FallingToFly
Political Stance: Porn
- Joined
- Mar 28, 2006
- Posts
- 7,677
Okay, this is part of the story I'm working on today. I had intended to put it in Loving Wives, and have been told a couple of times now that it wouldn't fit, by NonLit authors (readers, not writers) Skim through and tell me if I should keep it in LW where I intended to put it, or move it to Erotic Couplings?
ETA: It's an extremely rough draft, lol, I just need to know if the general idea
is the right one for where I was going to put it.
Title: A Certain Way
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Original fiction, erotica, Loving Wives category
It was my own fault, really. It was Friday, the night I always worked late at the bank. I was never home before seven, and my husband, David, would have dinner from the Crock Pot dished up and waiting for me when I walked in. He didn't like eating alone, and besides, I had to heat the rolls before we could eat. We had a routine, because he liked things a certain way.
It was my own fault. My favorite lingerie shop was having its semi-annual sale and I had gone shopping during my lunch hour. I wanted to surprise him with my purchases. Lately, he had seemed more and more distant, and when he was speaking to me, or paying attention, it was as though I had done something wrong. He'd started complaining about the size of my breasts, going so far as to make an appointment for me to have a consultation for augmentation. I'd tried to broach the subject several times, as I was quite happy with the comfortably full breasts I'd been given by Nature, but he brushed me aside. He liked things a certain way, and that was all there was to it.
The house was quiet when I pulled into the driveway. The garage door was closed, and a single light burned in the living room against the growing dusk. I smiled, pleased that I my boss had allowed me to leave a couple hours early, that I had made it home before David. I pulled my bags from the car and pushed the door closed with my hip, walking through the neatly tended bank of flowers and shrubs that bordered the sidewalk to our front door. I stopped to smell one of the last roses of summer, breaking the half-open bud off the bush. I'd put it beside the bed, to perfume the air while we made love.
I unlocked the door adn pushed it open, the warm, comforting scent of pot roast and home rushing out to embrace me. I had a bottle of David's favorite Burgundy in one of the bags, I'd open it, let it breathe, and go shower and get dressed. When he came home I'd be waiting for him, with a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal, and a wife dressed in silk and lace for his pleasure. He would be happy, I thought, and maybe we could actually talk, and re-explore our marraige. I'd never been possessive of him- he was allowed to have any woman he wanted, as long as I knew about it, and he came home to me. I trusted him.
Turning down the hallway, I started towards our bedroom, intending to start the bath running before making my side trip into the kitchen. The door was just slightly ajar, and flickering golden light spilled through the crack. I stopped in the hallway, puzzled. A soft, feminine giggle clarified everything for me. I bent and put my bags on the floor, quietly, and tiptoed to the door, peeking in.
The only thing I'd ever asked of my husband, in the six years we'd been married, was that he never take one of my sisters as his mistress of the moment. I had three, all beautiful and talented,, statuesque blondes with larger breasts, better figures, and more sex appeal than I had ever had. I was the shy one, the quiet one with the mousy brown hair and odd green eyes, and I simply couldn't stand the thought of being replaced, even momentarily, by one of them.
My younger sister, Cara, was straddling my husband, laughing as he licked and nibbled at her breasts. They bounced as she rode him, making it a game- he would catch one rosy nipple in his mouth and play with it for a moment, then turn and try to capture the other as it jiggled up and down. I could see my husband's lovely cock sliding in and out of her, gleaming with wetness. She threw her head back, long blonde curls brushing his thighs, and began to rock, grinding herself into him as his fingers reached for her clit. I had seen enough.
I didn't try to be particularly quiet as I turned away from the door. They probably couldn't hear me over their own moans and gasps and curses anyway. I picked up the bags as I passed, slinging them over my left wrist while my right hand worked the heavy gold and diamond wedding set off my ring finger. I dropped it, carelessly, on the floor. I'd always hated it anyway, preferring silver or white gold delicacy to the ornate yellow gold. I left the front door standing open behind me. I didn't care if he knew I'd been there. I wasn't anymore.
