The first time Darren and I did more than kiss was after the homecoming game our sophomore year in college. We don’t like football, but we tagged along with our friends to a party after our team beat their cross-city rivals. We were there for the free liquor and something to do on a Saturday night. We lost track of our friends almost as soon as the jungle juice started to loosen our limbs and inhibitions.
I can still remember the feeling of walking through that frat house in search of an empty room, pulling Darren behind me. I remember the way my pulse tried to keep up with the thumping bass of the stereo system as we climbed higher and higher, ducking into one room after another, laughing and apologizing as we interrupted other couples enjoying their night the way we wanted to. I remember the feeling of his lips on my neck and shoulders, his hands moving up my thighs. I remember the increasing danger of our own desire, how we barely made it inside an empty room before Darren had snaked his hand under my skirt and into my panties. I remember my clit pulsing when he turned me around and pressed me against the door, locking me between the wood and his solid body, his foot pushing mine further apart, his fingers sliding the wet fabric of my underwear aside before sinking into me.
I still remember every filthy thing he whispered into my ear all those years ago and how the thing that made me squirt into the palm of his hand was, “You want someone to hear us, don’t you?”
It’s Jourdan’s idea to call Darren.
I can hear her laughing on the phone with him while I shove the bag of Italian food in the refrigerator. It’s great reheated anyway.
When I return to the living room, she’s watching me, the belt of my robe folded neatly in her lap, a smile on her face.
“She’s wearing this very sexy robe,” Jourdan says. About me. To my husband.
I swear to God my clit jumps.
“White with gold detailing,” she says, obviously in answer to a question from Darren.
I can imagine what he’s thinking on the other side.
Jourdan puts the phone on speaker and then gestures for me to come to her. I move toward her on shaky but determined legs. I start to sit next to her, but she shakes her head and sits back. She lays my belt across her lap. My entire body is shaking now as I straddle her hips, the sides of my robe opening but not enough to expose me. Not yet.
I want Jourdan to touch me. I can tell by the grin on her face that she can see that in mine, so of course she doesn’t.
“Okay, I’m back,” Darren pants.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“My bathroom,” he says.
“Lock the door.”
“Obviously. Keep the robe on,” Darren says.
Jourdan feels me shiver and smiles. “You two can tell me the story another time.”
She places her cell phone on the cushion next to us. I hold my breath waiting, waiting, waiting.
I feel her fingertips across my collarbone in a featherlight touch that moves just under the robe. She traces the curves of my shoulders and then back again and then down my chest, around the curve of my breasts.
I gasp when she cups them in her palms, her thumbs brushing my nipples.
“Tell me,” Darren breathes, desperation dripping from each word.
Jourdan leans forward.
I hold my breath as her mouth gets closer and closer to my left breast.
“You heard the man,” she says, her breath tickling my nipple, making it harden.
I moan in a loud exhalation when her tongue grazes the tip. “She’s licking my nipple,” I groan.
I hear the sound of Darren unbuckling his belt. I’d know it anywhere. Jourdan’s lips cover my nipple. Her thumb teases the other. She watches me watch her as I tell my husband how she licks my areola and then teases the hard bud. How much I like it when she pinches the other nipple. How I shudder when he tells her that I like it rough, and she listens.
Jourdan and I listen to Darren’s labored breaths as he strokes himself in the small bathroom attached to his office.
I tell him when she moves from one breast to another. They both groan when I tell them I’m leaking down my legs. The world stops spinning for a second when he tells Jourdan — begs her, really — to touch my pussy.
“Is that what you want?” she asks me.
I nod so violently that my robe falls over my shoulders and down my arms. My fingers are digging into my thighs. I want to touch her, but the way I feel as they talk about me, as Darren tells Jourdan how to touch me — as if I have no say in the matter, as if I’m their plaything — well, I think we all get off on that.
The first time Jourdan’s fingertips touch my clit, my hips jut forward, my head falls back, and a shocked gasp falls from my lips even though I knew this was coming, even though I’ve spent the past few weeks desperate for exactly this.
Her acrylic nails scrape at my sensitive lips in a way Darren’s neatly trimmed short nails never would. Her braids fall over my leg. Her perfume surrounds me. I think I’m marking the differences between Jourdan and Darren only so I don’t let myself fly apart. And of course, Darren notices.
“Push your fingers inside of her,” he groans.
I feel her smile against the fat of my breasts, and the suction of her mouth increases. Her teeth graze my nipple.
And then her fingertips circle my opening. They’re coated in my moisture. And then the delicious pressure of her fingers invades me slowly.
Darren grunts when I let out a keening cry.
I stop telling him what happens, but he knows or can guess, and by the sound of his harsh breathing and the increasingly loud slide of skin rubbing against skin on his side of the line, that’s good enough for him.
We don’t need words for this next bit; their mingling moans are enough.
Besides, I can’t form any more words when Jourdan rubs her fingertips against my g-spot and bares her teeth so I can watch them scrape over my nipple. I let go of my thigh and cup the back of her neck, carefully sinking my fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth back to my breasts.
And then I start riding her fingers, the way I’ve ridden Darren’s fingers, mouth, and dick in this room so many times before.
Jourdan’s thumb moves over my clit, and I cry out.
