by Zane
The trainer pulled down the biker shorts to mid-thigh and let his “Johnson” hang freely for her to see.
Damn, April said to herself. Even soft, he is larger than Virgil’s erection.
The trainer caught the mild excitement in her eyes and felt that she was trying to be strong. He held his manhood at the base, slapped it against his leg until it started to rise.
“When I can’t get it up like this, I’ll take Viagra,” he boasted. “By the time I need help, it will probably be available in an aerosol can. You see,” he said, directing her eyes down to the thicker, longer erection, “size does matter.”
“You’re right. I totally agree. The size of your big-ass attitude and inflated ego sickens my stomach. You can kindly leave. I’ll send you a check for the week. I’m through with you.”
April had the front door opened and an arm pointing to his exit. Her serious, distant expression silenced his words. He put his tool away, picked up the workout bag, hung the strap on his shoulder and walked out the door shaking his head. April closed and locked the door behind him. Her sense of being liberated was now far grander than moments ago when she responded to the trainer’s question. She was proud that the feeling was her own and not a sensed notion.
SEVENTEEN
In three days’ time, Ariel had secured a ninth-floor, moderately priced condo a few blocks from her job. She was sitting on the living room’s hardwood floor waiting for all new furniture and a window decorator to arrive.
“Hello,” she said after she answered her cell phone.
“That was a funny trick you played on me,” the caller spoke.
“Steven, you’re alive. How is the ole stomach?” Ariel asked.
“You’re still the comedienne. You have no idea of the anxiety I had thinking you’d actually poisoned me. To top it off, when I went to check my email, the DSL line was down. I almost dialed nine-one-one. All I thought about until the line came up was to drink plenty of water…which, by the way, had me pissing all night long. When I read your email that said, ‘Fool, I’m not crazy, nothing is wrong with you,’ I could have killed you from the scare alone.”
“As I recall it, killing me was pretty much your plan the last time I saw you.”
“I wouldn’t harm you like that,” Steven responded.
Ariel removed the cell phone from her ear, gazed at it strangely and closed the device to end the call. She had counted to seven when the cell phone rang again.
“Steven,” Ariel said. “What do you want?”
“You’re right,” Steven confessed. “My anger had gotten the best of me. However, since that time, I’ve taken a moment to reflect on what you must feel. I have been abusive mentally and physically to you. I truly apologize,” Steven relayed somberly. “It hadn’t been an everyday thing, but I’d imagine enough to turn your heart away from me.”
“That’s a wonderful summation,” Ariel replied.
“Let me make it up to you. Come home,” Steven pleaded.
The loud laughter Ariel bellowed carried on for a long moment, long enough for Steven to interrupt the solo laugh.
“Okay, I understand. Not a chance in hell, right,” Steven spoke.
“Precisely.”
“I do want to make it up to you,” Steven repeated again.
During the small moment of silence, Ariel bit down on her lip to prevent herself from laughing again. Steven sensed Ariel’s need to quantify his statement.
“I’m selling the house, and half of the profit will be sent to you. I can’t see myself living in this big-ass house alone.”
Note to self, Ariel thought. Cancel divorce attorney meeting tomorrow.
“And another positive note,” Steven continued. “I’ve scheduled a counseling session to talk about my anger issues.”
“That’s a big step. I’m proud you’re addressing them.”
“Well, if I’m to have a new life, I’d better fix what’s wrong with me. So, how have you been?” Steven asked.
Ariel heard the sadness in his voice. She hoped he was sincere with his apology, hoped he would seek help, and hoped he wouldn’t try to track her down with what she was about to say.
“Steven,” Ariel spoke slowly, “you should know that I took half of our joint savings to have money for my new home.”
“I saw that.”
“I wasn’t trying to piss you off. I’m entitled.”
“Calm down,” Steven replied. He sensed a bit of tension in her words. “I’m not upset and yes, you are entitled. We both have been adding money to that account for years.”
“Don’t worry, when I was in the credit union, I removed myself from the account,” Ariel explained.
“Hmm…very noble of you, even though I’ve never known you to be vindictive.”
“Just being fair.” Ariel paused unknowing what more to say.
She appreciated Steven’s gesture and somehow believed a different, more civilized person was speaking to her.
“Well,” Steven said. “I just wanted you to know what I was planning. I won’t hold you.” Steven paused. The realization that he wouldn’t hold her in his arms saddened him. “Good luck with your new place,” he said and fought the notion to ask the location.
“Thank you.”
“Sounds good.”
It appeared they played a game of who would end the call first. All it accomplished was another moment of uncomfortable silence.
“That must be the furniture people,” Ariel said upon hearing a knock on the door.
The distraction was great timing. They needed something to break the awkward moment.
“Got to run,” Ariel said. “Let’s talk soon.”
“Sure thing.”
They ended the conversation with an understanding of separate lives. The living room furniture Ariel purchased was ultra-modern leather pieces, angular in design. She chose a bright-red color to offset the varying shades of pastel wall paint. She sat on the footstool and mentally chose a new color for each room. The living room where she sat, the dining room, kitchen, bedroom and bath were all slated for a makeover.
