The bed posts rattle dangerously; he is about to explode.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he grunts.
It is the third time that he is coming tonight; his phenomenal sex drive appeases me.
He clings onto me in a death-grip, I feel his thighs shudder as he pounds into me deep one last time before collapsing onto the wrinkled bed-sheets.
“Damn…” he groans from the back of his throat.
I kiss him lightly on the shoulders and snuggle in.
“You drive me crazy,” he says, gazing sleepily into my eyes.
“Mmm-hmm,” I mutter.
He hands me my bottle of beer from the bedside table: tepid now, but neither of us are willing to walk twenty paces to the fridge for anything colder.
“I’m going to Vietnam for two weeks next Tuesday,” he states.
“Would you like to come with me?”
My eyes widen.
He looks back at me steadily.
“You mean, see you off at the airport, right?” I ask.
“You want to go on vacation with me?” The words escape my lips in a stupor.
“Well, technically, I’m working there,” he says as a boyish grin begins to spread over his sensual lips. “But I’m an important employee; I don’t have to be at the office every single hour, every single day.”
I continue staring at him stupidly.
“I can show you around the city during the day, and fuck you senseless every night,” he drawls as his perfect white smile dazzles me. “Kind of like what I’ve been doing tonight.”
This is not what I have expected.
“Let me see if I can move my schedule around a bit,” I reply. “But, no promises.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I offer him a weak smile, kiss him on the tip of his nose, and then pretend to concentrate on finishing my beer.
Brad is cute, sweet and young — two years younger than I am.
Age is not really a matter, but another thing is: I am sort of fucking an extra guy on the side.
No, not really.
Lester, the extra guy, has been my obsession for over a year. He was simply mesmerizing; it was physically impossible not to strip and jump into bed with him the second I first laid eyes on him, and I had never been such an outright slut before. The sexual tension between us was more than intense: it sizzled, it burnt.
He was secretive; I never knew his whereabouts. He texted me with sweet nothingness whenever he wanted sex, and I kept falling for it time and again.
After the first liaison, he sent me this message, “You have the most beautiful pussy I’ve seen in twenty-one years.”
How precise: twenty-one years.
Another day, after a sex-marathon of two full hours, this message appeared on my phone, “You are the best in the world for sucking me.”
I re-read that for the rest of the week; it was more uplifting than any other compliments I had received in my entire adulthood.
Dumb, I know. But the fanatic passion he ignited in my spine was all-consuming; he was literally on my mind all my waking moments, at times even in dreams.
Brad came into the picture four months ago: he worked at the office opposite mine; we bumped into each other almost every morning at the Starbucks downstairs.
He is so normal; a genuine man who has proved his feelings towards me with actions in addition to his flattery.
He does not sweep me under the rug; he enjoys being with me. The more time he has spent with me, the more he desires me.
Not exactly rocket-science, is it?
Green and yellow neon lights are flaring their vulgarity from across the street. I glance at the tanned man lying beside me: head resting on his palm, eyes closed, probably drifting into slumber; and I wonder how I could have been such a fool.
Lester does not even measure up to neon signs; he only resembles false lights reflected in a mirror — I saw in him what I had desperately wanted to believe: a playboy falling in love with me.
Brad is like sunlight that I can openly bask in during the day; it has real power to warm my skin.
Wasn’t there an old joke that said, to get over one person, get yourself another two, or four? I guess all it takes is one who sincerely gives a shit.
Vietnam, huh? I begin mentally packing my suitcase.
Bio of the author: Anna is a shameless romantic, lifelong bookworm, and chronic daydreamer. She writes erotic romances for the fiercely loyal at heart. Catch her typing naked at her blog: Anna Bayes.