I’m still in the glow of being named the No. 3 Top Erotica Blog in Kinkly’s roundup of Sex Blogging Superheroes. I thought it was fitting that I share the first erotic story I wrote. Actually, this isn’t the actual story, but I got started on it about 19 years ago when I was just getting to know Parrot. I was taken with his gorgeous erotica and he offered to help me write my own story. I never finished it until about three years ago. There’s a lot of his personality in the character of Jonathan Parker. If you’re into romantic tales, I’m sure this is a story I hope you’ll enjoy.
Brianna was putting the finishing touches on her hair and makeup for a party in her husband’s honor at the house of the president of the university. He had recently been awarded a Pulitzer Prize for fiction for his latest book, She Holds the Secrets of the Founding Fathers, an exploitative tale about a high-class call girl who serviced a number of the Founding Fathers who penned the Constitution. It had gotten high praise from literary reviewers critics for its mellifluous prose and believably historic references. It also received sharp criticism from conservatives that called it anti-American, a mockery of the standards of the original stewards of the country, and embarrassing smut. It was a perfect storm of rhetoric that brought people of all political persuasions to buy and read the book for the point of fueling the already raging firestorm of partisan political debate.
Brianna stepped out of their en suite bathroom with her hair dark hair piled high in a chignon that showed off the curve of the nape of her neck in stark contrast to her powdery china doll ivory white skin and the red shantung fitted cocktail dress that she purchased just for the occasion. At 35, she looked red carpet gorgeous and had a slim and curvaceous figure to boot, especially in the way her high-heeled dress sandals gave her calves a gazelle-like stride when she walked.
“So, what do you think?” she asked her husband, Peter, posing at the doorway of the bathroom with her silhouette backlit by the bright lights behind her.
Peter’s eyes never glanced from the bluish glare from his laptop screen.
“Nice,” he said.
Brianna was disappointed, but not surprised. In the past few years of their 12-year marriage, Peter had been emotionally absent. At first, she understood and was supportive of Peter in the time he devoted to writing the book and keeping a full workload at the university. Over time, Peter had become unappreciative of the time Brianna spent reading, editing and giving feedback on the book, and eventually as his wife.
Brianna dropped her pose and walked downstairs by herself to wait for him. Peter never made mention of how she looked in the car during the short car ride. He didn’t share in any of the excitement she expected him to feel being the guest of honor. When they got to the party, he left her at the door and went on to chat with the guests on his own.
Brianna managed to save face by doing some mingling on her own, accepting congratulations on behalf of her husband, and the compliments on her appearance.
After a while, the guests got through their obligatory well wishes and left Brianna standing on her own. Ordinarily, she would have slipped into a conversation somewhere, but the habit of getting left behind by Peter was getting to be old and she was in no mood to fake it any longer.
She slipped outside into the rose garden to reflect in its first blush of blooms. It was there she could be numb and mindless yet experience a rare moment of beauty and joy as the sunlight began to dim on the western horizon. She didn’t notice there was anyone else around until she heard someone say, “You look like you should be the center of attention in there.”
She turned around and exchanged a quiet smile with a tall and confidently handsome man holding a martini in one hand and a cigar in another.
“Don’t care much for parties?” she asked.
“I came in and made my rounds. It’s much too nice of an evening to be cooped up inside, and I can’t enjoy this with others around on the patio,” he said, lifting his cigar.
Brianna gave an understanding nod.
“I assume that you read his book?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said.
She didn’t want to say too much. She was tired of singing praises of the book and Peter. Actually, she welcomed the opportunity to have some mindless small talk about anything else but.
“I’ve never smoked a cigar, but I’ve always loved the scent of them … well, at least the scent of a good cigar,” she said.
“Here, have one,” he said.
The gentleman introduced himself as Jonathan, a visiting American literature professor by way of Harvard. He spun a fascinating tale about the cigar and how they were made in a small specialty shop in the Dominican Republic where he vacationed over winter break. Brianna was entertained by the story and was thankful for an opportunity to not say much at all. He was patient with her in teaching her how to puff and not inhale the cigar. She also welcomed the polite and adoring attention to her as a woman.
“So what brings you out here by yourself for so long?” he asked.
“I’ve been to more than enough parties like this, and I can’t quite leave yet,” she said.
“Why not?” he said. “I’d love the opportunity to slip out of here and for a late dinner with an attractive woman.”
“I’m sure you’d have no problem finding one here,” she said.
“I’m asking you, silly woman,” he said.
