Pillow Talk

Erotic Tales

Wishful Thinking – A Dream

He sat back in his chair, took a deep lazy drag of his cigar, tilted his head and let out a thick stream of dense smoke. Staring kindly at the individual sitting across from him, he marvelled at how odd life could be and at the twists and turns along the way. His past had already been peppered with particularly unusual moments. This was one of those moments. He focused on the young man’s words.

“Good luck with her” a tone of bitterness slipping into his youthful voice.
“Luck?” he asked taking another drag and sitting back.
“She’s had two husbands to date – what makes you think you’ll fair better than us?”
“Ah” he nodded.
“Ah? I’d think you arrogant if I had a mind to” the young man replied, a nervous laugh betraying his calm demeanour.
“There is one fundamental difference between us you know” This time he picked up his drink, stared a long time at the amber color before taking a sip.
“Oh really? Care to share?” the young man said with a touch of cynicism.
“Certainly. We make different assumptions.” Setting the tumbler down carefully on the glass patio table he closed his eyes enjoying the warm sun on his face.
“You know what they say about assumptions ….” The young man replied waving his hand in dismissal.
“You assumed she’d stay no matter what”.
“We were married man – was that wrong?”
“Yes”
“Jesus! And you don’t? That’s a tad masochistic isn’t it?”
“I have the bite marks to prove it. But back to the point … It’s not that I think she’ll leave me”
“Oh? Now I’m confused”
“You assumed she’d stay – I assume she’s bored”.
Silence lingered between them with the cigar smoke and smell of whiskey a strong contrast to the heady scent of Lilac in the air.
“Huh” the young man nodded.

He never thought he’d be sitting there sharing a glass of whiskey with her husband – a whiskey brought back from a trip the two of them had enjoyed together in Scotland, sitting in the yard of the house they had called home for over 9 years and more unbelievably, smoking a cigar that this young man had brought back from his last trip to Cuba – for him – the new man in his wife’s life. He had been surprised at the maturity in that gesture. The fellow was 14 years younger and yet had displayed in that instant more spine and understanding then most men twice his age. He had been impressed and gone from not understanding what she had seen in him to deep respect. Something had changed; a tiny door of acceptance had opened and now they both danced around it carefully trying to find out what this meant for either of them.

He had been astonished at how little they had in common. How could one woman love two such utterly opposite men? This young man, apart from playing volleyball, was more into spectator sports – watching hockey, football, formula one and all sorts of TV on top of that, he ate fast food without question, was naturally slim and was younger than her by two years. In contrast he himself was more into actively “doing” the sports, going to the gym, rock climbing, scuba diving and soccer, didn’t even have cable and was what some would consider a health nut where food was concerned. He worked hard at keeping his body fit and was 12 years older than she. Those were just the obvious things seen at the surface. The more you dug the more you could see the differences. They both had thick hair and strong facial lines – other than that … the only thing they had in common – was her.

As if summoned by his thoughts she appeared form the kitchen with an empty tray and walked over. Her hair recently cut short still surprised him, and he read the same thought on her husbands face. She’d had it long for nearly 20 years. She nervously shifted from one foot to the other – clearing the empty glasses off the table, unintentionally letting the sun backlight her and showing off her long legs under her cotton summer dress. The young mans gaze looked straight into his own. Unintentionally? They both grinned and chuckled … no perhaps not.

Her time had come to leave the house, collecting the last little bits that were her own; she came back from dropping a small bag of things in the trunk of the car parked on the interlock driveway she had installed herself, so many years ago. The house having sold at last she collected the last of her things. Her husband was taking the week to sort himself out before the new owners moved in.

Walking to the car, he sat in the driver’s seat and watched her from a distance. The front door was open and he saw her hand sliding lovingly along the solid oak banister, her eyes filling up with tears in a final farewell to a house she had renovated lovingly for over 10 years. She had put her soul into the place and letting go had been tough. She stood on the front porch – and looking her husband in the eye she simply said “I am sorry”. He shrugged. An awkward moment followed and then he grabbed her, held her tight, hugged her. They cried a moment and then he let her go. Walking ahead of her to the car he popped his head in the open passenger window.

“Take care of her you hear me?”
“I will”
“I am dead serious man – you hurt her ….”
“She’s more likely to hurt me …”
He started laughing and stepped away opening the door for her. The door slammed shut. This was it. It really was over and they both knew it. Divorce papers would follow in time. It was now up to them to decide if they wanted to remain friends or just let the other disappear and become a pleasant memory of their past. Observing the young man he barely knew, he sincerely hoped they’d remain friends.

Driving along the back roads, he looked at her from time to time. She was uncharacteristically silent. He wasn’t certain if she was sad or what emotion was flowing through her. She neither laughed nor cried. That worried him. She was the type to wear her feelings on her face. But he remained quiet. He was there if she needed him. Her hand slide onto his thigh and squeezed it as if she’d read his mind. He looked at her again, and saw the faintest of smiles.

