Afternoon Saturday, February 10th, 2024

Garin and Lyrou walked together through a yellowed and browned park that turned into a biking trail. As their breaths fogged the air, he talked about the news, a politician he saw promise in. “She’s not bought. She can really fix the runaway deficit spending, roll back regulations, and not make the perfect the enemy of the good on infrastructure projects. And she’s a combat veteran who appeals to moderates on either side of the divide. I’d vote for her. The main criticism I’ve seen raised is that she’s a so-called isolationist, but to my ears that sounds like she’s just not a raving warmonger.”

The calmness of the outdoors contrasted with the storm of emotions within Lyrou. “It doesn’t hurt that she’s one of the prettier politicians.”

Still in socio-political commentator mode, Garin replied, “Women used to be harangued for voting Kennedy over Nixon in 1960, that suffrage and television had turned elections into male beauty pageants. I won’t be guilt-tripped for voting with my eyes.” Garin pointed, his chin flexed as if he were making a stand against someone somewhere.

Lyrou leaned in with a curious tone. “Video killed the radio star?”

Garin clasped his hands together in a clap; Lyrou had made a good point. “Precisely, honey, at least until a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma killed the video star.”

She listened to him talk, her thoughts drifting to Tom and the power he held over her. The scent of pine and earth filled her nostrils. “Mon beau,” she said softly, cutting through the conversation, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?” he asked as they continued on the trail.

“I’ve been thinking about Tom.” She paused, watching his reaction. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Garin gave a slight grin; it was that time, wasn’t it? “When will we meet him?”

Lyrou placed her hands on her waist. “I’ve been talking to him. He’s agreed to meet us, perhaps after you get back from work.”

That soon? It really was that time, wasn’t it? “He understands I’ll only watch?” Garin asked with some seriousness, the grey greenery of the coniferous forest around them framing his concerned face.

She nodded slowly, anticipation building as she said the words aloud to Garin now. “En effet, chéri. He knows the rules. But I’ve been thinking,” she continued, her hand sliding into his, “what if that night isn’t just about me and him?”

“How do you mean?” Garin asked, confused.

Pulling closer to him, she said, “It was Tom’s idea. In his words, what if we invite someone for you, too, mon cœur? He knows a certain lady who’d be available.”

Garin shook his head. “Oh? That’s so kind of him to think of the one whose surname you took. I only want to watch you this time, with nobody to distract me. Do you think I won’t be able to endure it, seeing you with someone else?”

She didn’t want to push him too far, too soon. She took a moment to consider his feelings, her hand squeezing his gently. “Non, chéri. It’s not that. But why make it hurt more than it has to?”

“I haven’t watched you with anyone before. It might be a lot for me to handle when it’s more than talk and imagining, but present and happening. The reason I needed you to watch me with Andrea first was that I could endure seeing you with another lover if I knew I had already subjected you to that. Thanks to my bling baby, I think I’m ready to see you with anyone.”

Lyrou inhaled the scent of the forest. “Merci, chéri. Your presence means so much to me.” She leaned in closer, her hand reaching up to trace his jawline, her thumb planting in his cheek hollow. “If you’re ready to watch, I’m ready to be watched.” She stepped back, her hips swaying slightly as she turned to continue along the trail.

⚜

Late Night Saturday, February 10th, 2024

Lyrou was in the guestroom, enjoying her steampunk novel and highlighting passages she might lift for her own ESL poetry practice. Sepia phrases like “unhand me” and “I beg of you” tasted so elevated. “Cruelty to a purpose” and “difference without distinction” felt in her mouth like those expressions her professors in Boston had used. And then the pleasurable alliteration, assonance, and paronomasia of “elocution has eluded you” just gave her those lovely ASMR goosebumps. And then she pondered over how to use “forthcoming” without sounding odd to English native-speakers.

Her phone rang, and she expected it might be her Maman, but it was Reine. She answered, “Hello Reine.”

