CAROLYN HAD BEEN SEPARATED from Michael for 19 months now. It hadn’t been too acrimonious the dividing up of their lives, but still, it seemed a long hard slog to get to this point. Divorce papers were delivered two days ago through a mutual friend and now sat unopened on the kitchen table of her one-bedroom, inner-city apartment.
She never doubted she would sign them, but the weight of the dotted line hung heavy. She’d been dreading seeing Michael’s signature as well. It’s childish perhaps but there was a small part of her that still wanted him to want her and this final declaration to move on with his life, if she were honest, hurt. It’s ridiculous of course, because it was her that brought the subject of a trial separation up in the first place. And when, after six months apart they had a serious heart-to-heart, it was her, again, that added the final blow. She wanted to move on, for good.
At first, the euphoria of being free from the relationship was together, and the whole bed to herself—it was glorious. She cut her hair super short, started contracting instead of being stuck in the same dull job she’d been at for years, and she read! She read and read—so many books that had languished on the shelf for years. She never had the time living with Michael.
It wasn’t like he coerced her into giving so much of herself to his friends, his family dramas, and his passion for property investment. It was that his enthusiasm and pure joy at knowing what he wanted to do with his life, and having a knack for it, was infectious. Plus, it meant she could conveniently avoid asking herself what she really wanted. If she did brave that internal conversation, she would then have to go for it and that was even more terrifying than returning to singlehood again.
And yet here it was, eight years of marriage, three years of dating before that, and now the better part of two years being separated—over! They’d met when they were both 19 and it was hard not to think of all the time she had wasted pretending she was still the same person. Or for that matter, that he was who she thought he was when she walked down the aisle toward him—so tall and so handsome and their lives full of promise.
The pen in her hand, ready to sign, she sat at the kitchen table staring off into space. And then startled back into reality she was saved by the bell—it was a text from the devil himself.
u ok? did u get the papers?
Lizzy drpd off Mon. About to sign! Wow, its serious now. How r u?
gd, was thinkin i shld com ova, bring tequila & end this thing properly. feels cold us not doin it together. whada think?
Yeah, that would be great. C u soon.
Strangely, Carolyn actually felt better about signing now. She initialled every page, signed and dated both copies and slid one back inside the envelope to give to Michael. She threw some pasta in a pot of water and reheated the leftover tomato and lamb concoction she'd made the previous night, then emptied the remaining red wine into her glass.
It wasn’t long before the buzzer rang. She shoved the last of the pasta in her mouth and went for the intercom to let Michael in. A few minutes later he was at her apartment door with a humble bunch of purple tulips and a bottle of tequila. The guy was always class—she’d give him that!
“You cut your hair. It looks great. Turn around. Wow, Carolyn you look…” he took a moment to find the word, “…you look great.”
Sliding her hand through her missing locks miming what used to be there she said, “Thanks. I’m still getting used to it. I keep having phantom hair sensations.”
After an awkward pause she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her. He sighed, she let go and after nodding in agreement of the reality of where they had both arrived at, he handed her the flowers.
“For you! I started with flowers and I thought it fitting to end with some.”
“Very thoughtful, thanks. Come in.”
“Yes, let’s get this divorce party started. You got any shot glasses?”
“No, but we can use these cute mugs Angie gave me as a ‘Happy Divorce’ present.”
“Always practical is our Angie!”
He poured two generous helpings and they raised their mugs to Carolyn’s toast.
“We gave it a bloody good crack, didn’t we?”
“Too right! A bloody good crack!” Michael added. “Here’s to you and here’s to remaining friends”
“Mates ‘til the end!”, she concluded.
They began to talk about those first few years dating, their first two-bedroom, cross-lease unit that they renovated together and the mutually despised train wreck at his parents every Christmas. They graciously avoided the disappointments, the long hours given to his career and her quiet misplaced resentment. Most importantly, and kindly, they avoided the topic that was their ultimate undoing…the two miscarriages and a child stillborn before they finally just stopped trying.
Michael had responded to the losses by throwing himself even more into his work. He would say supportive and not untrue things like, ‘It was not our time’ and ‘It wasn’t really even a baby yet if you think about it’. This would only enrage Carolyn making her feel isolated and completely alone in her grief. She, on the other hand, was already in love with each of the three babies from the moment she knew she was pregnant. She understood because Michael wasn’t carrying the child he didn’t necessarily feel a bond with it, with any of them, but didn’t he feel a bond with her? Didn’t he see and feel that she was grieving? Didn’t her pain mean something to him?
