As soon as I walked into the apartment, I could tell there was someone else there. It wasn’t a smell or a sound or anything like that, I just knew. As I’ve come to know and expect most things from her.
I set my briefcase down in the kitchen, took off my coat, hung it on the back of a chair and poured myself a glass of water. But I could only stall for so long.
She was in my bed, under the covers, as I walked into the bedroom. When she saw me, she stretched like a cat awaking from a long nap and removed some of the covers.
“How was your day, honey?” she purred, half jokingly. Though even so, the word “honey,” coming from her now sounded like nails on a chalkboard to me. I should never have given her my keys, I thought, and immediately hated myself for having thought it.
She motioned for me to join her on the bed, so I sat next to her, as she pulled me down by my tie and planted a generous kiss on my lips.
“It was a long day. Big project. The clients were being difficult and indecisive.” I said it, but figured it probably didn’t matter in the least bit.
“That’s why you’re home so late! Poor baby,” she cooed and kissed me again.
I stripped the covers off the bed and off of her. She was naked except for a little lace piece of, what one might call, underwear covering her pussy. I stroked her thigh. It was smooth, soft, milky white. The same thigh I’ve been stroking for months. But something was different. It wasn’t the thigh, it was something else. I wondered if passion leaves through the same door as boredom enters.
She began removing my clothes, first the tie, then she unbuttoned my shirt, undid my belt and unzipped my pants. She did it with all the skill and expertise of someone that’s been doing this for a long time. Someone who knew my body and clothes like her own ten fingers.
My hand wandered between her legs and under her panties. She was wet. As wet as she has always been. As wet as the first time I put my hands on that crotch and decided that I couldn’t not. Sometimes she feels she has to explain herself, so she whispers, “you make me so horny,” or some variation thereof. I wondered if it was really me, or just some insatiable thirst. A thirst she’s decided I should be the one to try and quench as often as possible.
Having found her so wet the first or second time, I told her I wanted to drown myself inside her. So she let me. And I continued drowning. As I was about to drown again.
I was on top of her again. Inside her as she wrapped her lithe body around me, at the same time shrinking under my weight. I could no longer see her. I could just see the headboard and the white of the pillows and sheets in front of me. Feel myself submitting to an endless current of fluid and movement. We were doing this dance, again.