Reine was sniffle-crying into the receiver. “Hello, Lyrou.”

Lyrou set her book and pencil aside, “Dear. Ma tomate. Is it true that the world is ending?”

Reine puffed an amused-sad expression of breath into the receiver, “I can’t have sex with Philip.”

Lyrou leaned back into her futon. This was going to be one special Reine phone conversation, “Is the cake that good, you must cry if you can’t get a piece?”

Reine laughed a crying little laugh, “Do you know who Kristen is? I might have told you.”

Lyrou took a second to try to recall, “I’m afraid not, I apologize if you did tell me. Is she so big and important that I should recall her?”

Reine startled Lyrou with a truer, louder laugh, “Big?! She’s small, Lyrou. She’s Philip’s ex.”

Lyrou tried to understand, “Small?”

Reine, incredulous, “She’s his midget ex.”

Lyrou needed clarification, “Philip’s ex was a… a little person?”

Reine now entering self-righteous rant mode, “Oh yeah, a little person. It’s a faux pas to say 'midget.' According to Philip, it’s barbaric to say little person as well. You should call her ‘an exceptionally short woman’. That’s what he told me.”

Lyrou’s mind raced with all manner of questions and visuals, “Reine, you surprise me more than he. You devote yourself to teaching and caring for children with Down syndrome…”

“And I should be accepting of all people as people.” Reine finished Lyrou’s thought for her.

“Oui. So what if he has a lower-case ex.” Lyrou turned red to dare to say it.

Reine remained silent a moment, then, “I had no idea, and while logically I know I’m being the problematic one, I can’t get the visual out of my mind.”

Lyrou nodded, “You can’t get hot for him without intrusive images of your Philip fucking Santa’s employee of the month. Or how he stuck his dick in a tree and she was in there baking cookies and she....”

Reine sob-laughed, “No! Oh my Gaaaaawd!”

Lyrou needed more details, “So what did he have to say for himself?’

“I accused him of omission. He told me he never asked how tall my ex was, and I never told him either. I told him that’s different. He insisted that it wasn’t!” Reine clawed for Lyrou to back her up or put her in check.

Lyrou listened, looked it up on her phone, how short technically qualified as dwarfism, “147 centimeters.”

Reine clenched her phone in her fist, “And then for some bullshit reason, he threw it up that my mom and I never told my sister’s husband that she had an abortion that was his when they were first dating on-and-off. So, then we were into an argument about how that’s not my place and trying to make sure he wouldn’t take it upon himself to drop that tidbit on my brother-in-law.”

Lyrou knew Reine needed decompression here, someone to listen, not tell her she was wrong, but to synthesize and metabolize the revelation with her, “Hmmm. I see. Reine, dear, it all depends on whether he was with her a long time or a short time.”

Reine’s tears had begun to dry. “It was a very short time with his very short woman.” She exhaled, her breathing normalizing.

Lyrou sympathized, “But this mini-bitch is casting a long shadow?”

Reine paused. If Lyrou thought it wasn’t so bad, then she could begin to believe it wasn’t so bad. “I have nothing against very short people. It’s just that... I don’t know… why it has me twisted in knots. I wouldn’t blink if I saw a mixed-height couple in public, or met such a couple; they’d be just like anyone else to me. But Philip isn’t just anyone else to me.”

Lyrou joined in her thought process, “And he didn’t do anything wrong, yet it still sits wrong with you. And you feel guilty about that.”

Reine sighed, “Can we meet tomorrow morning?”

Lyrou could hear Reine’s baby crying in the background, “You finish bawling, and she starts; the real little woman you should be consumed with.”

Reine asked again, “Can we meet tomorrow morning?”

Lyrou assured her, “Yes, I insist we meet tomorrow morning. You will tell me everything.”