She finally began to see that while the sex had been great, and they were good friends, and fantastic business partners, they had never had a deeply felt love or bond. They were partners in crime as long as the focus was on his interests, and she could no longer lie to herself, or him, that it was enough. She wanted more. She wanted something true, and real and that she could feel deeply. She wanted to be with someone that wanted the same thing and wasn’t afraid to show it or share it.
Getting up to leave an hour later, Michael turned to Carolyn and floored her, “I really miss you, Caro. You are one of the best decisions I ever made. I hope when the dust settles we can be friends.”
“I want that too. We’ll probably make better friends than anything else.”
They hugged for the longest time and pulling back from each other but still in the embrace, Carolyn cupped his face with her hands and planted a goodbye kiss on his lips. A little confused, they looked at each other as if to say, ‘What was that?’
It was something like an old feeling she used to feel for him and when she finally returned his gaze, he was already staring intently at her waiting for her to clue into what was happening or what he hoped was happening. His breathing became heavier as he loosened his embrace around her back. He gripped her arms with just enough tension and self-assurance, something she had always found appealing, and said, “Tell me to go to hell if I’m stepping out of line, but I really wanna fuck you right now. One last time?”
“Oh, just for old times’ sake, then?”
She joked before realising he was deadly serious. Still in his grip she gave him a wry grin and pushed her hips to meet his and immediately felt his cock hard against her lower belly.
Challenging him with a steady gaze she asked, “Will you fuck me the way I like?”
“Slow and deep? Yes Caro, I will fuck you just the way you like.”
Sliding one hand around the back of her neck and scooping the other arm around her waist, he pulled her up into his kiss. God damn it he was good at that, she thought. She remembered the other thing she missed about him now. He was a really great fuck. Over the years he had paid attention to both the subtle clues and overt directions she gave him of what not only turned her on, but drove her crazy.
Carolyn tugged the shirt out from Michael’s jeans and slid her hands flat up against his torso and chest, lifting the shirt right over his head leaving him half undressed. Running her hands over his well-toned shoulders, always his best feature, and down his arms excited him even more. He arched her neck a fraction more making her mouth open and invite him in. He kissed her parted lips, diving his tongue into her mouth. It reminded him what it would feel like diving into her wet pussy. He could feel her arching her back more and pressing
her mound up against his cock. And then suddenly, she turned and walked away…stopping at the door to the bedroom she threw over her shoulder, “Coming?”
Hot on her heels, he chased after her and scooped her up into his arms, lifting her off her feet. Nuzzling her neck, his breath hot on her skin, he fiddled with the tiny buttons of her flimsy shirt. He thought to himself, ‘What in the hell had she been thinking wearing something sheer that he could see her hardened nipples through. Then again, it was typically covered in food stains so maybe she’d worn it to work’.
“Hey, where are you?” she asked, “You seem distracted?”
“Sorry, this see-through shirt of yours and the world’s smallest buttons are driving me crazy.”
Laughing directly at him, she undid the buttons and let the shirt fall off her shoulders revealing her full breasts under a pretty white lace bra. It stopped Michael in his tracks, and he looked Carolyn in the eye, but not for long. He pulled the top of her bra down under her left breast, leant down and put her nipple in his mouth while hungrily grabbing at her other breast with his other hand. Sucking on her nipples always drove Carolyn crazy and made her even hornier. She could feel her pussy throbbing in anticipation. She reached down to unbuckle Michael’s belt and hurriedly unzipped his jeans.
She wanted his long, hard cock in her hand to remind her just what it felt like, what it tasted like, what it was to have it drilling into her. Wrapping her fingers around his shaft, she firmly pulled the skin up over its end making it grow longer and harder while staring into his eyes; watching how this affected him. Doing it again and again, his eyes rolled back slightly, and his breath caught as he dove back onto her breast. He used both hands to undo her bra, and it came loose in one motion. He couldn’t help himself but to groan as he put a nipple back in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened little stub. It sent Carolyn wild and she threw her head back in abandon, letting out soft, deep moans while running her fingers through his hair.
He lifted up her skirt and grabbed her arse with both hands, pulling her closer into his exposed erection. He kissed her again, but sweetly this time, wanting her to demand it from him. Teasing her with his kisses until she couldn’t take it any longer—he wanted her to beg him to fuck her. Lifting out of her high-heeled shoes and unzipping her skirt herself, she stood in front of him in nothing more than lacy white panties. He removed his jeans completely and slid his right hand between her thighs. Through her panties he could feel already how wet she was, but wanted her to say the words he used to love hearing her say.
