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April Fools |
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By Margo Perry
Poor Jackson wasn’t so much afraid of life, as he was suspicious of his place in it. He didn’t know his worth well enough to make self-satisfying choices. He lived for others’ approval and let life happen to him, especially when it came to women.
Take now, for instance. He’d promised himself he’d be home by ten. Instead, at 9:55 PM and with an hour’s drive ahead, he was naked and worried, but still in bed with his mistress.
He watched April breathing peacefully. She was lying on her side, one huge breast falling over the other, her smiling and peaceful face, cupped in her pillowed prayerful hands. She was the picture of innocence, but Jackson knew that to be a temporary condition.
April was the most maximally endowed and passionate woman he’d ever known. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, her breasts had aroused him beyond reason, beyond his marriage vows, into an indiscretion that was in its fifth year. Jackson noticed that her nipples were erect which meant she was still horny, and his mouth watered. April snuggled into him, her movements cat-like, and kissed and licked his neck, with a lazy sexuality that caused his cock to stir. Again!
You’d better go home!
Jackson knew to listen to that voice in his head.
“I’ve been with you all day. I really have to get home.”
They’d made a yearly ritual out of spending her birthday together. Jackson kissed April’s cheek, pulled back the sheets, and swung his legs off the bed.
“It’s still my birthday,” April said.
She’s testing your resolve. Move, man!
Too late! Before he could escape, April sat up, spread her legs wide and moved into him, pressing her pussy against his ass. Her long legs trapped him, by crossing her wound legs at the ankle, right in front of his belly button. Jackson was always surprised by her power. He couldn’t escape and it turned him on. His cock rose up and pressed into her foot.
April hugged him and pressed her enormous breasts into his back. She twisted his nipple, first playfully, until pleasure mingled with pain and he began to moan and squirm. She rocked her pussy against his ass, but abruptly opened her legs and moved away from him. She jumped off the bed, stood between his legs and pulled his face into her cleavage. She buried his head in breast flesh and, for the third time that day, he anticipated orgasm as his cock tingled, leaked and jerked.
“Do I look ready for you to go home?”
Jackson loved the way her flesh smelled of a mixture of sex and some unknown and forbidden, fruit. He knew that demanding tone and it always excited him. April wasn’t finished with him yet.
“If my wife, Sylvia, was a quarter as enthusiastic, I wouldn’t be here,” he told himself, before settling back on the pillows.
You’re a fool and you’re gonna’ get caught.
Jackson willed his inner voice to be silent. He had no inclination to resist April or contemplate Sylvia’s discovering them. He lost himself in the moment.
April watched confusion crease his brow and then disappear as she licked her lips slowly, playing with her nipple with one hand and stroking her pussy with the other. She captured his eyes with her hungry stare and refused to let go. She had placed her foot on the bed and slowly contracted and released her pelvis against her accommodating hand. Her lips were quivering and her nostrils flared with pleasure.
She crawled onto the bed and straddled him, moving her shoulders subtly so that her tits swayed and bounced, sometimes grazing his sensitive skin. She crawled higher over him. When she was sure he could smell her pussy, when he knew exactly what she wanted, she began to lower herself.
Feast,” she said, settling her pussy over his waiting mouth and tongue.
Jackson flicked his tongue over her clit, responding to the smooth, defining motions of her pelvis. When her pussy mashed itself against his teeth, impatient in its need for final pleasure, he struggled to catch his breath.
Just when he thought she was about to come, she left his mouth glistening with her juices, turned around and captured his cock, bathing it in her wet, warm cavern of a mouth. Her mouth nursed at his cock, as though it were nurturing her very soul, and then, as it grew hard enough to burst, she employed a rhythm of stroking with a wet hand and sucking with her warm mouth, drowning him in pleasure, until he exploded, and she swallowed.
“Oh my,” he said, collapsing and breathing hard.
“Now, you can go,” she said.
Jackson limped to the bathroom. April hadn’t come and usually he would have insisted on her satisfaction, but not tonight. In a haze of exhaustion, he showered and cleaned his teeth. He wanted to fall into bed beside her and sleep, but he had a wife to go home to.
“Thanks for spending the day with me. It’s been a great birthday. In fact, it still is!” She bounced out of bed. “It’s only 10:30. Maybe, I’ll have another glass of wine.”
It seemed to Jackson that April had an endless energy and insatiable appetite for pleasure. Tonight, she was making him feel much older than his forty-five years. Maybe, this double life was becoming untenable.