⚜

Evening Tuesday, February 13th, 2024

Their previous tenant had left only a microwave when he moved out, no damage, and his security deposit was returned. He was a manager in a nearby department store, doing overtime selling everything made in East Asia to all walks of American life, and needed this one-bedroom so that he could bike to work or take the city bus. But he moved, not due to the modest rent raise or the owners’ refusal to renew the lease, but on his own timing with his own life changes. If he hadn’t moved out, Garin would have found someplace else for this purpose until another tenant decided to go. But it was convenient.

Now, Garin oversaw the furniture he ordered being moved in and told the movers where to set each piece. It would look… furnished. It would be furnished. Tomorrow it would be used for the first time in a new way. These walls would see an act he was certain they had never seen, and then they would see more later. He laughed to himself at the thought of whether these walls could feel what was coming. What he meant for them to house, and if the corner he now directed a comfortable recliner placed, could feel that it was a special corner indeed. It was his corner. Here was a sacrificial altar being constructed in reverent accordance with arcane sacred geometry. Not a drop of blood would be spilled at this sacrifice, only tears and cum. And as for the blood, it would pump and run faster than if an Aztec rain priest had here a virgin under an obsidian tecpatl blade. A virgin?! Garin laughed again to himself, concealing his face so the movers didn’t notice. A virgin. No. No virgin. No virgin here. This ley line nexus, a slattern would consecrate.

⚜

Evening Wednesday, February 14th, 2024

Garin wore a suit, a tropical blue linen fabric, a two-button jacket with a notch lapel, corozo ivory buttons, a single vent, three cuff buttons, and two welted back pockets on the trousers, and dark blue Oxfords. Lyrou wore a pleated red-pink floral print midi dress featuring a delicate, vibrant flower pattern set against a soft, flowing fabric, with gracefully structured pleats that cascaded down to a mid-calf length, offering a flattering silhouette, on red high heels. Together, they stood against the cool greys, dead yellows, and dull browns of February in New Jersey. Garin took his wife to a live Shakespearean performance done in a 1990s American-gangster theme; the Early Modern English was a welcome challenge for her listening comprehension, and they held hands, chuckling at the renditions of fairies in gold teeth and oversized sports jerseys. Then they had dinner, spicy Thai, where Garin’s bouquet of roses arrived with his card, and he presented it to her. The awkward loveliness of receiving them, it was such a new sensation that she turned red. Garin said nothing, only watching her expression, so mixed and… malfunctioning? Then it was time for the drive to Grantwood. He held his elbow for her to loop her hand up under and onto. “Come.”

Lyrou sat in the passenger seat and began the line Garin had expected as he drove. “Mon… mon mari… if you don’t want to, then don’t.”

Garin gave a slight shake of his head and looked over at her. “I haven’t backed out.”

Lyrou took his hand from the steering wheel. “But you can. Why don’t you?”

Garin tapped the steering wheel with his free hand. “The more you delay and talk me out of it, the more I’ll want it.” By the hand she held, he placed it on his inner thigh, and through his trousers, his growing rod. “Try it.”

Lyrou, feeling still, “You shouldn’t watch me tonight, maybe another time…”

And it was true, beneath her hand, harder and harder. “What’s the difference except to make me wait and worry?”

They pulled into the spot reserved for the unit and made their way inside, and waited. Inside, on the nightstand, Lyrou found a box of chocolates of various kinds. She held it up and smiled for him. “Let’s eat them together later.” Then she set them back.

Garin sat quietly in a sofa chair, positioned to watch the large couch where Lyrou intended to fuck Tom. Lyrou minded her phone until tapping on it and setting it aside. “He’s here. I told him to come up.”

Lyrou opened the door and hissed out to grab the attention of the visitor down the hall. She stepped back to allow him room to enter. As Lyrou led their special guest in, Garin silently greeted Tom with a single wave of his hand. Tom’s hair was a little long for a man, and his arms were tattooed, and he had the thick neck of a boxer. There was a tough but clever look about him.

As he entered the room, anticipation made her knees weak. Lyrou walked over to Tom, her hips swaying with an allure that was both natural and practiced. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “Thank you for coming.”

