Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette

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Sebastian was used to getting what he wanted, but he went about it in such a way that it made you feel good to give it to him. We first met at a football game. I had gone at the invitation of a male coworker, hoping that football game was code for sex. My coworker, on the other hand, seemed more interested in men with tight pants on the field. I’m always the last to know.

Disinterested, realizing I was now on a date with a man who was more gay than metrosexual, I headed to the snack bar. The closest match for my insatiable desire for penis was a hotdog. I covered mine with ketchup, relish, mustard, and slurped at it. Sebastian had been in line behind me and watched transfixed. His gaze steadied as I opened my jaw for the last hungry bite and licked the mess of it off my fingers. He smirked at my obvious hunger and his own, for the tantalizing wetness he was sure I had between my legs. He asked me out on a date while I pretended not to see the tan line on his ring finger. Over cappuccinos he told me his wife was dull, her lovemaking lacking. He shared that her body too easily succumbed to his bidding, without any desire of her own. It had excited him at first. When they had first met, she was a nubile nineteen year old. If he told her to bend over, she would, as if waiting for instruction. Now, twelve years later, he was sick of instigating the position. How many times had he bent her body over the banister as he filled himself in her? Thousands? He longed for another’s touch as much as she no longer seemed to long for his. For six months they hadn’t made love and Sebastian had become skilled at satisfying himself in the shower, or to the image of a naked woman on his computer. He was sure his wife heard his nightly moans as he never tried to hide them, but she never once entered the room to investigate. Soon, he began stroking himself at work in the bathroom, to the image of the receptionist, the delivery girl, the woman at the cafe- really, anyone would do.

Sebastian wasn’t a pity fuck, however. He was more like wine. He’d been bottled up long enough that his sexy manliness was potent, begging to be uncorked. His wispy brown hair jutted out at his neckline and I desperately wanted to nibble on his ear lobes. His arms were broad and smooth, while the rest of his body was equally well-defined. Most of all, he wanted me so much that he couldn’t stand it. I could sense it the moment he’d introduced himself. He’d inhaled my perfume as I said hello, like my kiss might be able to save him from the oblivion of mediocrity. After coffee, I gave it to him right away. He was hung up on the idea of a hotel, somewhere “special” for our “first time”, but I unzipped his pants as he drove and demanded he pull over to the side of a road. His breath was fast, when he turned off the car’s engine in the far end of a cul-de-sac, facing a brick wall. I let my tongue out like a serpent, it reached further than he’d expected after watching my messy licks at the football game. He couldn’t think straight, could only feel the motions, my figure eights with pulses of spit and sucking, my hot breath warming him until his penis grew and grazed the back of my throat. He trembled, I wanted to swallow him but my sex couldn’t be deprived. I slid between his body and the steering wheel. He was grateful to find I didn’t have panties on and felt my silk moisture immediately. I rode him furiously, until we both came in an explosion of mutual lust, my back grinding into the horn. It beeped, as if it too had enjoyed our session.

The End

Bio: Jen X is a lover not a fighter, and a writer not an office worker. Not that she can’t be found working in offices from time to time, but (when she does) she’s usually sneaking poems onto the backs of file folders. Her work is widely published and can be found in “Tin Foil Dresses”, “Slut”, “The Scrambler”, “Bohemia Journal” and others. She likes hot tea and knee socks.   http://ilovejenx.com