“Enjoy,” Jackson said, “the room’s your gift for the weekend.”
“I will.”
She was humming and sipping wine, when he quietly closed the door and headed for the elevator. As soon as the doors shut, Jackson felt a weight on his chest, as if every worry he’d ever had was replacing the oxygen in the moving shaft. By the time he reached the lobby, he threw caution to the wind. He needed time alone. He needed space between women. He needed a drink.
The bar was quiet, even for a Monday night. A well dressed man was seated at the bar, in earnest conversation with the bartender, and about twenty others were talking and drinking at tables. Jackson placed his knapsack on the empty stool beside him and the bartender appeared.
“What can I get you? A coffee?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“For a good looking young man like you … Not bad … beat, man. You look beat.”
Jackson sighed before speaking. “What am I doing here?”
“Shouldn’t you be?”
“No, I just left my woman upstairs and I should be home with the wife.”
“You have my sympathy. I can’t handle one woman, so two would be out of the question.”
“I don’t think I can either,” Jackson said.
“That’s bad,” the bartender said. “Never try to handle what you can’t handle. Makes for bad handles and they’re hard to get rid of.”
“You got that right.”
“Let me make you a special coffee. It’ll give you a kick, but leave you drive-worthy.”
“Thanks,” Jackson said. “I sure need something.”
He watched the man leave, glad for the quiet.
Sylvia, please be in bed …
High school seemed so long ago, but that’s when they’d met. Sylvia had noticed his blue eyes, jet black curls and towering height in tenth grade and, without consultation, claimed him as her sweetheart. He liked her, but loved the large breasted girl who spoke up in class and was as smart as a whip. Unfortunately, he was afraid to even speak to her, so Sylvia it was.
In the privacy of his mind, he admitted that Sylvia had never really turned him on. She’d always been a good friend, until she was more and Jackson was always the last to find out. Like choosing a university …
He had hardly started looking, when Sylvia announced that they we going to Fame University, famous for its Dance Department, her specialty, even though Social Work was his. He went along and she proposed to him, after they fucked in his dorm room, during their big graduation bash.
In the middle of the party, Sylvia had claimed a headache and asked if she could lie down in his dorm room. Jackson checked with his roommate who was busy partying with the rest of the grads and took her to the dorms.
As soon as they got into the room, she began to strip: shoes off, blouse unbuttoned too quickly, skirt off, bra off, panties off. Jackson had felt vulnerable and uneasy, until she dropped to her knees and began to rub his growing cock through his slacks. She unzipped him and took his cock in her mouth. Jackson remembered how quickly he’d come and how she’d run to the bathroom, to spit. He remembered that, as she’d sat astride him, fucking his brains out, he’d wished that her flat chest was bigger and that she wasn’t in such a hurry.
“We’re getting married, Jackson.”
He hadn’t said ‘yes’, but he hadn’t said, ‘no’.
They were married, three months later, at City Hall, one month after Jackson joined the staff of Haven Manor, a well funded in-house refuge for troubled and abandoned teens. He found the work rewarding and the beautiful grounds that ran down to the river, serene and calming.
The job demanded he spend many nights on site, away from home. Sylvia was so wrapped up in the development of her dance studio that she didn’t mind at all. After the first year or so, she seemed to enjoy her often solitude, but Jackson missed their passion and often headed to the basement and his video collection of alluring, satisfying huge breasted vixens.
The bartender arrived with a steaming cup.
“It’s on me. Enjoy.”
“This is delicious,” Jackson said, sipping enthusiastically, “especially after a day of white wine.”
“A day of white wine would tire any man out,” the bartender said, laughing. “Hope there was more than that.”
The other man at the bar nodded and the bartender drifted off again, just as Jackson was about to launch into the ‘more than that’, his relationship with April.
The question made him wonder just what April meant to him. Their whole affair seemed part of his work world. The Manor was rich with private places and they never met anywhere else, except on April’s birthday, when they spent the whole day at a hotel of her choosing, away from prying eyes. She never asked about his marriage or talked about what she did outside the Manor. Jackson returned the favour.
She’d joined the Manor staff five years after him. Fresh out of grad school and armed with new ideas, full pouting lips and gargantuan breasts, she brought the male staff to their knees.
She smiled when she caught Jackson sneaking peeks at her breasts and seduced him the very first night they found themselves on overnight duty together.
During bed-check, she questioned him about the girls, managing to bounce into him, her soft breasts against his arm or back, or her hip touching his. Soon he found himself looking forward to the sensations. Soon his found himself realizing that he hadn’t made love to Sylvia in weeks, as he felt his cock stirring and the hair standing up on the back of his neck.
