt hot.
    “Lucky boy. That’s what I need. A chick who
waits for me in the morning.”
    Marcy smiled. How inane. Peter had flirted
with her numerous times before, but she’d always brushed him off. Coldly. He
was married, the father of adorable toddler twins. She wasn’t about to play
games with him, no matter how handsome he was. And he was super-hot,
with his thick mane of beach-boy hair and his deep golden tan and those pale
blue eyes that looked at you like you were a biscuit on a stick. A soft snack
in his campfire grip, one step away from melting in his laughing mouth.
    What the hell was she thinking? Before
Marcy could take control of herself, she began to simmer. She clicked on
automatic, her body taking over. She licked her lips. Slowly, languidly. She
caressed her flat belly with one hand, making suggestive swirling motions. Her
nipples hardened, and she thrust herself forward in a fuck-me position.
    She watched as his eyes wandered, first to
her breasts, heavy underneath a short, silk half-shirt, then up and down her
lanky legs clothed in a pair of extra-tight denim cutoffs. She moved her hips
slightly when his eyes landed on her crotch, boldly outlined by the stretch
material of her jeans.
    Then, at just the right moment, she said, “Oh,
is that what you need, Peter?”
    He flashed one of his trademark grins. The
kind of smile a shark gives a surfer’s meaty calf. Not surprisingly, Peter was
well known around town as an aggressive ladies’ man. You might want to land
him, but watch out because he would definitely bite.
    Marcy felt something loosen inside her.
Something that had been locked up tight. Locked up and forgotten during six
years of by-the-book sex and hard-core fidelity. Something she’d almost forgotten
she could feel: lust.
    Not just any kind of lust, either. Her own
favorite species of lust. Marcy had a deep and abiding lust for mindless sex.
And not just any kind of mindless sex. Mindless sex with men who knew how to
make her body scream for more.
    In other words, Marcy had rediscovered her
passion for non-geek love.
    She smiled at Peter and left the paper
behind her on the driveway. It fluttered in the slight breeze. Slowly, rolling
her curves from side to side, she strolled over to the car. As she leaned in,
pressing herself into his open window, she was acutely aware of his proximity,
the smell of lime aftershave mixed with rich café au lait.
    “Maybe I can help you there,” Marcy heard
herself saying.
    In a catlike purr. The kind of come-on
voice she’d employed so successfully in her single years. It was all coming
back to her, like jumping back on a horse or bicycle. She wanted to feel something
big and hard in the clutch of her thighs.
    Peter’s eyes roved her body and settled
like excited fingers on her protruding nipples. She arched her long back and
yawned, raising her arms above her head so her short shirt rode up even higher.
    She could hardly believe she was acting
like this, like the neighborhood tramp. What the heck was she doing? She didn’t
do this kind of thing anymore. This was the old Marcy, the single girl who went
out of her way to have sex with everybody available. Not Jess’s straight-laced
wife, the cool, distant woman who barely spoke to the neighbors. Not the woman
who hated the kind of woman who flirted with (or fucked, actually slept with)
another person’s husband.
    She sighed in defeat and recovered her
runaway senses. Time to pick up the newspaper and save herself from becoming as
detestable as the rest of the cheaters, liars, and home wreckers ruining the
state of modern romance. But, before she could withdraw, Peter reached out a
salon-tanned, professionally manicured hand. He pressed gently on her right
nipple until, under the tender pressure of his thumb and forefinger, she soaked
the crotch of her panties.
    Oh my God.   How many weeks had it been since Jess had
touched her? Had he ever made her this wet this fast, this