It gets a bit crazy, how you're fucking Ingrid, but you've wanted her so damn much for so long.
"Jesus," she gasps, her skin shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat, "Jesus, Jonathon, we've been going for over an hour ... "
Somehow that provokes you to grip her tighter and keep thrusting away. "But have I erased them?"
She cries a single tear, though it doesn't seem to be out of any particular sadness or pain. "Oh, I've been a fool. You're right, those other men have been a waste of my time, and not because you're such a loving man, or you gave me such a beautiful daughter, but because ... " She seems unable to believe she's saying it, but confesses it anyway. " ... you're such a STUD!"
At long last Ingrid Good has become acquainted with you, not simply as date, or fiance, or husband, or parent, but as stud, a stud capable of spoiling her for any sexual competitor. You realize this is a prize you've always wanted, and you're so turned on that you keep on going. Now when you instruct her to shift or move or flip for you, she can't obey fast enough, and even as she cries out for mercy, declaring that she'll die if she climaxes one more time, still you can't stop fucking. It is when you realize that you have her in a chokehold, a controlled one but still what would ordinarily be a scary thing for her, and yet she trusts you utterly and is resigned to it, that you realize that you have her in a way that you've always wanted her, and at last you cut loose and pulse into her.
"Good ... God!" Ingrid wheezes weakly. "What? Got into you?"
"It's my work. I've been having this dream, about the universe being a four-chambered heart shaped like a pyramid, with multidimensional membranes all touching each other. It's a model that doesn't have any need for all this dark energy talk you hear about. There's something incredibly sexual about it."
"Well ... I don't know if it works for the universe ... but it sure as fuck works for me! You be sure to keep thinking about that!"
You're pleased when you come back out to Friday and her friends to a smattering of applause. Clearly everyone is pleased to see that some frost has definitely thawed ... but among Friday's friends, to who you're still a divorced and thereby single and available man, there's a new undertone of respect, for they now regard you as the man who made local newsbabe Ingrid Goode shriek her lungs out in ecstasy for one hell of a long time. One refers to you as a "George Clooney type," which you take as code for "old but worth doing." But you try to set these thoughts aside, and feel all the freer to concentrate on Friday's happiness. All in all, one of the most successful of evenings. |