“Inspection complete,” Jackson said firmly, when they were back in the office. “Time for some shut eye. It’s gonna’ be a long weekend with two visiting days.”
Jackson moved toward one of the staff bedrooms.
“Not yet,” April said, barring his way. “I have something planned for us.”
She was standing too close. Her breasts were calling him, a siren’s call that promised waves of excitement and equal danger. The time to escape was now.
“Come,” she said, “these walls have eyes and ears.”
Go to bed!
She took his hand and Jackson followed her out of the office, out of the facility’s back door, toward the boat house.
“How long have you been married?”
“About five years,” he said.
“I’m a free spirit,” she said. “I believe in lust, and flesh touching. Know what I mean?” She placed Jackson’s hand on her tit. He felt their spongy warmth through the cotton of her t-shirt. He felt the pounding of her fiery spirit. “You believe in it, too,” she said, cupping his growing bulge. “Your jeans are full of cock! Oh my! Lucky, lucky me!”
Jackson was speechless. She walked around the kayaks and pulled a blanket from a shelf full of life jackets.
“The ground is damp,” she said.
“I’m married,” he said.
“Already established, respected and I don’t mind,” she said laughing.
She spread the blanket and dropped onto it.
“Come,” she said.
Jackson felt awkward as he settled his lanky frame beside her.
April didn’t waste any time. Her breasts grew larger as she descended onto him. She was liquid sponge, pouring tits over him like hot lava. She forced him onto his back and placed her pussy directly onto his cock. She dry humped him slowly and intentionally.
“That’s it,” she whispered, as he groaned. “I know what you need.”
And she did. She sat on up, still grinding her pussy over his leaking cockhead. She lifted her breasts, massaged them and then let them fall, their ponderous weight causing them to bounce and jiggle. She teased her own nipples through her bra, her mouth gaping with pleasure.
“Let yourself go,” she invited. “Touch them. You know you want to.”
Jackson reached up and lifted them, gasping at their weight and heft. He massaged them, loving their soft firmness. His eyes glazed over. He’d spent many hours on the internet, touching himself as big breasted women leered at him, challenged him to come. He’d never touched one in the flesh, never been to a strip club and never had a real lap dance. Jackson was lost in a heaven of eroticism that he’d only dreamed of.
“This weekend, I’ll teach you the art of anticipation, and we’ll go from there.”
April very slowly raised her shirt, exaggerating the pull over her huge black cotton bra, slowly exposing the long river of deep cleavage.
“Look, Jackson, soon I’ll bury your head in them … but not yet. Soon, I’ll let you look at them and play with your cock … but not yet. You’re going to suck my nipples until I come … soon.”
Without lowering her shirt, she spread her breasts over his torso and began to kiss him. Her mouth was wetter and hotter than any he’d known. Her tongue explored every inch of his mouth and he could feel it in his cock. And still she kissed him, as her pelvis drew circles over his pulsing cock. He responded to her movements and couldn’t believe the heights she was lifting him to. Her tongue began to fuck his mouth, as his cock plunged against her. They ignored the cloth between them. Her pelvis, her pussy, joined the dance and soon they were lost. Climbing and climbing until they crashed and burned and hot cum spilled into his jockeys, staining his jeans.
“Give me a minute,” April panted.
Jackson watched, hypnotized, as she stroked herself, her face a mask of unbridled passion, her pussy pressing against her tiny hand, fingers seeking clit, until she came in a wail of mewling, arousing cat sounds.
“That was great,” she said, leaning over him, her breasts at rest on his chest, “and this is just the beginning. “Meet me here after our shift tomorrow.”
“I will,” Jackson said.
That’s how it began and how it had continued to this April Fool’s day. But what did it all mean? Jackson didn’t know how he felt about April or his wife. He appreciated them, even loved them, but in too vague a fashion.
The bartender returned, just as Jackson drained his cup.
“Need another?” he asked.
“No, I really should go home.”
“Well, when ‘should’ collides with ‘do’, it’s time for a man to make a decision or two.”
Jackson didn’t want to think about that.
“I better get going,” Jackson said.
The bartender removed his cup and wiped the bar.
“Good luck,” he said, “but you’ll never get what you want till you know what that is. Take the time.”
“Thanks for the coffee and for listening.”
“No thanks necessary. I’m only the bartender.”
