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I Am Not Your Husband

“How’s my sexy man tonight?” The delicate feminine voice wafted into my ear on a warm moist breath, barely audible above the unruly clamor in the pub. The speaker’s soft lips grazed my lobe as they formed the words. Soft tresses of her hair brushed the back of my neck while an unfamiliar fragrance of roses and jasmine intoxicated my senses. I could feel her ample breasts pressing snugly against my back as she wrapped her arms around my midsection in a tender embrace.

Rita was feeling much better, I thought. Looks like her headache wasn’t as bad as she had expected.

As I twisted my body on the barstool, turning to greet my visitor, her face was upon me in a flash, eclipsing the entirety of the tavern. When her luscious lips descended onto my mouth, I closed my eyes reflexively and accepted her advancing tongue. Her kiss was deep and passionate.

Our tongues entwined and swam together fluidly like frolicking dolphins, over and under each other – out of one mouth and into the other. The kiss was so seductive in its intensity and unbridled boldness that I felt that familiar tingly exhilaration rippling beneath my skin. My cock began to swell. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the fervor of this sensuous woman’s kiss. The barroom and all of its raucous revelers disappeared from my consciousness as we kissed. Nothing else mattered except the hungry lust that surged throughout my body. I wanted to fondle my lover – squeeze the yielding flesh of her breasts, stroke the smooth contours of her ass. I raised my arm from the edge of the bar, but – as I slowly swung it toward her chest – I inadvertently knocked over my drink.

Abruptly the spell was broken. My eyes sprung open as the icy Jack and Coke soaked into my pants leg. I released my lover’s tongue and broke the kiss, but she did not move away. Her face – too close for me to focus on – was framed with voluminous curls of blond hair.


Rita was a brunette. This was not Rita!

I leaned backward and saw my visitor’s face clearly for the first time. It was quite an alluring visage – long sweeping lashes that fluttered over dark owlish eyes, a pert nose with a light scattering of freckles across the bridge, and succulent l ips that looked every bit as good as they had tasted. Long wavy locks of silky golden hair cascaded onto her shoulders while sculpted chestnut eyebrows told me that the carpet did not quite match the drapes – although I suspected that there was no carpet.

I had never seen this beautiful seductress before. I had no idea who she was.

“The Atlanta women certainly are friendly,” I smiled, attempting to hide my confusion.

“Yes we are,” the blonde grinned. “And we do know what our men like.”

Our men? Does she consider me her man?! Who is this girl? The local nymphomaniac who just found some new prey? A forgotten lover from my past? Someone that my friends back home are using to prank me?

“I love the new haircut,” she said as she stroked my scalp with a loving touch.

Haircut? It had been a couple of weeks since I last visited my barber and I was due for a trim – no pun intended.

“What makes you think that I just had my hair cut?” I said.

The blonde ignored my question as a smile spread across her face, crinkling the corners of her doe eyes.

“That’s a sexy New York accent,” she said, noticeably surprised. “You know how accents get me so worked up.”

She gave a low throaty growl and then slowly clawed at my chest, mimicking a wild cat as she raked her nails across my shirt. People refer to the New York dialect in so many different ways, but I cannot remember ever hearing it called sexy and I certainly would have never imagined it triggering a response like this.

“When did you learn to talk like that, Hank?” she purred.

Hank?! It began to make sense. She had evidently confused me for someone else.

Is she drunk? Stoned?

“I’m not Hank,” I said. “My name’s Roger. I’m sorry that you’ve mistaken me.”

Blondie stared searchingly into my eyes and a broad smile lit up her face as if she were waiting for the punchline to a joke. At the same time, having already worked her hand inside my shirt, she was massaging my left pec and brushing her thumb provocatively over my tiny nipple. Clearly she did not believe what I had said.

“Seriously I am not Hank,” I tried to be more convincing, but kept my tone light since I didn’t know whom I was dealing with. “Maybe it’s the lighting in here…”

“Don’t you think a woman would know her husband?” she interrupted.

Her husband! How could anyone mistake somebody else for their spouse? I don’t care how poor the light might have been. How much alike could me and her husband possibly be?

Wait a minute! I suddenly remembered something Rita had told me earlier in the week.


Rita was a friend of mine from New York. She had accompanied me on my jaunt down to Georgia. We were good friends – friends that were always there for one another. Rita and I had gotten along well for years – but not so well to ever consider marriage. We had never developed an emotional bond, but were very often intimate. I suppose you could call us fuck buddies. When my job required me to travel to Atlanta for a week or two, Rita – unemployed and with nothing better to do – agreed to take the trip with me.

Three or four days before Blondie snuck up on me in that bar, Rita had told me that she encountered someone very interesting that day.

“I met your twin this afternoon!” she told me excitedly.

My twin?!! I didn’t have a twin – brother or sister. Before I could ask what she was talking about, Rita eagerly explained that she had seen some guy that afternoon who my “identical double.” She said that he looked “exactly” like me, except that his hair was longer.

When I laughed and teased her that he was probably also shorter, heavier, and with different color eyes, she quickly changed the subject – after first telling me that I was being “a total asshole.” I get that a lot.