Brianna smiled and a blush came over her porcelain cheeks that took on the same glow as her dress.
Finally, she couldn’t stall any longer and couldn’t find a way to back out of his offer except to say, “I don’t think the guest of honor would take kindly of my absence. He’s my husband.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows and said, “In that case, I would be more than happy to take you back
inside, reunite you with your husband, and take great pleasure in reminding him of what a gorgeous wife he has.”
Brianna laughed and gladly latched onto his arm that he offered to walk her through the stepping stones that led back to the house.
Inside, Jonathan and Brianna waited in the wings to wait for Peter, who was engrossed in a conversation with some of the guests about the next book he was working on.
After being more than patient for a few minutes, Jonathan interrupted Peter and said, “Excuse me sir, but I came across this lovely woman I think you could make some time to share the spotlight with her this evening.”
If Peter was embarrassed, he hid his emotions well, and just said, “Thank you, Dr. Parker, and since it’s getting late, your timing is perfect. Brianna, are you ready?”
Brianna and Peter said their goodbyes cheerfully and gracefully as if they were a happy couple. The façade ended as soon as they got into the car.
“What was that all about?” Peter asked sarcastically.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I was as surprised as you. If anything, I was that one who was embarrassed that someone noticed that you had been ignoring me all night long.”
Brianna and Peter rode the rest of the way home in silence. When they got home, she slipped out of dress, got into her pajamas, and settled back into bed by herself while Peter was off doing who knew what. Brianna didn’t care to find out. Not going off to bed together at the same time, if at all, had been part of their nighttime routine for too long.
The next day, Brianna decided to walk over some documents to one of the professors in the Arts hall. She was his editor at the university press that was located just a few blocks away. She thought she’d poke into Peter’s office and try to get him make time for that conversation that should have been finished the night before.
Peter’s door was open just a crack. From the hallway, she could hear and see flirtatious laughter and conversation Peter was having with a student that could have been her a dozen years ago.
At that time, Peter was her master’s adviser. When she first started working with him, she was taken with the attention he gave to her whenever she dropped in and saw him during his office hours.
Sometimes, their conversations would travel onto lunches or drinks in a number of different bars and cafes just off campus. Over the months, their conversations got more personal, including his disclosures about his then-wife not being understanding of his needs. At first, she was flattered by his subtle attempts of seduction, but resisted the temptations to give in until one night over too many glasses of wine. He said his wife was out of town for the weekend and suggested they take off, too.
They stole away to an inn just an hour out of town. They made wild and crazy love that scorched the sheets in the time they spent naked in the room. He had a cock that wouldn’t quit, even after he had blasted inside of her when he came. He had her on top, sideways and upside down as they found all kinds of different ways to fuck like rabid jackals in heat. He bound her, gagged her, and pressed her body against a window for any passerby to see them pushing their physical and sexual limits. He was also incredibly romantic. He fed her, bathed her, and even rocked her to sleep.
By the end of the weekend, she was madly in love with him. By the end of the semester, he divorced his wife and they moved in together. The following summer, they were married in a small, private wedding on the shore of Martha’s Vineyard.
For the first time, she realized that she should have listened to her parents, who refused to attend her wedding. They said he was trouble. They could never quite articulate why they felt that way except to say, “He’s just that type. In ten or twelve years, he’ll be onto the next slab of fresh meat.”
How right they were, she thought. She stole another peek through the door to see that this student was young, perky. She hung onto and smiled at every word that came out of Peter’s mouth. He also hung a bit too close to him.
She left the building and planned on going back to her office to say that she wasn’t feeling well and was leaving for the rest of the day. On her way out, she ran into Jonathan.
“Mrs. Graham, how nice to see you again,” he said joyfully. “What brings you here?”
Brianna said she had some documents to drop off to another professor. Before she could explain that she was an editor at the university press, her eyelids began to swell from a tsunami of tears she was holding at bay.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with genuine concern.
She stammered not quite knowing if she should dump the details or hold back on what could become some heady department gossip.
The tears finally broke free and Jonathan walked her outside and over to a bench a safe distance from the building.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said in her best attempt to restore her composure and dignity.
Jonathan said he’s offer her a handkerchief if he had one. He did his best not to pry but kept her company until she got her bearings together. She thanked him for his kindness and said she had to get back to her office.
“Forget that,” he said. “How about lunch and a well-deserved bottle of wine?”
“Why not?” she thought. It was time that she got out of her misery and try to find some kind of semblance of fun or at least a diversion from something she didn’t want to deal with. She called the administrative assistant at the office, said something had come up, and that she would be taking the rest of the day off.
