After Class
by Lady Cheeky and Mr. Guerre
The note on the counter read, “Don’t forget, I have class tonight. Dinner is in the fridge. Enjoy your evening and relax.” A red lipstick mark to sign her love brought a smile to my face.
It had been a stressful day, slaying the dragons of insanity. It’s hard to believe some people hold the positions granted them by corporate leadership. I opened the fridge, took out the sandwich and beer and took them to the den.
Turning on the television, flipping from her channel to mine. If this is “the best week of sports” what shall I watch? Nothing. Well local news will do — watch the damage from last night’s storms. I drop the remote beside my beer and retreat to the bedroom.
In the bedroom I remove my suit. Hanging the tie, belt, and suit in the closet for another day. Taking off my shoes, I buff them slightly. I guess I could shine them tonight. Socks and boxers are tossed into the hamper as I nakedly stroll across the bedroom to the dresser. There I grab an old soft shirt and running shorts, covering my slight belly and body.
I return to the den, ready to eat and relax. Hoping I can remain awake to welcome you home. The beer, the full belly, the weak television schedule and the exhausting day conspire against my intentions. I awake three hours later, your skirt brushing across my exposed legs, your body shifting the chair. My lover is home. I groggily come to my senses.
A sleepy smile crosses my lips. Your beautiful body hovers over me like a hawk over it’s freshly caught prey. I’m happy to be your catch of the day. My nose gathers your lovely scent as my eyes continue to adjust. Your perfume is joined by . . . I’m not sure what other aroma accents the expected olfactory joy of your presence.
Your hair frames your face perfectly; a red wavy do that serves as a sirens song to passing strangers. Your fiery locks are the first thing many notice as they pass you by and turn their heads. My eyes catch the happy yet mischievous smile across your face as they travel downward. Drawn by the magnetic vortex that is your ample cleavage and bosom. I arch my back and stretch slightly not wanting to abandon my place beneath your figure.
You seemingly have imbibed in my visage long enough. “Good evening babe,” you sexily whisper. “I’m sorry I woke you”. Your smirk begets a different sentiment.
My mind struggles with balancing the visual input of the canyon between your breasts and the auditory processing necessary to respond. Buying more time I stretch again, rising slightly off the chair. “I’m not sorry at all,” I finally stammer. My trustworthy body already willingly responding despite a lack of cognitive processing. ”How was your class?”
“Better than most,” you reply. ”But I have quite a bit of homework to make sure I understand the theory and ideas and how they relate to practical implementation.”
Your body has lowered slightly. Your silk sundress wispily brushes across my bare legs. Your lips are inches away from my face. I anxiously anticipate your next move, upcoming words, or what might happen next.
… to be continued
