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Jane
The sun is shining on a warm Friday morning, I’ve got a shade-grown, fair-trade, organic double espresso in my hand (I grab my mermaid-and-unicorn drinks on the sly when I’m on my break time from work).
And I realize that I’ve completely forgotten something.
I put the espresso down on the bamboo table next to my lounge chair.
I look around me. The South Pacific waters are calm this morning. The dock that connects our honeymoon hut to the row of other huts is empty of people.
I hear movement behind me and I glance up. A shirtless Shep is gleaming, god-like, in this light.
“I could get used to you like this,” I say. “We should move out of the dreary city and set up a coffee bar on the water right here.”
Shep straddles the lounge chair next to me. His rippling abdominals make him the only person I have ever witnessed getting into and out of a beach lounge chair gracefully and quickly.
Too bad I won’t be working on my ab muscles anytime soon.
“Not enough people around.” He shrugs.
“You made sure of that, don’t forget,” I say. “You paid way too much to make sure we had no neighbors on our honeymoon. Hell, you even banished Levi and Cherie to the other side of the island.”
He laughs and takes a sip of his espresso. “Pssh. They have golf carts if they want to visit, and they have a bigger hut than we do.”
“Good story, bro,” I tease.
“Hey, you know I didn’t have the heart to make other people jealous when they heard me making you scream like a banshee.”
I playfully slap him on his shoulder. “Cocky much?”
Shep leans over and kisses me. It’s long and wet and deep, with promises of delicious things to come. And come and come and come again. As we kiss, the salty breeze rustles the nearby palm trees. I can’t tell if it’s his closeness, the breeze, or my condition that’s making my nipples hard underneath this flimsy hand-knit bikini that I made especially for this honeymoon vacation.
Probably a combination of both.
When we stop kissing for a moment, he asks me if I’m not enjoying the espresso he made for me.
“I forgot to tell you something. I can’t drink espresso anymore. I went to see the doctor and he said one cup of regular coffee per day from now on, but lay off the espresso.”
Shep doesn’t get it. He puts his hand on my
shoulder. “What’s going on? Blood pressure? Ulcer? I really wish you had told me you were having some problems. Pops knows the best internist…”
I shake my head no and put my finger to his lips.
“I forgot to show you something I made…” I say, digging something out that I’m hiding under a stack of beach towels.
“What are you talking…”
Shep’s words falter and his mouth falls open at the sight of what I’m holding out to him: a pair of tiny crocheted booties and matching tiny beanie hat.
Speechless, he places a hand on my tummy. He looks up at me and he can’t seem to form any words, but his face is like a question mark.
I nod my head. “It’s happening.”
Abruptly, my new husband stands up, throws his huge, tattooed arms in the air and howls like he’s just single handedly won the World Cup.
I laugh and start to cry happy tears.
He turns to me and he looks like he’s grown about twelve inches, he’s so proud of himself. So has his cock grown about twelve inches, as a matter of fact, as I can see it suddenly straining against his Speedo shorts.