The streets of our suburb had never seemed so tedious. Cookie-cutter houses with tiny variations in personality, bought for the prestige of address, not passion. I hated them. I hated all of it, in that moment. I was just driving, as far away from what I had allowed my life to become as I could get in that moment. I couldn't see through the thin shimmer of tears. I took long, slow breaths, trying to clear my mind enough to think. My best friend lived two states away, my parents and I weren't on good terms. I had acquaintances from work, from church, but no one I could trust to understand. I glanced at my laptop case, on the seat beside me, and managed a smile. Well, I had one friend, maybe.
It took twenty minutes to remember the way to Daniel's place. The duplex looked deserted, the garage closed, no lights on, which probably meant he was home. I pulled my tasteful SUV into his driveway and let it idle for a moment, trying to get myself back under control. I checked my face in the rearview mirror, wiping away smudged mascara and most of my make-up with a tissue from my purse. My face looked younger without the paint, pale and frightened, with a touch of red around my eyes. It wouldn't matter. I left everything in the car, left the car unlocked and keys in it, and walked to the door, knocking with more confidence than I felt. There was a crash and a curse from inside, and I had to smile.
When the door swung open, and Daniel blinked out at me, that wavering smile grew into a laugh. He hadn't changed so much over the years. He still looked like the skater-punk teenager we'd both been in high school, his dark, wavy hair falling over his eyes and down his shoulders, his clothes a mishmash of ripped cargo pants and long-sleeved dress shirts. The faded khaki pants he was wearing were the same ones he'd worn in high school, complete with the band patches and ink scribbles, and the rip high on his left thigh, the pocket showing white through the frayed cloth.
"Laura! What are you doing here?" Daniel pushed the door open, motioning me inside. "Don't tell me that piece of shit laptop of yours went out again?" Oh yes, that was something else about Daniel. He was the most amazing computer whiz I'd ever known. I stepped through the door into the comfortable, chaotic eclectic space he called home. A giant saltwater aquarium took up the wall behind his computer bank, angelfish the size of my head drifting lazily through the filtered blue light. A tangle of parts was dumped haphazardly across his couch, spilling onto the coffee table and the floor. A snowboard leaned against the wall, and half-neglected potted plants battled for space among a tangled of magazines, notebooks, and computer manuals.
"Still living in a slum," I teased him as he closed the door. "Do you ever throw anything out?" He grinned at me lazily, arms folded across his chest.
"Still Miss Polly Priss," he retorted, taking in my neat bank suit and heels. "What's up?"
"I just... needed to see a friendly face," I said, trying for casual. "I haven't seen you much lately."
Daniel frowned and moved away from the door, moving over to the couch and dumping wires and boards unceremoniously against the wall beside his board. He motioned me over.
"Sit down. I'll get us a beer. If you still drink beer, that is?" He was teasing me again, but his eyes were serious. There was a reason we were still friends after more than ten years.
"A beer sounds great. You still drinking Heineken?"
"Yeah." His voice trailed off as he moved into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with two frosted, opened bottles and flopping down on the couch, handing me one. I took it with a smile and lifted it to him.
"Cheers." That first sip tasted like heaven. It had been years since I'd had a beer. David thought that women who drank beer were too masculine, too crass, for words, so I'd quit. Quit drinking the things I liked, eating what I liked, quit smoking, quit dressing in clothes I enjoyed. He had liked things a certain way, and I'd tried to be perfect. I took another long swallow, slid my shoes off and kicked them under the table, and sighed, ruffling my hair loose from the careful bun I'd put it up in that morning, scattering pens everywhere. Daniel just settled back against the arm of the couch, watching me, waiting for me to settle enough to talk. I set my drink aside and gave him what I knew was a weak smile.
