"You comb your hair to hide your lying eyes..."
Sensing her discomfort in the silence that followed his confession, he let go of her and turned his attention gracelessly to the terra cotta ruins surrounding her seated figure. "Where the fuck’s my wedding ring?"
'Quit trying to take inventory of what the fuck’s in my head, Mona, I fucking can’t stand that!'
Remnants of the previous night’s argument rang in his ears, bled their furious memory into his cock as he pounded it viciously into his contraband inamorata.
Their grunting - filthy, obscene - echoed hollowly in the heat of the kiln room. A man drowning, Jack clutched Lisa’s hips and pressed his weight against her, snuffing out guilt between his bare chest and the warm ebony skin of her back.
With a moan - filthy, obscene - Lisa leaned into the metal table she was pressed against. Their effete rhythm an ocean floor earthquake, the hamlet of tiny clay works cooling on the table’s surface was upraised; small and misshapen pots crafted by innocent fingers dancing perilously across the stainless steel. A handful of them slipped off the edge, plummeted to the floor and broke open, the empty thud of baked pottery on tile like buckshot in the mostly empty room.
The busted mud pots were a metaphor that almost caused Jack to lose his erection.
A feminine cry followed a masculine one and both bodies, panting, went limp. Each of them had faked their orgasms. They would both leave the school that evening believing sincerely that they’d gotten the other off.
As he dressed, Lisa sat cross legged on the table, black skirt and open blouse dusted with earthen cinder. Jack approached and she opened her legs to take him captive in an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his face into her neck, her coal-black hair a trumpet mute for his words.
“Is it infidelity, now I’ve started thinking of you in song lyrics?”
Her laughter was quietly bold and feminine, “Jack, you just fucked me in an elementary school kiln room. I think we’re a little past infidelity.”
“Fucking. Who cares? We’re animals, it’s what we do.”
“Really, is that what your wife would say?”
He drew back enough to take her face in his hands. He stared into her stunning, strong black features and poured liquid-steel gravity into the umber of her eyes, fucking her a second time with an uncomfortably intense, penetrating gaze. “Listen to me. You are not just cheap and easy meat to me, don’t you know that? You’re in my head. You’re at my dinner table, you’re next to me in bed when I turn my back to my wife at night. This is true unfaithfulness, and it is killing me so divinely that I can’t stop.” Sensing her discomfort in the silence that followed his confession, he let go of her and turned his attention gracelessly to the terra cotta ruins surrounding her seated figure. “Where the fuck’s my wedding ring?”
She slid off the table and ducked down to pluck it up from the floor; a gold band settled amongst chunks of crumbled adobe. “It fell off the table. Here.” She took his left hand and placed the ring back onto it; a martyr, a Magdalene. “Sorry about the pots. What will you tell the kids tomorrow?”
He softened and pressed a kiss to her brow, speaking against it even as his hands moved to her shirt to fasten its buttons, “I’ll tell them if they don’t understand the theory of destruction as creation and the congruity inherent in returning their art to the earth, they need to pay closer attention when it’s story hour in Miss Lisa’s class.”
“I teach second grade and it’s not even two months into the school year. We don’t break out the Nietzsche until next quarter, at least. ” She grinned up at him, “but they do seem to be really picking up on the subtle profundities of Stan and Jan Berenstain, so we’re making progress.”
His own light laughter was a foreign sound to him. He wondered how long it had been.
After a beat, she nestled her cheek against his chest to soften the non sequitur, “So, are you going to tell her?”
“Christ, Lisa.” He took her upper arms to gently push her away from him, “I’ll tell her when and if I need to tell her. Let’s not turn this into a Spanish soap opera, okay? I know you’re more intelligent than that.”
She shrugged him off, dark eyes narrowed defensively. “Don’t you condescend to me. You know what else I’m too intelligent for? I’m too intelligent to stick around and take any run around bullshit from a married man who’s fucking me behind his wife’s back in a goddamn clay closet after school every day, so watch yourself.” She tucked her blouse into her skirt hurriedly and swept up her belongings. “God, you make me feel like a whore sometimes.”
Jack sighed, reaching out to her half-heartedly. “I’m sorry. Lisa, I’m sorry...don’t leave like this.”
With a kiss more earnest than his words, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and touched his mouth to hers.
She thawed and kissed him in return, giving a gentle warning as he drew away, “you better tell her, Jack. I don’t play the eternally pining mistress game.”
“I know.”
“I really do have to go, though. I’m meeting a girlfriend for drinks. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He squeezed her shoulders before patting her tenderly on the behind to send her on her way. “Of course. Have a good time tonight.”