Ariel stood, cautiously walked toward the bathroom for no other reason than a need to be there. It summoned her like a ghost’s whisper. She walked into the plush bath that had yet to be decorated and gazed into the mirror trying to find a sensation familiar to her. After moments of examining herself, the sense of belonging and the presence of another were absent. She turned around, rested her butt against the pedestal sink and a notion called upon her once more. She closed her eyes, held them shut for a moment, then her head turned to the left as if she was sniffing down a scent. When she opened her eyes, the oversized tub was in sight.
Ariel dug through a box on the counter. It contained bathroom necessities and other things to pamper herself. She pulled out a twenty-four pack of votive candles, placed them strategically around the tub and placed another item on the floor before she started a steamy bath draw. She had no rational reason why she only lit every other candle; she just did. She then turned the bathroom lights off. The multiple flickering flames created an array of different feelings within her. She tossed the head of a single rose into the water and waited for the petals to separate before entering the alluring bath. She then carefully stepped over the burning candles and stood in the tub.
Ariel anticipated lowering her body into the deep, hot bath laced with baby oil. She lowered to her knees, splashed water on her thighs to help adjust the water’s temperature. Ariel supported her weight with both hands, respectively on each side of the tub, straightened one leg in front of her, then the other. At a snail’s pace, she bent her elbows to descend her body into the water. The baby oil-laced water felt like liquid silk as her legs slowly submerged under the water. The sting of the hot silky water on her womanhood forced an arched back; she composed herself and ever so slowly lowered her body into the water. The water level was just below her breasts in the full sitting position. She placed both hands into the water, immediately felt
her fingers energize with warmth and cupped her breasts with her hot hands. Her sensitive nipples were pressed centered under her palms.
Ariel wasn’t prepared for the erotic sensation the fire-like hand gave her. It was damn near an aphrodisiac. Needless to say, the hand-to-breast maneuver became repetitive. It eventually led to nipple pinching with fiery fingertips. She had difficulties determining whether the self-pleasing or the water’s temperature made her forehead sweat, but streams of water began to roll down her face. The one sure thing was that her womanhood demanded attention. One hand swam toward the yearning.
Damn, all of my toys are boxed, she thought.
She touched herself, it felt different. Maybe it was the new sense of freedom, or possibly the aura of her new home, but something had changed. Then it hit her—she was now able to please herself without the repercussion and the thought excited her more than any tongue lashing or hard-on Steven ever gave her.
Ariel carefully reached between two burning candles, picked up the plastic item, submerged it under water and waited for all air bubbles to stop. Seconds later, Ariel moved the flesh from around her jewel and then shot her clitoris with liquid bullets. The water gun’s stream was strong enough to penetrate through the bathwater and tantalize her cherry in a pulsating manner. Each pull of the trigger felt like a makeshift shower massage. The good part was, she had an endless supply of ammunition as long as her trigger finger still had strength to pull the trigger hard. Within minutes, the water gun’s jet stream had her in full moan mode. Not only was her forehead sweating, all non-submerged body parts had rivers of water feeding back into the giant lake-like bath. Oddly, she wished she could hear the sound of rain.
Ariel had reached the boiling point. Her flesh was not to touch, her blood pressure rose to where her erotic state couldn’t combat the sense of dizziness. Her trigger finger halted, the gun remained underwater, but normal breathing was a difficult task.
“Shit, I’m too hot,” she panted.
She stood and steam rose from her skin as if she was emerging from the deep fryer. She waved a hand at her head attempting to cool herself. Yet, her jewel spat on the neglect. It throbbed and reminded her that it hated to be teased. She crossed her legs, held them tight attempting to control the beast, but the move was the prelude for what she did next. Her fingers exposed the clitoris naked to the universe. Then, as if she needed to slay a beast that just wouldn’t die, the trigger finger moved in a rapid session. The liquid bullets without the bathwater’s resistance felt more like the pressure from a fireman’s hose. The intermittent sprays instantly caused her body to jerk. She accepted a challenge within herself to climax before the pistol ran out of water. The machinegun-like spray ignited a roar within her. She took a deep breath and held it captive for a moment.
“Aahhh!” she bellowed in a loud-pitch rising tone.
She dropped the water gun and finished the orgasm with a finger. She was exhausted. Her weakened knees collapsed into the tub. It sent water over the sides of the tub like a tidal wave caused by an underground earthquake. Her heart pounded violently, its vibrations echoed in her ears and her sensitive cherry stung like it had been whipped.
Ariel remained on her knees until normal breathing had returned, until her jewel felt less fiery, until she could lay back in the tub with her head resting against the top rim. With her eyes closed, she used the remaining heat from the bath to send her down a road of tranquility. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awoke, the chilled water was overshadowed by her pruned skin.
EIGHTEEN
It had been a few days since April ended the sexual affair with the personal trainer. She believed she had succeeded in concealing the separation anxiety from Virgil. However, her spouse’s overabundance of pampering made her wonder if he suspected he’d done something wrong. His latest treat included the couples shower they were in. He was washing her back with soapy hands that felt more like caressing to April. His fingertips pressed the muscles in her back with just the right amount of force. This had April eagerly awaiting what he had in store. He had strategically placed aromatic freshly cut lilies throughout the bathroom. A faint whisper of Jazz played on the bedroom stereo, but Virgil’s attentiveness was what made the evening enchanting. He undressed her, pinned her hair up and had administered a perfect manicure and pedicure. His pampering relaxed her; she was very much in need of the attention.