"I'm going to be very rude and get comfortable, if you don't mind, Danny." He laughed and shook his head, waving me on. I reached up under the demure skirt and unfastened the stocking David preferred me to wear ("pantyhose are so unattractive") from the garter belt and rolled them down my legs, sliding them off and tucking them into my discarded shoes. I shrugged out of the tailored jacket, dropped it on the floor regardless of wrinkles, and reached under the waistband of my skirt to unfasten the garter belt. That joined the heap on the floor, and I settled back into the couch, feet tucked under me, feeling decadent and somehow naughty in my perfectly proper camisole and skirt.
"Fell free to keep right on stripping," Daniel chuckled. "But I need another beer. You?" I shook my head and he went back to the kitchen, coming back with the rest of the six pack and dropping it with a clink of glass on wood on the table. "I don't want to get up again," he explained. "Now spill, Laurie. You look like hell warmed over and just started acting more like my best buddy than you have in six years."
"It was that obvious?" I sighed. "I think I just left my husband, Daniel." Daniel choked on his beer.
"No shit? Why?" He leaned forward and snagged his cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting up. He titled the pack towards me and I accepted with a wry grin.
"I walked in and found my sister riding him like a circus pony." I was shocked at how steady my voice was, how cold I felt inside as the words sank in.
"Well, damn." Daniel looked at me, his gentle eyes moving over me slowly. "I always said he was a fuckwit. Are you, well, hell, are you okay?" He was so sweet. He always had been. I smiled, thinking about things I hadn't allowed myself to remember in years. Graduation night, sprawled on a blanket beside a bonfire with our friends and a bottle of sweet Hatteras Red, talking about the future. Daniel was going to be a hacker extraodinaire adn fight the system, and I was going to run a coffeehouse and Internet cafe, giving him a base of operations. We were going to be rich, underground famous, wild and sophisicated and madly passionate about life. He'd held on to most of those dreams- although he did more IT and programming work than hacking, as far as I knew- but I had lost mine.
The thought started me crying. Not for David, not for the end of my marraige, but for that bright-eyed eighteen-year-old I had been. Two years later I had been married, and somehow, that outgoing, fun, bright child had faded into, as Daniel had so succintly put it, Polly Priss. Warm, familiar arms wrapped around me, and I put my head on Daniel's shoulder and cried. I didn't really notice when he gently took my unlit cigarette and put it on the table, when he shifted me to sit in his lap and murmured softly that it was all going to be okay, that I was strong enough to get through this. It didn't matter, at that point. When the tears finally ran out, Daniel wiped my face with the sleeve of his shirt and kissed my forehead.
"You know what you need? You need Chinese food. Stay right here, I'll be back in a few minutes." Pressing a fresh beer into my hand, he left me curled on the couch and jogged out the door, floppy hair, baggy pants, beat up Vans. My friend, the crazy one, who would let me cry all over him, and then gorge me on Chinese food and get me to drink until I was willing to laugh with him again. I shook my head and finally lit a cigarette. The first drag made me cough, the second went down like silk, and my body let out a sigh that I hadn't known I was holding in. By the time Daniel came back, arms laden with fragrant brown bags and fortune cookies and chopsticks, I was calm again.
"Your cell phone was out in the car, ringing like mad. I brought it in, in case you want to answer it." He handed me a foil carton of sesame chicken and pork fried rice, grinning devilishly as he passed over the chopsticks. "Or you could just let me answer it for you."
"Brat." I pushed at him with my foot. We ignored the chirping of the phone at five minute intervals as we ate, catching up on gossip, on being real friends again. He found me a pair of his jeans and a belt, and we both laughed at how skinny I was compared to high school. By the time we were getting a second six pack out of his fridge, the phone rang again and I just answered it, without really thinking about it.
"Where are you? You were supposed to be home hours ago!" David's voice boomed into my ears, and I held it away from my ear. Daniel moved up and slid an arm around my shoulders, tilting his head to listen. I took a few deep breaths while David fumed in onminous silence on the other end.
"I was home hours ago," I finally said, fighting to keep my voice level and calm. "I was home two hours early in fact." The silence changed for ominous to stunned. Apparently he hadn't realized I had been there.
