Bryce and Alexandra Share a Train PART 2

PART TWO

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The first time they made love was in Alex’s flat, under the warmth of her thick duvet, with her cat Chelsea alternating between leaping onto the bed in curiosity, and jumping down when things got particularly vocal. And Alex was vocal. Bryce was used to the silent orgasm of his wife, who felt herself unworthy of such a physical release and felt the only way to endure it was silently. Her Roman Catholic upbringing had never been eradicated. Guilt was still the bedrock emotion in her spiritual landscape.

Alex’s unbridled enthusiasm and enjoyment of sex was like a door opening for Bryce. She unleashed in him a similar though heretofore unknown side that he was both stunned and elated to discover.

When she had finally climbed off of him, both lovers spent; him from an almost violent singular climax after waiting out her four equally as passionate, clenching orgasms while astride, she flopped to his side, her head and hair splayed on her pillow, and she laughed. As her heart rate eased and her breath returned to a somewhat normal pace, she asked, “How old are you, Bryce?”

It was his turn to laugh. “Guess.”

“Well, you fuck like you’re 20. But I know better.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I’d say you’re 34, maybe 35.”

“How important is it, my age?”

She laughed again. “If you can stay hard long enough for me to come four times, it is utterly insignificant.”

“I’m 44.”

She sat up. “No way!”

“Way,” he said simply, suddenly feeling old, 45 minute hard-on notwithstanding.

But her sitting position also put her incredible breasts on display. They were fighting a valiant battle against gravity, and for breasts as full as hers, they were almost defying it. She looked down at h is suddenly growing cock. Reaching for it and stroking it slowly and softly, she kissed him, and with her lips pressed against his, she said, “Are you sure you’re not 20?”

He shuddered suddenly and came on her breasts. She looked down and feigned shock, then thrust a semen-coated nipple into his mouth and watched him suck hungrily.

“Okay, “ she continued, chuckling. “Maybe 16.” Bryce laughed, kissed her and slid down between her legs. He’d only been thinking about his tongue inside her for about a week.

It wasn’t reciprocation when you wanted to do it.

*****************

The next time Connie wanted sex with her husband was the first time he ever turned it down. Every red flag in her suspicious Italian nature went up the flag pole at breakneck speed. No man had ever not wanted to fuck her. Not that there were that many before Bryce; maybe a half dozen or so. But every man had remained insatiably attached to her body throughout the relationship. That included Bryce. Until now.

He gave the usual lame excuses: too tired; work wearing him down; maybe tomorrow night.

When he eschewed a no-strings-attached blow job, she was almost apoplectic. “Who is she?” Connie demanded; getting out of bed and standing over him naked, hands on her hips.

As she stood there breathing heavily, looking pathetically at his soft penis as if to say it was his fault, he decided he did not like the fact his wife shaved her vagina. She’d done so shortly after they were married, without asking his opinion, and he’d gone along with it, to the point where he no longer even noticed.

Until now. Alex had a flourishing, thriving black thatch of pubic hair that was visually shocking to Bryce, who’d simply not seen hair there since his final college tryst before marrying Connie. When Alex had first stood before him, also with her hands on her hips, in that ultimate sexual challenging pose, he’d remembered how much he liked pubic hair.

These thoughts were only a brief distraction from the angry Italian woman who now loomed over him, breasts heaving, eyes tearing up.

Quietly, calmly, in contrast to her overworked physical state, she asked again, “Who is she?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? A bit of a quantum leap to assume I’m having an affair because I’m too tired for sex?”

“We’ve been married for six years. You’ve never passed it up, and always pursued it. What the fuck am I supposed to think? And what man, ANY man, would be too tired to lay back for a gratuitous blowjob?”

“I’m 44, Connie. Maybe I’m slowing down.” He grinned involuntarily as he remembered the last marathon session with Alex, two nights ago, where she coaxed a third climax out of him with her mouth. This after a vigorous pony ride that netted her five orgasms. They think. They laughed about losing count afterwards.

For some reason, the Italian interpretation of his wife’s name came zooming into focus in Bryce’s mind: Consolation.

The irony gave him no comfort. He spent the next hour reassuring his not jumpy wife, and finally conjured the physical energy to have sex with her, silently apologizing all the while to Alex.

**********************

It wasn’t long before Alex started asking Bryce about “his plans”. At home, Bryce’s situation had stabilized for the time being. Connie, though suspicious, now claimed to believe Bryce when he said he was not cheating on her. Bryce continued to answer the bell sexually with his wife, though he told Alex they were not having sex. He was battling guilt, which did not surprise him. But Alex hinting at a future between them totally surprised him. In a good way.

“My plans,” he said one night over sushi and a bottle of Chardonnay in a little place near Vauxhall Station, “are vague at this point. I love you and want to be with you. But I am married.”

“With no children. So it could be worse.”

He nodded thoughtfully, scooping two crispy pieces of Kung Pao chicken into his mouth.

She sighed and filled both their wine glasses. The bottle was empty. “The guilt we both are experiencing is the only drawback in our entire arrangement.”

“Arrangement?”

“What the fuck should I call it then? I thought it was the most neutral term to use.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. In fact, labeling what is going on is not a good idea.”

“I’m sorry too. For snapping at you. Clearly this is frustrating for me. Our situations are quite different. You go home to a warm body. I do not. Chelsea doesn’t count. I sit some nights and wonder what you are doing. It sucks.”

He watched her. For a 26 year old, he felt she was handling the whole “arrangement” quite well. Neither of them had any experience in this sort of thing. He was feeling his way along, as well. He just didn’t wear his anxiety on his sleeve like his younger lover.

“It sucks for me too, Al. I don’t derive much comfort from sleeping with Connie. Au contraire. I’m running out of excuses to not have sex with her.”

“I love when you call me Al. But shouldn’t that be a sign?”

Alex had not put pressure on him thus far, but she was beginning to apply some tonight.

“Alex, are you certain you want to be with me? I mean, do you know that in your heart of hearts?”

She took a gulp of wine, a thinly disguised shot of courage.

“I want to be with you, Bryce. But not like this.”

Bryce thought about it. He’d been waiting for a literal green light from her for weeks. This was tantamount to a ‘go’ signal.

“Okay, I will tell Connie tomorrow. I will leave her. We will be together.”

She grinned broadly and raised her glass toward his. They touched.

“My place is big enough for both of us.”

“It better be,” he said. “It’s a shame you’ll have to get rid of Chelsea. I’m allergic to cats, didn’t I tell you?”

“What!?!?”

“Just kidding Al. Just kidding.”