Garin would remain watching, his eyes on them, and a thrill at the thought of his jealousy. She turned to Garin, and he noticed it was an order of eye contact they had never had before. “Ma vie,” she said softly and teasingly, “are you ready to see what my Tom and I do together?”

She took Tom’s hand, leading him to the couch, her heart beating against her chest such that she could hear it. Garin’s eyes on her, the weight of his candaulistic gaze like a physical touch. She sat down, her legs crossed, and patted the cushion next to her. “Make yourself comfortable,” she told Tom, her smile playful. She glanced back at Garin, to Tom, to Garin. It was surreal to her, these two men in the same space.

Tom knew the stakes were high, but he also knew that he could have real fun if he allowed himself to. He caught the scent of Lyrou’s perfume as he sat down next to her. He leaned in, his hand finding her wrist, and squeezed it gently. “Nothing we haven’t done,” his voice low.

Garin sat quietly, determined not to move or speak, and only to watch. He began to fret that he might be humbled too painfully, and he braced himself for that. He would regret it if he were driven to object or to leave, but he might regret it more, allowing this man to penetrate his Lyrou and not say or do anything against it.

A concerned smile as she watched Garin bracing himself. His fears, his insecurities, she too worried he might snap. She turned her attention back to Tom, her hand sliding up his thigh. “Let’s not keep chéri waiting, shall we?” A seductive invitation. She unbuttoned Tom’s shirt, her eyes fixed downward as she revealed the muscular chest beneath.

Garin mentally noted to himself how Lyrou touched Tom, like an object, like a big toy, playful but not loving. He began to believe she was purely sincere in her telling of things, that her lovers were merely interchangeable objects she invested little to no feeling in, no heart. He could, or he better begin to believe, these men might as well be things to her, erotic animatronics, and that he was her real and only love, the one to whom all of her care and adoration was poured into, the one to whom she fastened her future. Garin began to tell himself, based on that, this wasn’t a grand treason he beheld. Rather, he might as well be watching Lyrou masturbate, and this person was no person but a pet in human form. But then again, there was that part of his mind that called out that entire line of thinking as thought-gymnastics and a cope.

The intensity of the moment growing, Lyrou leaned in, her full lips brushing against Tom’s in a gentle kiss. His cock stiffened beneath her hand, the fabric of his pants straining. She pulled away, her smile mischievous. “Chéri,” she called over her shoulder to Garin, “are you enjoying the show?”

“Pretend I’m not here, both of you.” Garin gestured with his hand and slouched back, as if to retreat into shadow. Garin would remain watching, his stiff posture a silent protest against his fear of inadequacy, of disillusion, of hurt.

She leaned into Tom, her hand sliding down to his crotch, the fabric of his pants bricked-up. She kissed him deeply, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she began to stroke him through the fabric. The sound of their kisses, the rustle of clothing. She broke away, her eyes flicking to Garin’s tense form. “I’m going to show you just how much I want you,” and it was unclear to all if she meant that to Garin or to Tom.

She straddled him, her skirt riding up to reveal the black lace of her lingerie. She twisted around in Tom’s lap to look back at Garin, checking on him, her bra front strap forming a high wire, as a violin string, from her shoulder to her breast. She reached behind her, her fingers deftly unhooking her bra, letting her full breasts spill out. The sight of her husband watching, the power she had over him, made her wet. Tom’s cock pulsing beneath her, eager to be released.

Garin slouched further in his chair, becoming erect but also anxious. He was torn between anger that Lyrou could really do this, that she’d done it countless times, and his voyeur’s eagerness to see something amazing, to see her really go at it and put on an unbelievable sexual display he’d never known she had in her.

She reached down, her hand trembling slightly, and began to pull down Tom’s shorts. With a bounce and then bobbing with the pulse of a full erection, sprang out Tom’s woman-splitting battering ram log.

Garin suppressed the urge to stop his wife. He was winning the fight against himself, but it required more effort than he’d anticipated.

