trembling, her cough taking over her body like a spastic maniac and her legs firmly planted in some sort of girly defensive stance.
“Ma femme, put down the weapons.” I hold my hands up to surrender (I am half-French after all) and she instantly opens her gorgeous blue eyes. That suspended moment of recognition and longing is better than any television drama because a) she’s fucking hot, and b) she’s my fucking hot piece of ass.
Tears cascade down her rosy cheeks from what I hope is a sign of happiness – or maybe she’s pissed I surprised her like that? Thankfully, she drops her bag and throws herself at me. I hold her tightly, bringing her legs around my waist to spin around the foyer of my former apartment, knocking over a few picture frames and an empty wine bottle.
“Motherfucker! You scared the shit out of me – I was prepared to chop off your balls with my nail clippers,” she says in a deep, dry voice. Natalie coughs into my shoulder as I caress her back. She feels so warm and natural in my arms that my temporary leave may result in permanent desertion.
“What’s with the cough, Nat – are you smoking again?” I ask as I lower her legs to the ground.
“I don’t smoke! It’s called a cold, ya jerk. Besides, my voice is,” cough, hack, “Super sexy, n’est ce pas?”
“Mmm, very,” I say while rubbing her perky round ass and moving us toward the bedroom. I have exactly forty-four hours before I report back to duty and I plan to spend most of that time screwing her brains out – and possibly a quick stop at Virgil’s for some brisket. That’s all I need for the rest of my life – Natalie, Virgil’s, the Giants and beer. Shit, I also need my Playstation 2 and the Die Hard movies, and then I’m golden for the rest of my life.
Natalie painfully coughs into my armpit, and although I know it’s nothing serious, she’s making me uncomfortable. Lately, sickness (even the tiniest of sniffles) threatens my rational thinking to the point where I become an obsessive idiot.
“I’m so sorry Zach. I look and feel horrible,” she says in a dry whisper. I kiss her forehead and squeeze her tightly.
When we reach the bedroom, I gently move her toward an iron bed – damn, that would have been fun to explore with some light bondage – I sit her down and lower to my knees. She blinks slowly with red, swollen eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of lustful sexuality. Typical Natalie, always the tease – even with phlegm and irritated nostrils. That’s it, it’s decided – I need to take care of her so she can take care of me.
I remove her boots and ugly wool socks and help her into her flannel pajamas. “Natalie, why is it so cold in here?” I ask as I lay her down and place the comforter over her weary body.
Cough, hack, choke. “I don’t know how to work the thingy,” she whines. Jesus, she’s been going to bed in the cold every night because she’s too stubborn to ask anyone about the thermostat – tenacious seductress, that’s what she is.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers.
I lean over to kiss her cheek but her arms wrap around my neck so tightly that I lose my balance and land on her delicate chest. She flinches in pain and pushes me off. “Nat, let me get you some medicine. I’m going to Duane Reade – I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” I take her hands and place them by her side. She closes her eyes and snuggles with the top layer of the bedding.
“Zach, I need some pistachio ice cream. And your cock.” She smiles without opening her eyes and giggles.
2300 hours
Natalie is snoring loudly in my arms. After I fed her two bowls of ice cream alongside my special blend of Vitamins B, C and Nyquil, we cuddled on the couch to watch A Christmas Story. She barely made it to the Fra-gi-lee scene before her eyes closed and she was drooling on my neck. Fuck – it’s going to be impossible to leave her.
I turn off the television and
“Ma femme, put down the weapons.” I hold my hands up to surrender (I am half-French after all) and she instantly opens her gorgeous blue eyes. That suspended moment of recognition and longing is better than any television drama because a) she’s fucking hot, and b) she’s my fucking hot piece of ass.
Tears cascade down her rosy cheeks from what I hope is a sign of happiness – or maybe she’s pissed I surprised her like that? Thankfully, she drops her bag and throws herself at me. I hold her tightly, bringing her legs around my waist to spin around the foyer of my former apartment, knocking over a few picture frames and an empty wine bottle.
“Motherfucker! You scared the shit out of me – I was prepared to chop off your balls with my nail clippers,” she says in a deep, dry voice. Natalie coughs into my shoulder as I caress her back. She feels so warm and natural in my arms that my temporary leave may result in permanent desertion.
“What’s with the cough, Nat – are you smoking again?” I ask as I lower her legs to the ground.
“I don’t smoke! It’s called a cold, ya jerk. Besides, my voice is,” cough, hack, “Super sexy, n’est ce pas?”
“Mmm, very,” I say while rubbing her perky round ass and moving us toward the bedroom. I have exactly forty-four hours before I report back to duty and I plan to spend most of that time screwing her brains out – and possibly a quick stop at Virgil’s for some brisket. That’s all I need for the rest of my life – Natalie, Virgil’s, the Giants and beer. Shit, I also need my Playstation 2 and the Die Hard movies, and then I’m golden for the rest of my life.
Natalie painfully coughs into my armpit, and although I know it’s nothing serious, she’s making me uncomfortable. Lately, sickness (even the tiniest of sniffles) threatens my rational thinking to the point where I become an obsessive idiot.
“I’m so sorry Zach. I look and feel horrible,” she says in a dry whisper. I kiss her forehead and squeeze her tightly.
When we reach the bedroom, I gently move her toward an iron bed – damn, that would have been fun to explore with some light bondage – I sit her down and lower to my knees. She blinks slowly with red, swollen eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of lustful sexuality. Typical Natalie, always the tease – even with phlegm and irritated nostrils. That’s it, it’s decided – I need to take care of her so she can take care of me.
I remove her boots and ugly wool socks and help her into her flannel pajamas. “Natalie, why is it so cold in here?” I ask as I lay her down and place the comforter over her weary body.
Cough, hack, choke. “I don’t know how to work the thingy,” she whines. Jesus, she’s been going to bed in the cold every night because she’s too stubborn to ask anyone about the thermostat – tenacious seductress, that’s what she is.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers.
I lean over to kiss her cheek but her arms wrap around my neck so tightly that I lose my balance and land on her delicate chest. She flinches in pain and pushes me off. “Nat, let me get you some medicine. I’m going to Duane Reade – I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” I take her hands and place them by her side. She closes her eyes and snuggles with the top layer of the bedding.
“Zach, I need some pistachio ice cream. And your cock.” She smiles without opening her eyes and giggles.
2300 hours
Natalie is snoring loudly in my arms. After I fed her two bowls of ice cream alongside my special blend of Vitamins B, C and Nyquil, we cuddled on the couch to watch A Christmas Story. She barely made it to the Fra-gi-lee scene before her eyes closed and she was drooling on my neck. Fuck – it’s going to be impossible to leave her.
I turn off the television and
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