On that dark lonely ride home, Jackson accepted that he wasn’t happy, that his marriage was stuck and uninspired and his infidelity troubling and riddled with anxiety and guilt. Infidelity was morally unacceptable, and yet here he was. Nothing was quite right. He sighed, tuned the radio to his favourite jazz station and concentrated on the road.
It was just past midnight when Jackson parked his car in his driveway. He was surprised that the lights were still on and should have known that his wife’s offering him a drink with her too wide smile and too bright eyes were aberrations, a notice of storm clouds gathering. However, infidelity had left him careless and exhausted. He accepted Sylvia’s kiss on the cheek and her explanation that she was still wide awake. He emptied his pockets and went to bed, yawning, grateful and spent.
It felt like he’d been asleep for one minute.
“Wake up. Wake the fuck up!”
Sylvia was shaking him, rolling him onto his back. His blurry eyes focussed on a face so ugly and distorted with rage, that he hardly recognised his wife.
“Who the fuck is April? Is there a May or June? How long has this been going on?”
His wife, Sylvia, didn’t swear. April swore like a sailor. He noticed birthday cards, receipts and gifts that he’d stashed way in a filing cabinet, now strewn over the bedroom floor. She ripped the covers from his shivering body, leaving him naked and vulnerable. His very large cock, inexplicably and untimely erect, pointed proudly upward, a cartoon of readiness, propelling him into action. He sprung from the bed, headed for the bathroom and closed the door on her out of control outrage.
“I want you out of here. Now!”
He sat on the toilet, buying time. Sylvia’s verbal assault soon gave way to a slamming of closet and dresser drawers. He didn’t have to see his suitcase to know that it was open and receiving his belongings, somewhere in the room.
He decided to shave and his mirror reflected a guilty man, a soul tortured by self deceit. Obviously, Sylvia had found out about April and Jackson didn’t know how he felt about it. Upset, yes, but somewhere lurking was a sense of relief that choice had been wrest from his hands.
The bedroom finally fell silent. Jackson assumed that Sylvia had gone downstairs, but opened the door to find her seated on the bed, weeping silently, her tears falling onto the closed suitcase she held in her lap.
The weeping stopped the moment she saw him.
“I want to go to bed,” she said, her voice glacial cold, “but first I want you out of here.”
“This is my house, too” Jackson said. “I’ll sleep in the guestroom and be out of here first thing in the morning.”
“The guest room is ready for my parents. They’ll be here in the morning. I want you out of here now.”
“Did you have to bring your parents into this, before we even talked?”
“I didn’t have to. They told me, right after their friend Iris saw you making a spectacle of yourself at Three Ways Inn tonight. After that, confirmation was easy to find and your cell phone that you kindly left on the coffee table held the nails to your coffin.”
Sylvia stood up, letting Jackson’s case tumble to the ground.
“Get out!”
Jackson gathered his things and left in a hurry. He guessed that April would still be sleeping. He’d go back to the hotel. She’d understand. He just needed sleep and Jackson was looking forward to April’s warmth. He was feeling worse than beat up.
The drive was long and hard.
Jackson parked in the hotel parking lot. He climbed out of his car, gathered his suitcase and went back into the hotel.
He rode up to the fourth floor, walked down the hall and knocked on the door.
It opened before he could knock a second time.
He could smell alcohol and sex on the man who answered the door.
“Get back in here. It’s my birthday!”
April’s voice was gleeful.
“The wife’s birthday,” the man explained, just before April, robe clutched around her, appeared over his shoulder. “She had to work first, but we have all weekend.”
The man was shit-faced and in heaven and the shock and annoyance on April’s face reached Jackson’s brain like a truck meets an immovable wall at high speed. There was an instant collision and death.
“Wrong floor,” Jackson said, looking around and picking up his luggage, “two down.”
He heard the door slam, as he kicked open the door to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time, luggage hitting his thigh, his heart pounding. He burst into the lobby and almost knocked down the bartender, who was walking by, heading for the door.
The bartender was first through the rotating door, but waited for Jackson.
“Didn’t know you could look worse,” the bartender said.
“Not as bad as I feel. How many men get rejected by two women, in less than two hours?”
“Not many and in tragedy’s honour, I offer you both bed and breakfast. I have plenty of room. We can leave your car here, until tomorrow, or you can follow me home.”
Jackson studied the lot, as though he were counting cars.
“I think I’d like to leave my car right where it is.”
“We’re this way,” the bartender said.
As tired as he was, Jackson followed with a spring in his step, having made his first independent decision in remembered history.
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