She departed with a weak smile. He rested his forehead against the door after it had closed behind her, exhaling heavily before heaving a solid fist into the cheap, lacquered wood, punctuating the hit with a sharp curse.
'Quit trying to take inventory of what the fuck’s in my head, Mona, I fucking can’t stand that!'
Remnants of the previous night’s argument rang in his ears, bled their furious memory into his cock as he pounded it viciously into his contraband inamorata.
Their grunting - filthy, obscene - echoed hollowly in the heat of the kiln room. A man drowning, Jack clutched Lisa’s hips and pressed his weight against her, snuffing out guilt between his bare chest and the warm ebony skin of her back.
With a moan - filthy, obscene - Lisa leaned into the metal table she was pressed against. Their effete rhythm an ocean floor earthquake, the hamlet of tiny clay works cooling on the table’s surface was upraised; small and misshapen pots crafted by innocent fingers dancing perilously across the stainless steel. A handful of them slipped off the edge, plummeted to the floor and broke open, the empty thud of baked pottery on tile like buckshot in the mostly empty room.
The busted mud pots were a metaphor that almost caused Jack to lose his erection.
A feminine cry followed a masculine one and both bodies, panting, went limp. Each of them had faked their orgasms. They would both leave the school that evening believing sincerely that they’d gotten the other off.
As he dressed, Lisa sat cross legged on the table, black skirt and open blouse dusted with earthen cinder. Jack approached and she opened her legs to take him captive in an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his face into her neck, her coal-black hair a trumpet mute for his words.
“Is it infidelity, now I’ve started thinking of you in song lyrics?”
Her laughter was quietly bold and feminine, “Jack, you just fucked me in an elementary school kiln room. I think we’re a little past infidelity.”
“Fucking. Who cares? We’re animals, it’s what we do.”
“Really, is that what your wife would say?”
He drew back enough to take her face in his hands. He stared into her stunning, strong black features and poured liquid-steel gravity into the umber of her eyes, fucking her a second time with an uncomfortably intense, penetrating gaze. “Listen to me. You are not just cheap and easy meat to me, don’t you know that? You’re in my head. You’re at my dinner table, you’re next to me in bed when I turn my back to my wife at night. This is true unfaithfulness, and it is killing me so divinely that I can’t stop.” Sensing her discomfort in the silence that followed his confession, he let go of her and turned his attention gracelessly to the terra cotta ruins surrounding her seated figure. “Where the fuck’s my wedding ring?”
She slid off the table and ducked down to pluck it up from the floor; a gold band settled amongst chunks of crumbled adobe. “It fell off the table. Here.” She took his left hand and placed the ring back onto it; a martyr, a Magdalene. “Sorry about the pots. What will you tell the kids tomorrow?”
He softened and pressed a kiss to her brow, speaking against it even as his hands moved to her shirt to fasten its buttons, “I’ll tell them if they don’t understand the theory of destruction as creation and the congruity inherent in returning their art to the earth, they need to pay closer attention when it’s story hour in Miss Lisa’s class.”
“I teach second grade and it’s not even two months into the school year. We don’t break out the Nietzsche until next quarter, at least. ” She grinned up at him, “but they do seem to be really picking up on the subtle profundities of Stan and Jan Berenstain, so we’re making progress.”
His own light laughter was a foreign sound to him. He wondered how long it had been.
After a beat, she nestled her cheek against his chest to soften the non sequitur, “So, are you going to tell her?”
“Christ, Lisa.” He took her upper arms to gently push her away from him, “I’ll tell her when and if I need to tell her. Let’s not turn this into a Spanish soap opera, okay? I know you’re more intelligent than that.”
She shrugged him off, dark eyes narrowed defensively. “Don’t you condescend to me. You know what else I’m too intelligent for? I’m too intelligent to stick around and take any run around bullshit from a married man who’s fucking me behind his wife’s back in a goddamn clay closet after school every day, so watch yourself.” She tucked her blouse into her skirt hurriedly and swept up her belongings. “God, you make me feel like a whore sometimes.”
Jack sighed, reaching out to her half-heartedly. “I’m sorry. Lisa, I’m sorry...don’t leave like this.”
With a kiss more earnest than his words, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and touched his mouth to hers.
She thawed and kissed him in return, giving a gentle warning as he drew away, “you better tell her, Jack. I don’t play the eternally pining mistress game.”
“I know.”
“I really do have to go, though. I’m meeting a girlfriend for drinks. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He squeezed her shoulders before patting her tenderly on the behind to send her on her way. “Of course. Have a good time tonight.”
She departed with a weak smile. He rested his forehead against the door after it had closed behind her, exhaling heavily before heaving a solid fist into the cheap, lacquered wood, punctuating the hit with a sharp curse.