by
Monica
_____I hang up the phone and make my way to the back of the library: a slight detour en route to the airport, but I've got 2 hours before my flight leaves. And I need something to occupy my thoughts while I'm in the air (God knows I hate to fly especially now). I sit waiting for you to enter the building. I abruptly make my way to the restroom and remove my pullover sweater and black beret so that now I'm wearing a white sleeveless sheath and black wraparound skirt with black pumps. Damn, I look fine even if I do say so myself. I'm turning a few heads (men and women) and why not? I'm five four, 36 years old, packed in the front and back, in great shape (my baby sees that I get a good cardiovascular workout every night).
_____I recognize you instantly since you're wearing the button down, full-length gray skirt and long-sleeve white blouse you said you'd be wearing. I count myself lucky because you do look good enough to eat with your wide hips, big rounded ass (more than a couple of handful just like I like it), 40d breast, big brown doe eyes with lashes to die for (and every bit of it natural) black cfm pumps, and your beautiful hot chocolate complexion. Fine as you are, the thing that first captures my attention is the expression on your face. It is then that I decide a change of plans is definitely in order. So, instead of getting up, I decide to sit back and enjoy the show for a bit. Is that a wet spot I notice on your blouse? You did tell me you were starting to leak more in the last couple of weeks, which is how long it's been since our last planned rendezvous. You'll never know how sorry I was that I had to cancel on you at the last minute (damn staff meeting!).
_____ Of course you don't recognize me because I'm no longer wearing all black as I said I would be. Despite that, I notice you doing a double take when you see me so I smile a greeting, which you return, and then I go back to "reading" my magazine. You stand near the magazine racks for a good minute or two scanning the area for me and when I notice you are about to give up and leave I make a beeline to head you off. I "accidentally" bump into you and get some chocolate pudding pop on your blouse. Now you and I both know that food is a definite no-no in the library, but I've broken rules before, so fuck it! I apologize profusely while you repeatedly assure me that "It's okay. Don't worry about it." (You and I both know that chocolate on a white silk blouse is definitely not okay, but I play along to save us both further embarrassment). Once I've stopped apologizing (now I'm just standing there like an embarrassed idiot looking at the bigger mess I've made trying to wipe off your (now-cream-colored-down-the-front) silk blouse with a moist towelette (Always have one handy. You never know when a beautiful woman will be in need of one). We part ways (or so it seems).
_____You head off to the nearest restroom, which is in back of the library, to clean up a bit and I wait a few beats before I follow you with "out of order" sign in hand (Be prepared: an excellent motto to live by). When I enter, you are standing before the mirror vainly trying to clean your blouse. I offer to take care of your dry-cleaning because I do feel bad that my attempt at detaining you ruined your clothes. But you decline while giving me one of those patented "I don't want to be rude but you're really working my last nerve" smiles. You enter the stall leaving me to freshen my lipstick, but before you close the door I am pressed full length against you making shushing noises in your ear and holding one hand over your mouth until I'm certain you won't scream. "Let me make it up to you . . . please," I whisper in my most sensual bedroom voice while I fuck your ear with my tongue. When I feel you relax a little, I spin you around, push you into the corner of the stall and fall to my knees in front of you to start my worship at your altar. You gasp loudly as I raise your skirt.
_____I'm pleasantly surprised to find that you did indeed go commando as I'd requested over the phone. I waste no time plunging three fingers into your pussy. I happily note that you are wet enough to accommodate my entire hand (which tells me you were really looking forward to our little tete a tete) but, I manage to exercise a little self-control (always leave 'em wanting more: one of my many mottos). I attack your clitoris like a staving child at an all you can eat lunch buffet; sucking so hard that your vocabulary is reduced to "fuck! Yes! . . . Baby . . . Oh! . . . So good . . . Oh! . . Right there, baby . . . unh . . . God! . . . God! . . . Oh! . . . Jesus! . . . Fuck! . . ." punctuated with a more than a few well placed grunts and moans. I am quietly amused by your ability to call on God with such a mouth. For my efforts I am rewarded with the sweetest of ambrosia (It's at times like these that I understand the phrase: Better than chocolate). It is only when I look up and see your tightly pursed lips and see that you are biting the inside of your cheek that it occurs to me you are a screamer.
_____A little public rendezvous is all well and good, but some things I prefer to keep completely private so I decide to bring this to a close (and quickly). I abruptly rise, but not without protests from you: thrusting your hips and whimpering "no . . . please . . . no . . . not yet . . . You haven't . . .wait." I quiet you with more shushing noises as I remove my soaked panties and put them in your right hand, which I had to pry away from the bar along the wall. You look so forlorn that I take pity on you and kneel one last time to lick you hard from back to front, and give your mound a chaste kiss. I have a flight to catch and if I don't leave now I may not leave at all. I quickly turn to leave before I can lose my resolve and finish things in the stall, but you whimper one last time and I briefly retrieve my panties to scribble a quick note for a rain check in two weeks time, leave you with a taste of your own flavor with a kiss, and I leave as abruptly as I'd entered.
