A FUCK

I return to the bedroom and stand over Fabiola. I reach under the sheets and up her cheap flannel gown to her panties. She pushes my hand away. "I'm tired. Let's wait until morning." "I want to do it now. I'm horny. I took the pills." "Why did you have to take those stupid pills. I told you not to take them." "I wanted to be good and hard for you. I need to come." An air of exasperation escapes her. I pull off her panties and spread her legs with my knees. I reach down to touch her pussy, but she pushes me away. I pull her nightgown above her breasts, but she pulls it down. I touch a breast with one hand as I straddle her in a push-up position and she swipes my hand away. "Let me eat you so I can get you wet." "No! Hurry up and do it." I'm a hard as a rock and as straight as an arrow. She guides me into her chute like a plane entering a hangar. She turns her face to one side to prevent me from kissing her on the lips. I push myself completely into her and slowly pump. If she doesn't want to share in the lust, then I'll take all the pleasure for myself. I filed through my mental archives in order to create the right scenario. The doctor is standing in the wings waiting to assume his usual role. I stop momentarily for the Denver connection as Fabiola emerges from the bathroom with her clean naked body rubbing against the soft fabric of the bathrobe. I move speedily to another scene in which her last lover is carrying her through the door of his home after fingering her in the car when I settle on that little known character who was the first to have sex with her after she had split from her husband. She is entering his apartment after they have agreed that they will make love. She is wearing a short red shirt with a black top. He escorts her toward the couch, but before they sit he kisses her as he runs his hands up and down the side of her body. He lifts his shirt and places her hands on his chest. He unbuttons her blouse and puts his hands on her breasts and squeezes them while he bites her neck. Then he reaches around her back and unclasps the bar, which he removes along with the blouse. As he slips out of his shirt, he sucks her nipples. Slightly bent over in order to lick her tits, he unbuckles his pants and pulls down the zipper. He moves Fabiola's hand toward his belly button. She doesn't need much prompting as she slides her hand into his briefs and grips his hard cock. She is stroking him while their tongues clash like sabers. There is no hurry although he wants to feel his dick insider her as quick as possible. After he fucks her once, he can take his time with the second one. He reaches behind her and unzips the skirt which falls to the ground. Then he grabs her panties from the hips and yanks them off. He runs his hand over her thick patch and prods inward until he has inserted his index finger to the second knuckle. He moves his finger in a larger and larger circle until there is enough room to include the middle finger in a digital orgy. He moves the two fingers in and out. He thinks about eating her, but that can wait until later in the evening. He pulls her down to the carpet, spreads her legs and finds his way into her. Then he starts pumping, slowly gaining momentum, his entire mind concentrating on the sides of her vagina as her pussy contracts against his cock. The pressure escalates and he explodes inside her. Exhausted and relieved, I fall off Fabiola assisted by a shove. She rises from the bed and I watch her ass disappear into the bathroom. How many other guys have observed that same sight as she hurried to clean the fresh sperm out of her? I have no desire to cuddle. She would only push me away. Sex was the price she had to pay in order to avoid a confrontation. Now she can sleep. In her own mind she has gone beyond the call of duty. I am not going to quibble either. It was an adequate fuck in terms of imagination and ejaculation. I have not cheated myself. When I am dead and dispersed, I will be able to say that I wasn't cheated out of my share of cheap thrills although I may have cheated myself out of most everything else in life. I leave for the kitchen with a sudden need for a glass of wine and a snack. They will serve me as better companions than the person who was once the love of my life. I hear her leaving the bathroom as I make a left turn down the hallway and set my sights on the kitchen. The wine bottle is empty. Stoned, I must have finished it without realizing it. I need at least a glass, maybe two, before I can fathom the idea of sleeping. I walk to her bedroom and mutter into the dark, "I'm going to the store. Do you want anything?" "Check and see if there's any cereal for the kids." "I'll be right back." At HEB the aisles are abandoned at this late hour. No young women pass to exchange questioning looks. I am cursing Fabiola beneath my breath: "Fuck you, puta! Get out of my life, puta! I hate you! I hate you! If your mother ever reprimands you about your behavior, Adriana, you might remind her that I kissed her on the second day after I knocked at her door and fucked her the following day after she had sent you and your brother to stay with your grandparents, that she would have three and four lovers at a time and that she loved getting drunk and doing drugs and having sex in the back of a car. Your mother is a puta! Fuck you, Fabiola! Fuck you, Fabiola! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" "Excuse me, sir. What did you say?" A middle-aged woman carrying a tub of ice cream is standing in front of me. She is red. "Excuse me, ma'am. What are you talking about?" "What were you saying?" "I wasn't saying anything. Maybe I was talking to myself. I wasn't talking to you." "Regardless, sir. You need to watch your language." Not only will I be an old man shambling down downtown streets, but I'll be muttering to myself. I look for a Cabernet Sauvignon. One of the luxuries I allow myself on a regular basis is a good bottle of wine. I stand and study the offerings as if I were at a Nevada cathouse and a dozen girls were filing in front of me. I know that I can't miss if I'm willing to dig a little deeper into my wallet, but it's a question of whether or not I can make a direct hit, a taste that causes the hairs to stand on the back of my head. I could pay thousands for a high-priced prostitute and there would be few surprises if any except for the regret of the numerous $100 whores I could have for the same price. But to drink from a bottle worth thousands! What kind of experience would that be!?! Would it be like Fabiola's famous words: "Once you come, you never come back." And once again I'm staring into a blank existence as the reds dissolve into the black and I'm shuddering imagining the sensations streaking through her supine body as some guy is eating her for the first time. I pick up at $25 bottle instead of a $15 bottle since tomorrow is payday and tonight's check won't clear for a few days. Living from paycheck to paycheck, there won't be any extravagant bottles of wine for me. Like the majority of humanity, I will be condemned to eternal ignorance. I stop for the mandatory salami, cheese and crackers as well as the cereal before taking my place in the ten-items-or-less lane. The teenager cashier, chunky and acne-scarred, leaves her station to discuss the dollar exchange of a large peso bill. A woman waiting in front of me displays her impatience by casting a grave look at me. I regret that I'm not better attired. "Young lady, we're waiting," I say. "There are other check-out stands," she shoots back. "Either attend to your customers or I will call the manager." She returns to her cash register, but she continues with her impertinent countenance. "Do me a favor. Call the manager." "What?" "You heard me. Call the manager." She makes the call over the loudspeaker. Within seconds appears a former athlete whom I wrote about years ago. "Mr. Tamaulipas, what can I do for you?" "This young lady is severely lacking in manners. She'd rather be gossiping with colleagues than doing her work. When I mentioned that she had a job to do, she suggested in a negative tone that I could take my business to another check-out stand. I don't appreciate her attitude." The manager looks at his employee who works with head bent. "I'll talk to her about this matter, sir." "I'd appreciate that, sir." She checks me out and hands me my receipt. "Thank-you," I say. "You're welcome." At home peace reigns. Everyone is asleep. I open the bottle and let it breathe while I check on the boys. I return to the kitchen and prepare myself a plate of salami. I pour a glass retire to the backyard. The forecasters have been predicting that this is the year of the big hurricane. Like everyone else, I fear a catastrophe is imminent.