Fiction: Married Women

“Why do you only fuck married women?” I prop myself up on my elbows and look him in the eye.

He fluffs the pillow, then laces his hands behind his head as he thinks.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, “It’s just easier, I guess.”

“Easier than what? Finding a girl you can screw without having to dive out the window afterwards?” He knows I’m teasing him. A little. I poke him in the side and he smiles. He grabs my hand and kisses my index finger.

“I can fuck as many women as I want without apologizing to anyone. A married woman can’t say anything if I’m fucking someone else, because she is too,” he kisses my finger again, then guides my hand under the sheets. I rest it on his cock, but I don’t do anything else.

“You romantic devil, no wonder you need to keep your dance card wide open.”

He grins at that. He fancies himself a bit of a rogue, and he knows I know it.

“Why do you fuck a guy who fucks married women?” he asks.

“I’m barely married. I’m not even sure I qualify as married by your standards. I’ve been separated so long I’m not sure it counts.”

“Ah, but technically you are,” he says. “I’m not worth the trouble for you to actually divorce the guy, right? You can be honest. I’m a great lay, but otherwise, I’m really not worth the hassle of something significant and long term. Right?”

He is right. I massage his cock, coaxing it back to life. He’s cute, that crooked little grin that says he knows he’s guilty, but aw shucks, let’s forget it this one time. Blue eyes, not sky blue or sea blue, just blue. He’s not dumb, he’s not smart either, but he’s funny and sweet, in his own way. He forgets to call, never brings me flowers, but he’s right, he is a hell of a lay. I wouldn’t hunt down the guy I’m technically still married to for him. The court costs, ripping open old wounds that we’ve laid to rest by simply by ignoring them.The fleeting pleasure isn’t worth the pain.

The afternoons and occasional evenings we spend together are delightful. He’s never an asshole, never cruel. He’ll always take the wet spot, and he always asks if I’m satisfied. He’s like a friendly ghost who appears now and again. A friendly ghost with a nice dick.

“Oh my,” I say. His cock stiffens under my hand. “Someone’s awake again.”

He reaches out, touches my face and pulls me close. “Just one more quick one,” he kisses me, “I’ve got to be somewhere in awhile.”

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