In a short time, Virgil had washed every inch of her body. Her head fell backward when he dropped to his knees in front of her. The overly hot water massaging her face felt slightly less than how acid might on her face. But the discomfort was easily dampened by Virgil’s mouth collapsing around her jewel. She arched her back for a greater effect and pulled her lower lips apart and then upward. This allowed her jewel to become a lonely stone on a desolate beach. At first, Virgil tantalized her with his soft tongue. He made wide deliberate strokes followed by a narrow, piercing tip that caressed her ever so gently.
After a couple of minutes of Virgil’s precision-like tongue movements, April felt as though she was losing her mind. He continued until her legs wobbled like jelly.
“I can’t let you have that big ‘O’ just yet,” Virgil said. “Let’s see just how long we can prolong it.”
April didn’t know what to think. The erotic state clouded her judgment.
“Whatever…you…want,” she spoke barely legible to Virgil.
He caught the excess water falling from her womanhood in his mouth until the natural chamber overflowed. He replaced her fingers with his, spread her lower lips with a “V” formation of his fingers, pressed against her and pushed upward. Her man-in-the-boat stood at attention ready for commands. Virgil sprayed a pinpointed stream of water between his teeth onto her exposed clit.
At first she was startled, but the next time was twice as pleasing. April’s head slowly fell forward; she watched the timed liquid bullets strike her jewel like a lawn sprinkler, intermittent, yet constant. When his mouth emptied, he refilled the chamber and repeated the process until his tongue became too sensitive from pressing against his two front teeth.
April’s legs began to shake. She believed if a faint breeze traveled through the bathroom, she’d climax. Instead the telephone rang. Virgil wasn’t bothered by the distraction and April was skilled at staying tuned through tremendous thunderstorms. Therefore, when the machine’s greeting filled the air, she was far from fazed. Virgil began darting his tongue in and out of her wetness at a supersonic pace. Her control had all but vanished. She merely held the release to make the climax more explosive. Virgil knew that she was an instant away from erupting when her fingernails scratched his shoulder with a rhythm that increased after each movement.
“Steven, your wife ended our affair,” the personal trainer spoke. His voice floated through the answering machine’s speaker like a sour note played on a violin. “I just thought you should know.” There was a small moment of silence, followed by a panicked, louder tone. “Oh fuck,” the trainer said, “I thought I’d dialed your cell.”
The personal trainer hung up the phone without another word. April’s sensual mood vanished quicker than the Titanic sinking into the black depths of the sea. She hastily backed away from his hungry mouth, under the shower’s stream until her back hit the shower control knob. She managed to ignore the pain traveling down her leg caused by the octagon-shaped object. She gazed at her spouse disillusioned. Virgil’s sad-eyed expression was identical to hers. Even the shower’s stream that caused his eyes to bat a mile a minute couldn’t conceal his new turbulent emotions.
April carefully stepped out of the tub. She neglected the drying towel and laid her wet body onto the bed. Moments later, Virgil entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist. He sat on the side of the bed unsure of what to say. April was dealing with an internal struggle. Part of her raged while another part of her had guilt for her actions. She turned to her stomach, eyes open in a dead stare, and attempted to make sense of what she was feeli
ng. She got up, returned from the bathroom wearing a robe, and then paced in front of him for a moment. The time Virgil spent watching his wife walk battling her confusion felt like eternity to him.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” Virgil said with his head hung low.
“You paid him?” April responded. She easily ignored his comment. Virgil’s head lifted, his eyes met her anger. “You paid him to fucking have sex with me!” she yelled.
All sense of sensibility had left April. The guilt of her participation was squashed like a bug under a shoe. Knowing that her husband set her up to fail was bewildering.
“I did,” Virgil responded shamefully. His spirits ran low. “But still you…” Virgil stopped his sentence. The old saying about leading a horse to water flashed through his mind. Drank the water, he thought. “I did it because of my…” Virgil paused again. This time he simply stared at her.
“You paid someone to fuck me. Sure, it took care of a need,” she said as she paced back and forth again. “But, at the same time, the guilt I’ve had to live with outweighed most of the pleasure I gained.”
“I just wanted you to feel like a real woman,” Virgil responded.
“Virgil, I felt like a real woman just having a man like you. I’ll admit, often I grew tired of not being fulfilled, but I knew what I was getting into before I married you. It’s not like after we said, ‘I do,’ your dick suddenly shrank. So you see, I was willing to deal with our love life.”
April’s hands approached her head; she grabbed two fistfuls of hair and felt a need to snatch out chunks of it.
“I understand now,” she spoke as her eyes filled with water, “why your efforts ceased. As I look back on things, your attentiveness to please me changed about the same time the personal trainer came along. You hired him to give me what you couldn’t, yet, you couldn’t handle the reality of your action. Am I right?”