crisis

nc-17 | sexual content

You really weren't sure exactly how you got here.

You remembered the conversation that led to this, sure. This was one of those things that required a conversation before proceeding. You couldn't just drag a woman home and say, "Honey, we're having a threesome." And you remembered piling into your car and the drive back to your home and the walk up the steps and all the little practical bits, the mechanics, the physics, of the way back here.

But you weren't sure how you got here, the big 'how', the capital H 'How'. How it was exactly that your husband - possessive, jealous, territorial, even after all these years - agreed to let a woman he barely knows into your home, into your bed. How it was exactly that your good friend from New York - fresh off her breakup with the hundredth guy in her life - agreed to this. How exactly something that you had fantasized about for years was coming to fruition.

You had never actually placed Samantha in this little fantasy of yours. It was usually CJ or Margaret or Ainsley, not so much because you were really attracted to them (well, Ainsley, a bit, perhaps), but because they were convenient, you think. Your old roommate had been rather hot, granted, but she also had a disgusting habit of drinking right out of the milk carton, and you had seen her with her acne-fighting facial masque on, so that pretty much killed any fantasy potential.

"Donna?"

Josh's hand was warm on the side of your face.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was your midlife crisis. Maybe this was just some irrational reaction to the fear that's been building for a month, because the two of you don't make love as much as you used to, because the sex isn't as great as it used to be, and you tell yourself this is just because you're both busy, because you're both getting older, but what if it's not? Was this just your pathetic attempt to -

"Are you with us?"

"Yes," you breathed, even though it was probably a lie. She kissed you when he dropped to his knees, trailing his lips across your stomach. She squeezed your breasts when his tongue made contact with your clit. This couldn't be a mistake, you decided, because mistakes couldn't possibly feel this good.

(fin.)