Holding her face with his other hand he said, “Say it.”
Looking up at him knowing exactly what he wanted she ran her hand behind the back of his head, blinked slowly, opened her mouth and sighed gently, “Fuck me Michael. Fuck me, now.”
He pushed her back onto the bed and she swung her legs up to rest her feet on his bare chest. Working his hands up her calves, over her knees and down her inner thighs, he pulled her pretty white panties up over her hips and sent them flying off into the corner of the room.
Teasing him with the intermittent view of her aching pussy, she flapped her knees together and apart, and together again. She reached down, parted her lips, and lightly stroked her clit with her right middle finger, all the while looking at him with a villainous smile. She knew this would make him mad for it. He shook his head at her ruefully and groaned as he dropped to his knees and buried his face in her sweet, wet pussy. Wrapping his arms under her thighs and resting her legs over his shoulders, he gripped onto her hips, caressing them as he gently sucked on her clit. Stroking it with his tongue and then kissing it hard and passionately. It made Carolyn writhe and she thrust her hips up trying to get her whole mound further into his mouth.
“Lick it, lick my pussy out” she groaned.
He obeyed, immediately plunging his long tongue into her little pink slit like he was tongue fucking her. Then after light little tongue flicks around her swelling entrance, he plunged back into her hole
again. She opened her legs wider and grabbed hold of a clump of his hair, kneading the back of his head with her knuckles.
“Fuck, I can’t stand it anymore. I want you inside me. I want your cock deep up in me.” She looked at him pleadingly, “Please, oh God, fuck me.”
He loved this side of her. He loved how she wanted sex as much as he did. She had a rampant desire for it, and it was one of the reasons he fell so hard for her all those years ago.
Standing up, he nestled her feet on his shoulders and gripping her thighs he lifted her up, so her butt was up off the bed. He bent down slightly and used the tip of his throbbing cock to tease her whole pussy just a little more, but it was he who couldn’t bare the sensation any longer and he thrust into her slowly and deeply just like she had asked for.
God, her twat was so hot and tight. He reminded himself he would need to focus if he were going to last even a few minutes. He steadied his footing, grabbed a hold of her ankles, and spread her legs into a wide V. He used them as a counter balance as he deliberately pulled all the way out and pitching his hips at just the right angle, drove his cock back in as deeply and as slowly as he could go. And then again—pulling his cock out all the way and then slowly plumbing that fucking, hot hole and slamming his balls into her arse.
For Carolyn, every time he would plunge his now enormous erection into her she would feel the tip of it hit the most sensitive part of her pussy, the outer rim and then every inch of his shaft grazing past the flesh of her vagina. His dick would fill every inch of her until she could swear, he was hitting her cervix. And then out again he would go. It was dizzyingly intoxicating. The slow intensity of his thrusts sent shockwaves through her entire body with every movement.
Sure, the sensation was maddeningly good for him too, but it was seeing what he could do to her that would continually bring him to the edge. She would writhe and contort her upper body almost as if she were in pain. It was only the involuntary moaning and the repetitive,
‘Yes’, ‘Oh God’ and ‘Fuck’ that he knew she was on the edge of cuming. Nothing made him feel more powerful than being able to cause this reaction in a woman, a woman he’d loved for more than a decade.
He dove deep into her again, slowly letting her feel every inch. His cock was so fucking swollen he could now feel every inch of her as he slid in and out.
“God, it feels so fucking good,” he groaned.
Breathlessly she returned, “Don’t stop. Do it again.”
Again, he drilled into her slowly and felt the familiar constriction of her vaginal wall. She was about to cum all over his cock and he could barely keep it together for one last push. She let out a scream and clamped her thighs around his hips as her orgasm delivered a body-shattering series of spasms. He couldn’t hold on himself as her inner muscles contracted around his dick; he shot his full load inside of her. Like a wounded animal he fell on top of her, burying his face in her neck as if it would help him regain his breath and sanity.
Her convulsions subsided and she curled herself around him, her arms and legs cradling him in one long embrace with him still inside her, connected always. Holding each side of his head she kissed him on his cheek and again on the lips, “Thank you.”
He still hadn’t caught his breath but blinked his appreciation in return. In tandem, they crawled further back onto the bed and under
the covers, and then, just like old times, they fell asleep together one last time.