"We'll talk about this when you get home," David said, and his very tone of voice was condescending. I knew that tone, it meant that I was the one in the wrong. Fury flared through me.
"No, we won't. I'm not coming home, David. Not tonight, not tomorrow. I'll be by in a few days, after I've talked to my lawyer, to pick up my clothing and personal effects." Daniel squeezed my shoulders as I spoke, and I leaned on him.
"Laura, you're being unreasonable. we can work this out. You just need to come home, now."
"No, David, I don't. I'm fine where I am."
"Laura, you are coming home, if I have to come get you myself!"
Daniel snatched the phone from my hand. "Try it, Asshole," he snapped, and slapped it closed, hanging up on David. The phone instantly began to ring again, and Daniel opened it long enough to turn it off, then tossed it towards the couch. I was still staring at him, a little shocked, but grinning. He shrugged sheepishly, ducking his head, adn I just stared.
I had forgotten just how beautiful he was. Half-Irish, Half-Japanese, with smooth, dusky skin and his mother's Asian features and dark, liquid eyes, his father's heritage showing in the highlights of his dark hair, and the strong, solid build of his body. I reached up and flicked his hair out of his eyes, glad he was my friend, that he was standing up for me.
"I should go," I said. "I'm going to get a hotel room close to work or something."
"Hey, no." Daniel reached out and hugged me again. I breathed him in, his spicy cologne and warm skin, the faint remnant of cigarette smoke in his hair. "You can stay here. That's what friends are for, right?"
"I don't want David hassling you, babe. I'll just rent a room, that way the manager can call the cops if he finds me."
"And I can't?" Daniel looked offendded. "Come on, Laura. Ten years, right? How many times did we cover each other's asses back in the day?"
"I know, but this is different than cutting school or getting wasted at a party. It won't just be David, it'll be my sisters, my parents, everyone."
"You can't drive. You've been drinking."
"Daniel," I said in exasperation. "Why are you so determined for me to stay?"
He bent his head and pressed his mouth gently to mine. "Because I want you to."
Suddenly, I wanted to stay too. I wanted to put my fingers on that tiny patch of smooth golden skin showing through the rip in his pants leg, thread them through his wavy hair and kiss him. I hadn't kissed Daniel since high school, and then, only in friendship. I barely had to tilt my face up to his, smiling at our similar heights, to return the kiss, as lightly as he had touched me. His arm slid from my shoulders to my waist, drawing me in, his other hand cradling my cheek as he deepened the kiss in slow, sweet increments. A brush of his tongue against my lips, the slow, easy caress of his mouth, until I ran my tongue lightly against his and drew a gasp from his throat. The smooth golden taste of the beer we'd been drinking, the lingering sweet flavor of the glaze on the sesame chicken, it was just... right. Easy and gentle and familiar, the slow slide from touching to taking.
"Not here," he grumbled, pulling away from my mouth, grabbing my hand. He pulled me down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind us with his foot and reaching impatiently for me. There was no deliberation, no set routine of foreplay and fuck, no order to it. He slid the soft camisole over my head and then kissed me again, sliding his hands down my bare arms. My hands found the buttons on his shirt, sliding them free, baring inch after inch of soft, warm skin. I slid my palms into his opened shirt and rubbed my palms up his sides, feeling the ripple of muscles contracting along his ribcage. His fingers fumbled at my waist, my borrowed belt slapping against the skin of his stomach as he yanked it. Unsupported, the jeans slithered down around my ankles and I stepped free of them. He turned and sat on the bed, fingers entangling with mine, and pulled, dragging me gently down beside him as he flicked on the bedside lamp.
"I just want to look at you," he murmured, nuzzling his face into my neck. "Do you know I've been fantasizing about you since I hit puberty?" That drew me back, made me laugh, realizing how much history lay between us. We'd compared our first times, talked about what we liked, what we hated, what we dreamed of, what we desired. I knew more about Daniel, who I'd never shared a bed with, then I did my husband. I reached for my friend, with his tender, patient eyes, his rich skin and generous heart. Two wrongs wouldn't ever make a right, but maybe a right could erase the wrong. I couldn't find anything bad or evil in this moment.