He spontaneously decided to take them for a country drive and for an hour he let the road take them where it would. She remained quiet just looking out the window. Spring was nearly over; the ground littered with the carpet of petals from fruit trees and the blush of early spring green being replaced by the darker hues of summer. They past a lake sparkling like a diamond in the sun with its surface shimmering and nearly blinding him. The deep, dark indigo water still looked frigid as a lone canoe punctured the tableau with its fresh vibrant red markings. He looped the car around and found a spot to park. Opening the windows, they looked at nature’s masterpiece in silence breathing in the fragrant breeze.

Her hand then wondered a little. His cock shifted slightly. He tried not to let it rise. But it did. It wasn’t appropriate but ….

Suddenly she was practically in his lap. Her lips on his, her hands pulling at his clothing and he was so startled he couldn’t respond. She pressed on, holding his hand to her breast. She let out a deep sigh when his fingers dug deeply into the soft pillows. Feeling like a teenager at a make-out point, he threw himself into the same spring fevered frenzy she was displaying. Clothing came off haphazardly, gear shift dug in all the wrong places but somehow, they found a way and she straddled him in the front seat and let him slide deeply into her crying cunt. The pressing need, hurried hunger and speed did not relent. The push for orgasm, the drive to feel alive, all continued in wild abandon as each reached higher and higher towards that one moment when – at last – she screamed her pain, her agony, her sense of loss and cried with tears of joy at the new beginning erupting within her, within her life, within her soul.

Panting, they sat there letting their heart beats slow and the sweat cool. He kissed her on the forehead and gently pulled an errand curl from her forehead. Cupping her face in both his hands, he kissed her lightly – then deeply. Not letting her go he asked gently…

“You alright now?”

She kissed him back, a wide smile on her lips and nodded before snuggling into his neck to her favourite “sweet” spot. He held her and grinned to himself. Never a dull moment.

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March 24, 2010 - Posted by | Beauty, erotica, Outdoors | , , , , , , , ,

9 Comments »

  1. Your writing takes me right there, sitting in the seat next to the men talking, watching her walk down the staircase and sitting in the backseat of the car watching them. It is amazing.

    Comment by Gray | March 25, 2010 | Reply

    • Thank you Gray – not always easy. I find writing the more “reality based” stories a far greater challenge than the total fiction. What do you leave, what do you add, what do you take out …?

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | March 25, 2010 | Reply

  2. An intriguing relationship dynamic that you’ve set up here.

    Love the car scene.

    Car sex always sounds so nice, but I’ve yet to find the right moment and location for it to happen.

    Comment by smokedawg | March 25, 2010 | Reply

    • Car sex? It can be fun!! If you know HOW! and that takes some practice! LMAO!! that’s also fun …. The practicing.

      The dynamic – as I just told PB – is in part real. I always wonder why people find it so hard to believe that people can be “great”. After my mother and father divorced, they would often see each other, they would visit – have a glass of wine – talk and laugh – they came to see that they were better as friends than husband and wife. All the things that attracted them to each other never went away. We forgive our friends their failing much easier than our partners, or ourselves. My dad and step dad became great friends.

      My soon to be ex is a wonderful and lovely man – I was proud of him the day he bought that cigar. I was reminded why I married him in the first place.

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | March 25, 2010 | Reply

      • Oh, I suspected this was based at least in part in reality, considered some of the things you’ve hinted at in e-mails. My own parents had an interesting dynamic. They split up when I was very young but maintained a friendship (albeit sometimes rocky). When I was in high school, they moved in together to cut down on expenses and had separate bedrooms. When I was in college they remarried. My own wife was estranged from her husband for several years and then they divorced shortly before she and I got married. Her ex went from wanting to harm (or maybe even kill) me…he had issues…to a grudging respect and now…well, I wouldn’t call it friendship, because we don’t hang out or anything, but we’re quite amiable with each other (helps that he finally realized I wasn’t trying to steal his son’s affection from him).

        So, I know the complexities of human love and breaking up…which is why I really appreciated this story. 🙂

        Comment by smokedawg | March 26, 2010

  3. Interesting tale. Nice in theory, but reactions like the younger man’s are pretty unlikely, I’d say. Then again, that’s what fantasies and tales are for, isn’t it? As Smokedawg said, interesting relationship dynamic.

    — PB

    Comment by The Panserbjørne | March 25, 2010 | Reply

    • Ah – but my dear cynical PB – as many know a lot of what I write is in part based on reality. A lot of this is autobiographical. The question is – how much is real and how much is fiction? i will not tell … but … I will give you this … my soon to be ex hubby did get my Love a cigar. So … what else could have happened?

      Comment by Fantasia Lillith | March 25, 2010 | Reply

      • You *have* lived an interesting life, haven’t you? Looks like my cynicism did get the better of me this time. I can’t help it, I’m just naturally pessimistic.

        — PB

        Comment by The Panserbjørne | March 26, 2010

  4. My Mom and Dad are still really good friends; my Dad still considers her one of his best friends and my Mom and Step-Mom get along quite well. By the time my parents split, they had been sleeping in separate beds for a few years. So the dynamic felt real to me. I think it happens more often than people suspect.

    I actually love how I never know what is real and what is not with your stories. Not giving the characters names lends a unique quality of both allowing the readers to put themselves in their favorite person’s shoes and allowing us to imagine that the story, in part, could be something you have really experienced.

    Comment by closetfascination | March 25, 2010 | Reply


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