Brianna and Jonathan stole away to a French bistro and talked about everything under the sun except what led them to playing hooky that mid-spring afternoon.
After he divided what was left of the wine into their glasses, he got the liquid courage to confess, “I felt it wasn’t my place to say anything last night, but your husband has had a series of affairs since I came on board last fall. I think he’s on student number two or three. It’s the worst-kept secret in the department.”
“Oh,” she said before flagging down the waiter for another bottle of wine.
“I never cared for him, especially in the way that he was so cavalier about carrying on with his co-eds of choice,” he said. “I pretty much kept my comments to myself, but after meeting you last night and being quite taken with you even before I realized you were his wife, putting him in his place was one of my proudest moments.”
“You did a wonderful job,” she said, raising her glass to him in a toast to his honor.
She spilled the beans about Peter’s remark about him during the car ride home the night before, and the laughs started pouring out as effusively as the wine out of the bottle. As the wine loosened her lips, she told him how her marriage had been steadily going downhill over the past few years. He divulged that he had been dumped a few years ago in favor of his wife’s bridge partner.
“So what did he have that you didn’t?” she asked.
“Breasts and a vagina,” he laughed.
The silliness ensued until late afternoon. She had forgotten about how this should have been the worst day of her life. Instead, she was charmed and taken by this man who not only made her overcome her sorrow, but hung onto her every word with a transfixed gaze and entwined his fingers around hers as they held hands across the table until he eventually said, “You’re in no condition to drive home. I live only a half-mile walk from here. I’d be happy to be your designated walker if you’d like to stay.”
He was right. She was in no condition to get behind the wheel, and she didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t because she couldn’t bear to deal with Peter, but it was because she didn’t want this day to end.
Brianna didn’t say anything until Jonathan broke the silence, and said, “I would love to care for you and spoil you in ways that you have been doing without for far too long.”
They quickly walked back to his apartment. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect when they walked in.
Jonathan opened a curtain in the living room, pointed to an overstuffed leather chair and ottoman, and said, “Have a seat in the living room, take off your shoes, and put your feet up,” he said. “I’m going to get you a cold glass of water so you don’t get dehydrated from all that wine you had this afternoon.”
Brianna didn’t realize how physically as well as mentally exhausted she was until she settled into the chair.
Jonathan came back in the room with two icy cold glasses of water, turned on some Miles Davis, sat in front of her, and started massaging her feet, starting at the toes. His touches were firm and strong as he started with loosening up her toes and her feet, making them feel floppy and flexible. He worked his way to her ankles and to the back of her calves, and stopped to lightly glide his fingers up and down the crook of her leg behind her knees. His kneading touches softened as his hands worked their way up along the sides of her thighs, then over the top. When his hands started sliding under the hem of her skirt, his hands moved slower and more lightly toward the insides of her thighs. Their eyes locked and he brought his face closer to hers as if to ask permission to travel any farther. She didn’t respond verbally, but kept her eyes on him as the pads of his thumbs slid up and down the crease that joined her legs to that private spot between her legs.
Brianna moved closer to his face, keeping her gaze locked into his. She knew it couldn’t be the buzz of the wine that was intoxicating her like this, but his touch, the music, this moment. She wondered if this could be a bad decision yet she couldn’t resist bringing her lips just barely close enough to be drawn in for a kiss.
Like magnets, their lips met as Jonathan pulled her onto his lap by grabbing onto her firm and round ass cheeks. His fingertips kneaded into her firm flesh as their passions melted into their mouths. As their kisses grew more wild, they started peeling away their inhibitions and their clothing to dig deeper into their desires for one another until Jonathan took it upon himself to lean her back in the chair and kneel before her.
Jonathan gently parted Brianna’s inner lips with his thumbs to lick the sweet nectar that was coating them. His tongue slid in to lap up even more, and there was plenty of it. Each touch and tickle of Jonathan’s tongue brought on more of her sweet, sticky juice, and the way she wrapped her legs tighter around his back let him know she wanted to feel more of his mouth and tongue.