ETA: It's an extremely rough draft, lol, I just need to know if the general idea
is the right one for where I was going to put it.
Title: A Certain Way
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Original fiction, erotica, Loving Wives category
It was my own fault, really. It was Friday, the night I always worked late at the bank. I was never home before seven, and my husband, David, would have dinner from the Crock Pot dished up and waiting for me when I walked in. He didn't like eating alone, and besides, I had to heat the rolls before we could eat. We had a routine, because he liked things a certain way.
It was my own fault. My favorite lingerie shop was having its semi-annual sale and I had gone shopping during my lunch hour. I wanted to surprise him with my purchases. Lately, he had seemed more and more distant, and when he was speaking to me, or paying attention, it was as though I had done something wrong. He'd started complaining about the size of my breasts, going so far as to make an appointment for me to have a consultation for augmentation. I'd tried to broach the subject several times, as I was quite happy with the comfortably full breasts I'd been given by Nature, but he brushed me aside. He liked things a certain way, and that was all there was to it.
The house was quiet when I pulled into the driveway. The garage door was closed, and a single light burned in the living room against the growing dusk. I smiled, pleased that I my boss had allowed me to leave a couple hours early, that I had made it home before David. I pulled my bags from the car and pushed the door closed with my hip, walking through the neatly tended bank of flowers and shrubs that bordered the sidewalk to our front door. I stopped to smell one of the last roses of summer, breaking the half-open bud off the bush. I'd put it beside the bed, to perfume the air while we made love.
I unlocked the door adn pushed it open, the warm, comforting scent of pot roast and home rushing out to embrace me. I had a bottle of David's favorite Burgundy in one of the bags, I'd open it, let it breathe, and go shower and get dressed. When he came home I'd be waiting for him, with a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal, and a wife dressed in silk and lace for his pleasure. He would be happy, I thought, and maybe we could actually talk, and re-explore our marraige. I'd never been possessive of him- he was allowed to have any woman he wanted, as long as I knew about it, and he came home to me. I trusted him.
Turning down the hallway, I started towards our bedroom, intending to start the bath running before making my side trip into the kitchen. The door was just slightly ajar, and flickering golden light spilled through the crack. I stopped in the hallway, puzzled. A soft, feminine giggle clarified everything for me. I bent and put my bags on the floor, quietly, and tiptoed to the door, peeking in.
The only thing I'd ever asked of my husband, in the six years we'd been married, was that he never take one of my sisters as his mistress of the moment. I had three, all beautiful and talented,, statuesque blondes with larger breasts, better figures, and more sex appeal than I had ever had. I was the shy one, the quiet one with the mousy brown hair and odd green eyes, and I simply couldn't stand the thought of being replaced, even momentarily, by one of them.
My younger sister, Cara, was straddling my husband, laughing as he licked and nibbled at her breasts. They bounced as she rode him, making it a game- he would catch one rosy nipple in his mouth and play with it for a moment, then turn and try to capture the other as it jiggled up and down. I could see my husband's lovely cock sliding in and out of her, gleaming with wetness. She threw her head back, long blonde curls brushing his thighs, and began to rock, grinding herself into him as his fingers reached for her clit. I had seen enough.
I didn't try to be particularly quiet as I turned away from the door. They probably couldn't hear me over their own moans and gasps and curses anyway. I picked up the bags as I passed, slinging them over my left wrist while my right hand worked the heavy gold and diamond wedding set off my ring finger. I dropped it, carelessly, on the floor. I'd always hated it anyway, preferring silver or white gold delicacy to the ornate yellow gold. I left the front door standing open behind me. I didn't care if he knew I'd been there. I wasn't anymore.
