I nibbled on it softly, then whispered huskily, “Your husband’s out of town, he’s always out of town. You need some…company.” “Some compan... would much appreciated, but…” She turned around and lifted her hand to run it down my chest and abs. “But…we can’t. We just can’t.” Her voice tailed off at the end, there was no conviction in her words. I stood there, my crotch pressed against hers. I easily lifted her onto the washing machine and closed the gap between us. I leaned in close and planted a. She showed Craig out the side door, watched his truck back out the driveway quickly. He didn’t quite peel off, but it was close. As she walked downstairs, she mulled over what Craig was probably thinking: Get me out of here. I’ll never fucking come back. Goddamn it, I’m not a faggot. But then give it a week or so. The shame would fade. Craig would remember what it felt like—not just the physical sensations but also the thrill of having a whole other person do exactly what you wanted. No. More

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