The room felt hotter with every passing second. Lyrou could feel the weight of Garin’s unspoken thoughts. Her fingers wrapping around Tom’s cock, pulling it tightly into her palm, squeezing the solid girth of it, and feeling its heat, her eyes met her husband’s. “Look at him, mon roi, look how much he wants me.” She stroked Tom’s cock, watching as it grew harder in her hand. “You, Garin, you’re the one I come home to. No, you are my lodestone.”

Garin could see just what he presumed was Lyrou’s favorite thing about Tom. It looked so fat in her hand; he cringed that she must appreciate the size. He was watching her every move, feeling both aroused and anxious.

She leaned in closer to Tom, her hand still wrapped around the veiny diameter of his cock, and whispered into his ear. “Make me scream for you,” a command. She kissed Tom deeply, her other hand slipping into her panties to touch herself, her wetness announcing such readiness. She broke the kiss, her eyes locked on Garin’s. “Chéri, you’re going to watch us, and I hope you still love me.” She positioned herself over Tom, her legs straddling his hips, his cock nudging at her entrance.

Garin nearly looked away, both not wanting to see the moment of penetration and also demanding of himself that he see it. She pushed down, her walls stretching to accommodate his girth. She couldn’t help but moan; the sensation of being filled so completely was almost too much.

Garin watched as it slid into her, but then at the sound of her moan, he looked away. It was he feared it becoming too much to watch. He wanted to curse, but remained quiet and averted his eyes.

Her cheeks flushed with arousal as Tom’s cock stretched her. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she moaned, her voice desperate. Lyrou remembered Garin and turned quickly to check on him, seeing that he was looking away. She froze, thinking that this must be the limit. Calmly, “Garin, my husband? I can stop if you say stop. I will… Non. I can’t do it with you watching… don’t watch me. We’ve gone far enough; we can stop it here.”

Tom grabbed her to keep her from dismounting. Garin didn’t look, but he spoke. “No. I want to see more.”

Lyrou hesitated but obliged. She began to rock her hips, her eyes closed in pleasure. “You do? According to your wish.”

Tom placed his hands on her hips, guiding her movements, his fingertips digging into her soft flesh. Tom’s eyes met hers in culpability, the connection between them wicked; co-conspirators, partners-in-crime. He felt the laser beam of Garin’s resentful stare, but it only served to fuel his own desire. Tom knew this was as much for Lyrou’s husband as it was for them, and the power was intoxicating. His strokes grew deeper, his ass muscles clenched to ram into her. “You’re so fine,” his voice a low rumble. He watched as she leaned back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The slick sounds of their bodies coming together, their scents, the voices, so much.

Garin tried to watch. He was doing it and felt good about himself that he could watch and not leave or intervene. He could take it. What’s more, he could see Lyrou in action like he never had before, and he valued it. It was in some way like an out-of-body experience, Garin thought, as he stepped outside the bounds of his ego.

Lyrou kneaded Tom’s wide shoulders in her hands, then kissed them with several quick, crazy pecks. She threw her head back, her moans growing louder with each stroke. Her eyes flickered to Garin, watching his reaction, gauging his limits. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against Tom’s chest, her hand reaching back to grab her own ass. “Look at us. Look how much we both want this.”

“Lyrou, turn…” he paused, composing himself.

She froze to hear his request, eyes widening, “Garin? Turn?”

Garin continued, “… and ride him reverse cowgirl. I want you to face me, not him.”

The order in his voice sent a thrill. With a seductive, obedient smile, she turned, her body gliding over Tom’s, his cock slipping out of her with a wet sound. She straddled him again, this time facing Garin, her eyes on him as she reached down to guide Tom’s dick in. She positioned herself over Tom’s thick cock at her entrance once more. She pushed down, her eyes clenched. She began to ride him, her movements slow and deliberate, her hips rolling with each stroke. Tom’s big hands were locked around her waist, but it was Garin’s eyes that held her. She moaned, her body moving in a dance of desire for her husband’s eyes only. She looked down to discover Tom’s balls and cupped them gently in her hand, ostensibly to grope her lover, but also protectively blocking with her arm Garin’s view of her being penetrated. A part of her was afraid of what the sight of it was doing to Garin, to see that much.