The streets of our suburb had never seemed so tedious. Cookie-cutter houses with tiny variations in personality, bought for the prestige of address, not passion. I hated them. I hated all of it, in that moment. I was just driving, as far away from what I had allowed my life to become as I could get in that moment. I couldn't see through the thin shimmer of tears. I took long, slow breaths, trying to clear my mind enough to think. My best friend lived two states away, my parents and I weren't on good terms. I had acquaintances from work, from church, but no one I could trust to understand. I glanced at my laptop case, on the seat beside me, and managed a smile. Well, I had one friend, maybe.
It took twenty minutes to remember the way to Daniel's place. The duplex looked deserted, the garage closed, no lights on, which probably meant he was home. I pulled my tasteful SUV into his driveway and let it idle for a moment, trying to get myself back under control. I checked my face in the rearview mirror, wiping away smudged mascara and most of my make-up with a tissue from my purse. My face looked younger without the paint, pale and frightened, with a touch of red around my eyes. It wouldn't matter. I left everything in the car, left the car unlocked and keys in it, and walked to the door, knocking with more confidence than I felt. There was a crash and a curse from inside, and I had to smile.
When the door swung open, and Daniel blinked out at me, that wavering smile grew into a laugh. He hadn't changed so much over the years. He still looked like the skater-punk teenager we'd both been in high school, his dark, wavy hair falling over his eyes and down his shoulders, his clothes a mishmash of ripped cargo pants and long-sleeved dress shirts. The faded khaki pants he was wearing were the same ones he'd worn in high school, complete with the band patches and ink scribbles, and the rip high on his left thigh, the pocket showing white through the frayed cloth.
"Laura! What are you doing here?" Daniel pushed the door open, motioning me inside. "Don't tell me that piece of shit laptop of yours went out again?" Oh yes, that was something else about Daniel. He was the most amazing computer whiz I'd ever known. I stepped through the door into the comfortable, chaotic eclectic space he called home. A giant saltwater aquarium took up the wall behind his computer bank, angelfish the size of my head drifting lazily through the filtered blue light. A tangle of parts was dumped haphazardly across his couch, spilling onto the coffee table and the floor. A snowboard leaned against the wall, and half-neglected potted plants battled for space among a tangled of magazines, notebooks, and computer manuals.
"Still living in a slum," I teased him as he closed the door. "Do you ever throw anything out?" He grinned at me lazily, arms folded across his chest.
"Still Miss Polly Priss," he retorted, taking in my neat bank suit and heels. "What's up?"
"I just... needed to see a friendly face," I said, trying for casual. "I haven't seen you much lately."
Daniel frowned and moved away from the door, moving over to the couch and dumping wires and boards unceremoniously against the wall beside his board. He motioned me over.
"Sit down. I'll get us a beer. If you still drink beer, that is?" He was teasing me again, but his eyes were serious. There was a reason we were still friends after more than ten years.
"A beer sounds great. You still drinking Heineken?"
"Yeah." His voice trailed off as he moved into the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with two frosted, opened bottles and flopping down on the couch, handing me one. I took it with a smile and lifted it to him.
"Cheers." That first sip tasted like heaven. It had been years since I'd had a beer. David thought that women who drank beer were too masculine, too crass, for words, so I'd quit. Quit drinking the things I liked, eating what I liked, quit smoking, quit dressing in clothes I enjoyed. He had liked things a certain way, and I'd tried to be perfect. I took another long swallow, slid my shoes off and kicked them under the table, and sighed, ruffling my hair loose from the careful bun I'd put it up in that morning, scattering pens everywhere. Daniel just settled back against the arm of the couch, watching me, waiting for me to settle enough to talk. I set my drink aside and gave him what I knew was a weak smile.
"I'm going to be very rude and get comfortable, if you don't mind, Danny." He laughed and shook his head, waving me on. I reached up under the demure skirt and unfastened the stocking David preferred me to wear ("pantyhose are so unattractive") from the garter belt and rolled them down my legs, sliding them off and tucking them into my discarded shoes. I shrugged out of the tailored jacket, dropped it on the floor regardless of wrinkles, and reached under the waistband of my skirt to unfasten the garter belt. That joined the heap on the floor, and I settled back into the couch, feet tucked under me, feeling decadent and somehow naughty in my perfectly proper camisole and skirt.