_____Two weeks and an endless string of boring colleagues later I am happy to be headed home after having been at a series of conferences on the latest developments in nanotechnology for the past couple of weeks of the holiday season. Even though I missed my family something fierce it's all good 'cuz I have the next month off to be with them and (more importantly) I'll be with the love of my life to ring in the new year (BIG plans here). As I pass the sign marking the city limit I retrieve my cell (with the attached headset: safety first) to phone home. After the fifth ring, I just give up and decide to stop by the grocery for a few items that I know we are probably out of (I don't plan on leaving the house for the next few days: A babysitter has already been arranged). It's about 5pm when I finally make it home and it's already starting to get dark outside. As I pull my silver GS300 into the garage, I hear faint sounds of domesticity.
_____After retrieving the groceries from the car, I enter through the kitchen door and am assaulted by sounds of a house in chaos. I quickly turn off the burners on the stove and put away my loot. I enter the living room to find our two five-year-old boys scrawled not a foot from the tv on their stomachs wearing nothing but their boxers, surrounded by bowls of now soggy cereal and assorted toys with the tv blasting the Rugrats theme at full volume. I am afforded only a cursory "Hey Mama" and two angelic smiles when I quickly drag them both back a few feet from the tv (to avoid expensive eye problems later on you understand). Only the fact that I am on a mission prevents me from banishing them back to the family room where they should be with their assorted mess.
_____As I walk through the house, I realize why the boys were only wearing underwear on a blustery winter evening (it must be at least 80 degrees in here). I hear the baby's cries coming from the vicinity of our bedroom so I head in that direction. The sight before me nearly breaks my heart; both my babies look like sick little puppies. I come over, give you a quick kiss, usher you back to bed with promises of taking care of things when you attempt to protest that you "have to finish the laundry and dress the boys" for bed first. I stick to my guns and lay the baby in her bassinet for a few minutes while I tuck you in with a kiss and a promise to return once I've gotten the kids taken care of. You attempt to pout, but I kiss it away and turn out the light as little Jaz and I head back to the nursery.
_____"Mama's little angel not feeling to good," I ask, but little Jaz just keeps right on crying. She's all congested and miserable and needs her Mama to make it all better. So I start with a changing, cold meds, and cherry vaporub on her chest. I think that helped a lot because now she's breathing easier and not crying as much. After a bedtime story, a lullaby and about an hour in the rocker with me Jaz is worn out enough that she finally succumbs to sleep.
_____I decide to tackle the little monsters in the living room. I step into the doorway and wait for them to notice me, which doesn't take long as I've adopted my "I'm so disappointed in you aura" (My mom taught me well: communicating parental disapproval without words is an art form). They silently clear away their mess and then come back to hug me (one attached to either leg) and murmur apologies for not helping out around the house while I was gone and you were sick (Damn, I'm good: all this without a word). I fix them a snack and send them to the family room to play for about an hour or so.
_____After making sure they're occupied with enough stuff to hold their attention for a while, I tackle the mess that is the rest of the house. My love is normally the epitome of good housekeeping, but my Boo has been feeling under the weather and things got a little out of hand. I head to the kitchen to square things away there and make a little chicken soup for my Boo, who probably hasn't had much of an appetite lately.
_____When I left sniffles were the order of the day, but now it's full-blown flu symptoms. A little pampering and tlc from yours truly will go a long way on the road to recovery, but first I've got to get the boys ready for bed. After a light snack and quite a bit of rough housing (I enjoy it as much as they do), I've finally worn them out enough that they fall asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow. Now to take care of my other baby.
_____"Come on, baby, wake up," I whisper while wiping your face with a cool cloth. No response. "You have to eat something." That gets me a mumble that I couldn't quite make out and you turn away.
_____"Are the kids sleep," you ask. I take your hand between mine, kiss your palm and give you a nod and a cocky smile (I'm quite proud of my domestic prowess considering the example I grew up with and you know this). "I'm just tired, boo," you tell me, but I'm shaking my head before you even finish your statement.
_____"That's because you haven't been taking care of yourself," I say a little harsher than I intend (we fight about this more than I care to because you always put others before your own health and well-being and that really pisses me off). I change tactics 'cause I know you can't resist me. "Please, Boo, eat a little something for me and I'll run you a nice bath afterwards," I plead with my best puppy dog look. "I'll even regal you with the latest gossip I've heard," I say.
_____You relent and I manage to get you to eat about half the bowl of soup before you say you can't eat anymore. So, as promised, I run you a nice bath with your favorite bath beads and straighten up the bed while you undress. By the time I've changed the sheets you're stepping into the tub and I slide in behind you and cradle you to me. "This is my favorite thing to do with you," I say. "Even better than the little adventures in public like the one we had before I left for New Orleans." I tell you. I sense your smile and look around to see that it's a sad one.
_____"I really wanted to cash in on that rain check you gave me," you tell me.
_____I chuckle and say, "We've got lots of time for that, Boo . . . lots of time . . . and you better believe I intend to make sure you collect." Life is good indeed.

THE END

Copyright © 2001. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.