Darren groans in one long sigh. I know the sound of my man coming.
I push Jourdan away from my breasts and crush my mouth against hers. I start grinding my pussy wildly against her palm. She pinches my lips so hard that I cry out. She bites my bottom lip.
I squirt into her palm, shaking violently on top of her.
She digs her fingers into me, filling me up as best she can while grinding the heel of her hand against my clit. “You never told me she was a squirter, Darren,” Jourdan says while placing butterfly kisses over my lips.
“Thought you’d appreciate experiencing that for yourself,” he says with a tired sigh.
“God, you two are so much fun,” she says, pulling me to her for another kiss.
Darren listens to us, still huffing, trying to catch his breath.
This is the best hangover I’ve ever had.
aftercare
I send Jourdan into the downstairs bathroom, and she passes her clothes, wet with my release, through the door.
I feel terrible as I shove them into the washing machine, but my entire body is buzzing. I start the washer, lean against it, and close my eyes.
“Everything alright?”
I jump at the sound of her voice and turn to find her in just her underwear — a simple pair of black panties and a matching cotton bra — already nodding absentmindedly.
“You sure?”
“What was it like, jacking my husband off in the middle of the park?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say it was the middle,” she says warily. “Are you jealous?”
“Curious.” She leans against the doorjamb, crossing her arms, and lifts her eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. “Sometimes we talk about fooling around in public, but we never do. We’ve got the kids and our jobs.” I cringe. “Darren’s a teacher. We can’t risk it.”
She nods. “He was so nervous and cute, and then so fucking horny for a second I thought he was an entirely different man.”
My nipples harden, and I clutch the sides of my robe closed.
Jourdan’s eyes go to my hand, my breasts, and then back to my face. “Hungry?” she asks.
I shake my head, but my stomach rumbles loudly, and we both laugh. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s see what you love about La Bella Rosa.”
I nod and start to follow her. “Oh, wait. Here.” I reach into the hamper at my feet. Darren always leaves a bunch of clothes down here. He can remember to wash them and to switch them to the dryer, but after that, it’s a mystery. And I love him, but I’m not interested in performing this particular act of service. Besides, he seems to appreciate always having a clean shirt on the first floor of our house.
“You never know,” he usually says. I will never tell him that he was right.
I pull a couple of his tops out and hand one to Jourdan. We watch each other as we pull on matching Cavs jerseys, and then she reaches for my hand and leads me into the kitchen.
Jourdan leaves after we eat, and I consider moping for a while or maybe just crawling into bed with one of my toys, but when I look at the microwave clock, I realize that I only have half an hour before Darren gets home with the kids.
I fling open every window in the living room and throw a roast Darren left marinating into a pan with some vegetables, cover with foil, and shove the whole thing into the oven on three-fifty. I dart upstairs to shower and throw on some sweats and an old TLC t-shirt. I jog down the stairs at the exact moment the boys fling the front door open.
“Aht-aht,” I call to Danny, who freezes, his hand raised in mid-throw. “Don’t you throw that bag just anywhere. Line your shoes up and take your bags to the laundry room. Me and your daddy aren’t your maids.” He sighs, and both boys silently do as I say.
I give them kisses on their foreheads as they walk past me into the kitchen to make it to the laundry room.
“Can we play Alien Empire?” Nate asks while he endures my kiss. I see Danny peek over his shoulder.
“Homework?” I ask.
“We did it all in free period before practice,” Danny says excitedly.
“It’s in our folders,” Nate adds. “You can check.” He stands next to his twin, their hands tight around the handles of their gym bags.
I know when my sons are lying, and right now, they’re not, but I don’t want to give in too quickly. “You remember how to sort your laundry and start the washing machine?”
They look at each other dubiously and then shrug as if to say that between the two of them, they can figure it out.
“You two go start your laundry while your dad and I check your homework.”
“If everything’s in order, then…” Darren adds.
The boys are smiling with giddy excitement.
“Then you two can play Alien Invaders until dinner.”
“Alien Empire, mom,” Danny whines.
“Whatever. Go on.”
They run away. I don’t bother telling them to walk.
I turn to Darren. He has both boys’ homework folders in one hand, his own backpack thrown over his other shoulder, and a smile on his face as he stalks toward me. He bends over, and I grab greedily at his shoulders, pulling him close.
He smiles as I crush my mouth to his and slide my tongue between his lips. I press my body against him.
“Did you two have fun?” he whispers.
I nod, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.
“Do you want to do it again?”
I moan softly against his lips, and he wraps an arm around my waist. His backpack falls down his arm. I can’t stop kissing him.
He grips my waist, and I run my palm over his bald head.
“Mom, how much bleach do we use again?” one of the twins calls.
“No bleach!” Darren and I yell at the same time, panicked. Their yellow and baby blue uniforms were expensive as hell.
“I’ll go check on them,” I tell him. “And dinner’s in the oven. Go relax.”
He nods and kisses my cheek. “She wants me to take you on a date,” he says.
I smile. “That’s sweet.”
His mouth brushes my earlobe. “She wants me to fuck you in public,” he whispers.
I gasp.
He kisses my cheek again and then brushes past me.
I’m frozen in a horny haze until the sound of the boys arguing pulls me back into reality.