It wasn’t long until Brianna wanted more. Jonathan was more than happy to oblige as the two of them tumbled on the rug. Brianna grabbed hold of his cock, which emanated a salty dewiness of its own that she licked clean for her enjoyment. Their fingers and kisses found so many places that flipped switches to ignite other parts of their bodies. Their slow exploration of each other ramped up until they had to connect internally. Brianna shifted her pussy up and down and around in slow, circular motions on his cock while sitting on his lap. Wanting to get deeper inside of her, Jonathan pushed Brianna off to her side, lifted one leg up, and plowed into her, amazed at the sight and the feel of how well she took him in. He was amazed at not just at the way she opened her legs to him, but opened herself up to something much more deeper inside of her, more than any other kind of soul bearing could reveal. The thought made him come like a mid-summer rainstorm, drenching the both of them after a single, loud orgasmic thunderclap.
They lay together in a post-coital bliss on the edge of the bed with both of them not knowing how they got there with their bodies entangled over the bedspread.
Jonathan broke the tender silence by saying, “I feel like I stole the most beautiful rose from that garden last night.”
“This rose feels so grateful for being admired the way you do me,” Brianna said.
“I don’t understand how he could not …” he said.
Brianna put her fingers to his lips, and whispered, “Shhh …”
Several hours later, Brianna woke to the sound of her phone ringing in her purse in the other room.
Jonathan was fast asleep under the sheets at her side. She didn’t want to wake him, but figured she should check messages anyway.
According to Brianna’s phone, it was just after 11 o’clock. There were four messages on her phone. The last one was from Peter.
She called back.
“Where are you?” Peter asked.
“Not home, obviously,” Brianna said.
“When do you plan on being home?” he asked.
“Not tonight,” she said.
There was a long, silent pause over the bandwidth until Brianna clicked off her phone.
Brianna went back to Jonathan’s room to kiss him goodbye. She had to get some rest before she went back to the office the next morning but didn’t want to assume that he wanted her stay.
Jonathan pulled her back onto the bed gently, and whispered, “Don’t go. Stay.”
Brianna wound up staying the next night, over the weekend, and over the next few weeks after she filed for divorce and contemplated what her next move would be. She knew she couldn’t be in a better place than with Jonathan. They spent every free moment talking about books and poetry, reading poetry to each other, and telling each other the tales of their lives. They spent many meals together in an attempt to try every restaurant in town that had an outdoor patio, and ordered out from the ones that didn’t to eat naked in bed. They drank wine in the nude on the fire escape and on the roof of his building after dark and often interrupted their naughty forays with spontaneous lovemaking.
By the Fourth of July, she knew that Jonathan would be heading back to Harvard sometime in August.
He got up that morning and asked, “What are you doing with the rest of your summer?”
“Working, I suppose,” she said.
“How about taking the rest of the summer off and going up to Cape Cod with me?” he said. “We can ride bikes, go to the beach, and hang out in Provincetown like tourists. When we’re not doing that, we can hole up inside the place I rented for the month. We’ll leave the windows open and let the sea air caress our skin the way I’d like to caress you.”
He bent over to kiss her on the forehead as she drank her morning coffee clad only in a short lilac robe and a post-coital glow, and asked, “Are you game?”
When that didn’t get an answer, he lifted her up from her chair, pulled off the loosely-tied belt off her robe, and ran his hands slowly over her ass and hips, up along the sides of her torso, and cupped her breasts.
“Yes,” she answered.
His hands slid over to pinch her nipples, and he asked, “Is that your final answer?”
“Oh, yes!” she cried.
He pulled her in closer to press his hardening cock onto her belly.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes!” she cried even louder.
He pulled her up, sat her on the table, and rubbed his cock against her glistening pussy.
“Are we talking about the same things?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and cried out a second even louder, “And yes,” when he pierced his cock into her tight and heavily lubricated vagina.
Brianna and Jonathan christened the dining room table at the small cottage he rented at the Cape in much the same way as they did the kitchen table in his apartment in Cambridge after Brianna entered it for the first time. She had her mind on those times when she getting ready for a party in her honor the following spring at the Brown Alumni Club in Boston.
Jonathan walked into room with a copy of The Boston Globe in his hand, and started reading it.
“Just days before Peter Graham’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, She Holds the Secrets of the Founding Fathers, takes to the big screens, his ex-wife, Brianna Parker, is making some noise with her own work of fiction partially based on their relationship.
” … Parker, a former editor at Brown University Press, said, ‘I would have never been able to undertake this project without the help of my husband, Jonathan. If it wasn’t for his courage to tell me what was going on and the support he has given me in writing this book …’”
Jonathan paused, kissed her on the lips, pulled her in close by the small of her back, and said, “You give me too much credit.”
“Not enough,” she responded, fending his hands off the red silk dress she wore the day he first laid eye on her.
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