Garin, watching Lyrou and Lyrou watching him, held his hands out, palms up, as if feeling for rain. “Lyrou… why are you such a slut? Tell me. Why aren’t you a normal wife who bottles up her lusts and restrains herself? Or why not the wife who cheats only once and then privately regrets it, but, satiated, needn’t stray again? Why do you want it so badly?”

With defiance in her face, she leaned back, her breasts bouncing as she rode Tom’s cock, the sound of their flesh slapping together echoing through the room. “Because, chéri, I crave this. The fun and the power of choosing who I want to be with.” She paused, her hips rhythmic. “And because it makes me crazy to know that you love me the same or more for what I’ve done.” She leaned forward, her hand reaching out to point directly at Garin as she continued to ride Tom. “You make me feel alive, Garin. Our love doesn’t detain us. We do what we want. I can live no other way.”

“Tell us why you fuck him,” Garin commanded, as Lyrou continued to cup Tom’s smooth, warm balls and conceal the sight of her being plunged.

She twisted to look over her shoulder at Tom. “He’s so different!”

Garin continued watching, finger to his lips as if pondering, perplexed. “Different? How?”

Lyrou’s voice went high with pleasure. “With Tom, it’s raw and aggressive, so physical. He treats my body in a way that is… primal. I can be a serf woman brutally seized and ravaged by a testosterone-fueled barbarian raider. Or I can be a demure and chaste temple priestess ravished by a complete thug, forced to submit, and loving it. It’s like you claim me, make me yours. And then you throw me away until the next time. You don’t contact me, no calls, and no messages. You wait unconcerned until I inevitably have the urge for you again. Ooooh!” Looking back to Garin, her eyes glossy, “But with you, chéri, it’s more than just sex. It’s home. I need you.”

Tom, with pride and power, his eyes locked downcast on Lyrou’s ass as he fucked her with a newfound fervor. Her body tightening internally around him, “You like it when I make you feel used up,” his own voice thick with lust. Tom could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his balls tightening up to his groin, still cupped in her hand. “I already know.” Tom urged, his hips pistoning up into her.

She leaned back and turned into Tom’s ear. “You’re so good at this rough fuck.” Tom’s grip on her hips tightened, his strokes growing more urgent. She had Tom right where she wanted him, his ego stoked by the comparison. She moaned louder, her hips grinding down onto his cock. “You’re my overlord who makes me feel like a vapid supplicant,” she continued, her eyes on Garin’s.

Garin had a vision to leap up at them both, to tear Lyrou off of Tom before he filled her with sperm, but he held his seat and kept quiet, watching.

Lyrou could see she was pushing Garin to burn his last reserve of patience, but she also understood it was what he needed. Her breasts bounced as Tom took control, his strokes deep and powerful. “Oh, oui. You give me exactly what I need!”

A smug satisfaction in Tom’s face. He had the upper hand, the master hand, and he reveled in it. He leaned in, whispering into Lyrou’s ear, “You’re nobody special to me.” His hand reached up to grip her nipples, pinching them between his fingers as he fucked her harder. “You obsess over me, and yet I hardly think about you.”

Lyrou watched as Garin’s jaw clenched into clefts, masseter mounding. The power Tom had over both of them was a heady rush. The taunt in Tom’s words was unmistakable. Her eyes rolling back, her hair flicking and falling over Tom. “You’re right,” she moaned, her voice dripping with pleasure. “You’re… you are… a waster of women. You have wasted me!”

“Finish it,” Garin begged, his voice low.