"Fell free to keep right on stripping," Daniel chuckled. "But I need another beer. You?" I shook my head and he went back to the kitchen, coming back with the rest of the six pack and dropping it with a clink of glass on wood on the table. "I don't want to get up again," he explained. "Now spill, Laurie. You look like hell warmed over and just started acting more like my best buddy than you have in six years."
"It was that obvious?" I sighed. "I think I just left my husband, Daniel." Daniel choked on his beer.
"No shit? Why?" He leaned forward and snagged his cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting up. He titled the pack towards me and I accepted with a wry grin.
"I walked in and found my sister riding him like a circus pony." I was shocked at how steady my voice was, how cold I felt inside as the words sank in.
"Well, damn." Daniel looked at me, his gentle eyes moving over me slowly. "I always said he was a fuckwit. Are you, well, hell, are you okay?" He was so sweet. He always had been. I smiled, thinking about things I hadn't allowed myself to remember in years. Graduation night, sprawled on a blanket beside a bonfire with our friends and a bottle of sweet Hatteras Red, talking about the future. Daniel was going to be a hacker extraodinaire adn fight the system, and I was going to run a coffeehouse and Internet cafe, giving him a base of operations. We were going to be rich, underground famous, wild and sophisicated and madly passionate about life. He'd held on to most of those dreams- although he did more IT and programming work than hacking, as far as I knew- but I had lost mine.
The thought started me crying. Not for David, not for the end of my marraige, but for that bright-eyed eighteen-year-old I had been. Two years later I had been married, and somehow, that outgoing, fun, bright child had faded into, as Daniel had so succintly put it, Polly Priss. Warm, familiar arms wrapped around me, and I put my head on Daniel's shoulder and cried. I didn't really notice when he gently took my unlit cigarette and put it on the table, when he shifted me to sit in his lap and murmured softly that it was all going to be okay, that I was strong enough to get through this. It didn't matter, at that point. When the tears finally ran out, Daniel wiped my face with the sleeve of his shirt and kissed my forehead.
"You know what you need? You need Chinese food. Stay right here, I'll be back in a few minutes." Pressing a fresh beer into my hand, he left me curled on the couch and jogged out the door, floppy hair, baggy pants, beat up Vans. My friend, the crazy one, who would let me cry all over him, and then gorge me on Chinese food and get me to drink until I was willing to laugh with him again. I shook my head and finally lit a cigarette. The first drag made me cough, the second went down like silk, and my body let out a sigh that I hadn't known I was holding in. By the time Daniel came back, arms laden with fragrant brown bags and fortune cookies and chopsticks, I was calm again.
"Your cell phone was out in the car, ringing like mad. I brought it in, in case you want to answer it." He handed me a foil carton of sesame chicken and pork fried rice, grinning devilishly as he passed over the chopsticks. "Or you could just let me answer it for you."
"Brat." I pushed at him with my foot. We ignored the chirping of the phone at five minute intervals as we ate, catching up on gossip, on being real friends again. He found me a pair of his jeans and a belt, and we both laughed at how skinny I was compared to high school. By the time we were getting a second six pack out of his fridge, the phone rang again and I just answered it, without really thinking about it.
"Where are you? You were supposed to be home hours ago!" David's voice boomed into my ears, and I held it away from my ear. Daniel moved up and slid an arm around my shoulders, tilting his head to listen. I took a few deep breaths while David fumed in onminous silence on the other end.
"I was home hours ago," I finally said, fighting to keep my voice level and calm. "I was home two hours early in fact." The silence changed for ominous to stunned. Apparently he hadn't realized I had been there.
"We'll talk about this when you get home," David said, and his very tone of voice was condescending. I knew that tone, it meant that I was the one in the wrong. Fury flared through me.
