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The fact that I had ever and would only ever want Kingsley was the main thing keeping me from feeling like a slut. Sure, I was fucking like a demon, out of wedlock no less, but at least I was with my soulmate.
The last bit of his cum down my throat I pulled my panties aside and got on top of him. Holding his hard cock in position with my hand. I had always been a fan of skirts, a proclivity which was proving to be quite useful giving pretty easy access to my pussy, particularly in emergency situations.
I was unstoppable. Riding him so hard I actually had to grab on to the emergency handle as I bounced on his beautiful cock, his hand over my mouth to muffle my screams. I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about anything except for coming. A lack of awareness that made me completely miss it when Kingsley came inside me. Filling me up with his thick, warm cum.
I would never regret getting pregnant. If I hadn’t, I never would have met Matt. I did, however, regret missing the event that had led up to it. I was convinced it would have made the connection between me and Kingsley even stronger. I thought I would get over it. ‘Time heals all wounds’ and all that, but there still wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t think of him. Matt was a constant reminder of what could have been. Matt!
Dumping the files into a drawer, I switched back to my sneakers and literally ran out of my office. Everyone else had left, making it possible for me to get in the passenger side and climb over. The driver’s door very much pressed up against the concrete wall. The music started up again as I backed out and I decided to leave it.
Amy still lived in Park Slope, so it was a bit of a drive from where I was on Wall Street. Luckily most of the traffic had already come and gone, letting me move quite a lot faster than ten inches every twenty minutes.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, was he okay?”
“He was fine, I was serious about coming back at breakfast. If you wanted to, I mean. We had a great time. He fell asleep about an hour ago.”
I could see past Amy’s head to the couch where, sure enough, Matt was asleep, curled up like a puppy.
“I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Amy said breezily, “he spent most of the afternoon teaching me how to code and then made the most amazing meal I had ever tasted.”
“You let him use the stove?”
“Of course not, what am I, an idiot over here? I did all the hot and heavy work. Okay, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean. I worked the stove and the oven and all that. While he gave me instructions. I think it was some French thing I heard about in a movie.”
“How was it?” I asked.
“Like an orgasm in my mouth.”
“Amy!”
“What? He’s asleep and it was. I really can’t think of another way to describe it. I have some leftovers, if you’d like.”
“Maybe a bit,” I acquiesced, a sucker for French cooking.
“Atta girl.”
Getting Matt into the car, I also took an aluminum covered dish of his apparently amazing food.
“Later,” I said.
“See ya,” Amy replied.
We kissed each other lightly on the cheek, definitely something we had seen in a French movie once, and I headed home to the Lower East side. Not looking forward to the three fights of stairs that awaited me. On the other hand, I saved a fortune in gym memberships. Getting all the cardio I needed just by coming home.
Getting little Matt tucked into his bed, I warmed up some of this heated brilliance in the oven, having it with a half a glass of red. It was the only way to really experience French food. Amy hadn’t been exaggerating. It really was a near orgasmic experience. Much like the food Kingsley used to cook for me when I was at his place. Leaving the dishes to soak, I retired to my studio.
Actually a den, I had transformed the space pretty easily into a passable art space with lots of help from Amy and even my mom. My dad always mysteriously indisposed. There were times I suspected that he might actually be a shut-in but never really broached the subject.
My pallet prepared, I worked on adding color to what might be my masterwork. A portrait of a particular state official as St. Peter, meting out harsh punishment at the world. Amy was going to love it.
Chapter Six - Kingsley
It was synchronicity. The blast beats on “Her Ghost in the Fog” were matching my heartbeat, which went in time with my footfalls as I ran on the treadmill. After adding up what I was spending on the gym for one year, I decided it would probably be easier and cheaper just to buy the equipment I used the most. Heavens knew my condo was big enough.