Lyrou had pushed Garin to the brink. It was time. With a final, defiant look at her husband, she arched her back as Tom’s thick cock plunged deeper into her. She threw her head back, her long, dark hair cascading down her back, and let out a scream of pure pleasure. “Oh, Tom, yes!” she exclaimed, her body convulsing around his cock as she reached her climax. Tom’s cock swelled even larger inside her. He was close. She reached down, her hand finding his shaft, guiding it into her G-spot. “Cum for me.”

With a guttural, savage grunting, nigh-growling, Tom did as she asked, his cum filling her up, mixing with her salty, sour juices. His bicep muscles straining as he pumped into her, his eyes devouring the amazing curvature of her back, glistening with sweat, and her narrow waist, the soft dimples and folds of it. He leaned back, his cock slipping out of her with a wet sound, and watched as she turned to face Garin, her body still trembling, her thighs twitching with aftershocks of pleasure.

On her hands and knees, Lyrou crawled to Garin, her head on his lap like a pet. Tom’s white seed dripped between her legs, down her thighs. Tom stood as an Adonis and stretched. “That was fire fucking. Real-real.”

“You’d your moment, Tom. Throw your shit on and get out.” Garin remained seated, his hand resting on Lyrou’s head, petting her hair.

Lyrou watched Tom dress. He didn’t dispose of that smug smile, his prideful strut leaving no doubt. Once the door closed behind him, she turned her eyes up to Garin. Anxious, her pulse racing from the encounter, she could see the conflict in his eyes, part anger, part arousal. She climbed up him, approached his face slowly, her bare feet against the cool floor. “Are you OK, ma vie?” she asked, her voice soothing.

“No…” Garin clasped his hands over his face.

Her heart was beating in her throat at his response. Had she pushed him too far tonight? She climbed closer, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, the other peeling his hand away from his face. “Chéri, this is what we agreed upon. Our love isn’t diminished by this.”

“My pride is hurt. I think I did well, but only I wish…” Garin looked for the words.

“Wish what, chéri?” Her hand stroked his cheek.

“If you enjoyed a lover for something I could learn or become, I’d learn or become that. But you enjoy him for something I can’t be or learn. It’s the worst part. It’s the part I can’t get over. I can’t be that to you.” Garin hid his face in his hands again, letting out a disturbing sigh.

Lyrou spoke with soft sympathy. “There is no sexual-sensei for you, so that you could copy him.”

Garin nodded, looking away. “There’s nothing to adopt from him. An apple cannot become an orange.”

“I’d be frustrated if my apple saw me eating my orange and decided to become a superfluous orange. I want my apple.” Lyrou smiled at the silliness of their analogy, but also wished it conveyed something to help Garin.

Garin didn’t respond, but stared blankly across the room, perhaps out the window.

Lyrou’s expression one of genuine concern. She climbed and curled onto Garin, her feet leaving the floor, her naked body warm and inviting. She pressed against him. “Mon beau, I need you for who you are. And what you give me physically is wonderful, too.” She took his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, then to the extensor tendons in the back of his hand.

“I’ll be OK. Did you like that your husband watched? Was it hot?” Garin forced a little smile.

Her chest was still heaving from the recent exertion. She leaned into him, her breasts pressed against him, her hand reaching down and between them to wrap around his still-hard cock. “Yes, it was… exhilarating. Knowing you were just barely OK with it, it just made everything so much more unreal. I thought at one point you were going to dart up and do I don’t know what.” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. She kissed him gently, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. “You trusted me enough to let me be with someone else.”

Garin’s hands slipped under Lyrou. He handled her and stood, lifting her with him, an arm under her lower back and the other under her knees. Carrying her in his arms, he approached the bed. He laid her down. Lyrou watched as Garin retreated into the bed, his shoulders slightly slumped, the weight of the evening’s events etched into his posture. She saw the emotional toll it took on him. Letting the air fill her lungs before exhaling slowly, she slid under the blanket beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her breasts pressing against his back. “Merci, mon amour,” she spoke into the darkness, “for letting us be free.” His body locked in its sequences briefly before he relaxed into her embrace.

⚜