"No, we won't. I'm not coming home, David. Not tonight, not tomorrow. I'll be by in a few days, after I've talked to my lawyer, to pick up my clothing and personal effects." Daniel squeezed my shoulders as I spoke, and I leaned on him.
"Laura, you're being unreasonable. we can work this out. You just need to come home, now."
"No, David, I don't. I'm fine where I am."
"Laura, you are coming home, if I have to come get you myself!"
Daniel snatched the phone from my hand. "Try it, Asshole," he snapped, and slapped it closed, hanging up on David. The phone instantly began to ring again, and Daniel opened it long enough to turn it off, then tossed it towards the couch. I was still staring at him, a little shocked, but grinning. He shrugged sheepishly, ducking his head, adn I just stared.
I had forgotten just how beautiful he was. Half-Irish, Half-Japanese, with smooth, dusky skin and his mother's Asian features and dark, liquid eyes, his father's heritage showing in the highlights of his dark hair, and the strong, solid build of his body. I reached up and flicked his hair out of his eyes, glad he was my friend, that he was standing up for me.
"I should go," I said. "I'm going to get a hotel room close to work or something."
"Hey, no." Daniel reached out and hugged me again. I breathed him in, his spicy cologne and warm skin, the faint remnant of cigarette smoke in his hair. "You can stay here. That's what friends are for, right?"
"I don't want David hassling you, babe. I'll just rent a room, that way the manager can call the cops if he finds me."
"And I can't?" Daniel looked offendded. "Come on, Laura. Ten years, right? How many times did we cover each other's asses back in the day?"
"I know, but this is different than cutting school or getting wasted at a party. It won't just be David, it'll be my sisters, my parents, everyone."
"You can't drive. You've been drinking."
"Daniel," I said in exasperation. "Why are you so determined for me to stay?"
He bent his head and pressed his mouth gently to mine. "Because I want you to."
Suddenly, I wanted to stay too. I wanted to put my fingers on that tiny patch of smooth golden skin showing through the rip in his pants leg, thread them through his wavy hair and kiss him. I hadn't kissed Daniel since high school, and then, only in friendship. I barely had to tilt my face up to his, smiling at our similar heights, to return the kiss, as lightly as he had touched me. His arm slid from my shoulders to my waist, drawing me in, his other hand cradling my cheek as he deepened the kiss in slow, sweet increments. A brush of his tongue against my lips, the slow, easy caress of his mouth, until I ran my tongue lightly against his and drew a gasp from his throat. The smooth golden taste of the beer we'd been drinking, the lingering sweet flavor of the glaze on the sesame chicken, it was just... right. Easy and gentle and familiar, the slow slide from touching to taking.
"Not here," he grumbled, pulling away from my mouth, grabbing my hand. He pulled me down the hallway to his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind us with his foot and reaching impatiently for me. There was no deliberation, no set routine of foreplay and fuck, no order to it. He slid the soft camisole over my head and then kissed me again, sliding his hands down my bare arms. My hands found the buttons on his shirt, sliding them free, baring inch after inch of soft, warm skin. I slid my palms into his opened shirt and rubbed my palms up his sides, feeling the ripple of muscles contracting along his ribcage. His fingers fumbled at my waist, my borrowed belt slapping against the skin of his stomach as he yanked it. Unsupported, the jeans slithered down around my ankles and I stepped free of them. He turned and sat on the bed, fingers entangling with mine, and pulled, dragging me gently down beside him as he flicked on the bedside lamp.
"I just want to look at you," he murmured, nuzzling his face into my neck. "Do you know I've been fantasizing about you since I hit puberty?" That drew me back, made me laugh, realizing how much history lay between us. We'd compared our first times, talked about what we liked, what we hated, what we dreamed of, what we desired. I knew more about Daniel, who I'd never shared a bed with, then I did my husband. I reached for my friend, with his tender, patient eyes, his rich skin and generous heart. Two wrongs wouldn't ever make a right, but maybe a right could erase the wrong. I couldn't find anything bad or evil in this moment.
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