I thought nothing more of my supposed doppelganger – until that moment in the bar.


Is it possible that I actually did resemble the blonde’s husband? Could he be the guy that Rita had seen that day and described as my double?

If that were the case, I wondered how Hank might react if he walked into the bar and caught his wife tongue-wrestling me. Remembering that the gun laws down here were rather relaxed compared to New York’s, a sudden hoard of nervous butterflies began to flutter in the pit of my gut.

“You must believe me. I am not your husband,” I pleaded.

The sexy blonde’s eyes twinkled with glee. And why wouldn’t she be amused? She thought that her husband was having a little fun with her.

“Okay,” she laughed. “You want to play? In public? I’m fine with it, if that’s what you really want.”

She smiled mischievously, her tantalizing innocent eyes igniting an unexpected feeling inside me – the vibrant tug of sexual yearning. My mature rational side wanted me to step away from this woman and leave the bar. My cock, however, had scarcely deflated since that hastily ended kiss and, besides, I wasn’t all that mature.

I decided to stick around for a little while to find out what was really going on here. I intended to give it no more than a half hour and then I’d sever our relationship and haul my ass out of here before Hank showed up.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I offered.

“Yes, you may, Roger,” she dragged my name out in a slow condescending way – obviously playing along and not giving up the belief that I was her husband.

“Bartender,” I called out. I waved my arm, but failed to get his attention.

“You have to do better than that,” Blondie smirked and nudged me aside as she stepped toward the bar. “George!” she bellowed. “Over here!”

Fast as a rabbit a broad-shouldered hulk of a barman was standing in front of us.

“What’ll it be, Kelly?” he smiled, tossing a towel onto the bar and wiping up the puddle where I had knocked over my drink.

“Be a sweetie, George, and fix me a Mojita,” Mrs. Hank said cheerfully.

“Sure thing, Hon,” the burly bartender smiled. He then picked up my empty glass and turned to me. “And what were you drinking again, Hank?”

“Oh! You have to call him Roger tonight,” the blonde laughed. “He wants to be called Roger.”

“Whatever,” the big barman murmured and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s your drink, Rog?”

“Jack and Coke,” I replied in a preoccupied voice. I couldn’t believe that he had called me Hank. Did this confirm the existence of my body double? Or is the bartender in on the joke?

When George returned with our drinks, Kelly took hold of my arm and pulled me away from the bar. “C’mon. Let’s go sit at a table,” she said spiritedly and led me toward the opposite side of the room where small round tables lined the wall.

We weaved through the horde of George’s satisfied customers. Half way across the room a glazed-eyed man in a rumpled red Atlanta Braves tee shirt saluted me with a half full bottle of beer.

“Hey, Hank!” he exclaimed.

Another one who thinks I’m Hank.

Resisting Kelly’s tug I slowed my pace and turned toward the man.

“How did y’all like that game last night?” Hank’s friend slurred his words and swayed to and fro. A sudden frown clouded his face and he quickly added, “Did you cut your hair?”

I knew at that moment that I was not the target of a practical joke. This guy was so obviously drunk that there was no way that he could have convincingly participated in such a prank.

“Those Braves are awesome,” I laughed, bumping my fist against his to keep him mellow and followed Kelly’s lead to a vacant wooden table in the corner.

I seated myself on the wall side of the wobbly two-foot round table while my new blond friend sat opposite.

“So, now,” she paused to sip her Mojita. “Tell me your story, Roger.” The word “story” rolled off her tongue in that same jovial mocking tone that my name did.

I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that anything I might have to say Kelly would accept as total bullshit. I also knew that she was very amused by it all. It was pointless to keep insisting that I wasn’t her husband.

“I’m from New York,” I said as the sexy blonde played with the straw in her drink. “I came down here to work for about a week.”

“And what kind of work is that?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m a mechanic.”

“A mechanic!” her eyes lit up. “You mean a hit man?”

“No,” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Not a hit man. I fix machines. I don’t shoot people. I think you’ve been watching too many movies.”

“That’s okay,” she grinned playfully. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t have a secret,” I insisted. “I am really just a mechanic.”

“This is so exciting,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Who should I be? What’s my part?”

She thinks we’re role playing! How crazy is this woman?!

“This is not a game,” I said. “There’s no part for you to play.”

“I know who I can be,” she said slyly. “How about the femme fatale? The sultry dame who knows that you’re a hit man. She seduces you like a Bond girl and uses her charms to get information out of you.”

“Whoa!” I laughed. “Slow down. We are not role-playing. I am not a hit man. You are n—”

I was much too distracted as I watched Kelly across the table to continue what I had to say. She was staring at me seductively with wide sleepy eyes while slowly dragging the tip of her tongue over her upper lip from one corner to the other. At the same time, she carefully unbuttoned the top of her white silk blouse, revealing the red lace fringe of her bra and a mouth-watering glimpse of cleavage.

I could be a hit man. I reconsidered, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow.

“Now that I have your attention…” she snickered and then rose from her chair.

The captivating woman slithered to my side of the table. She stepped sideways between my legs and seated herself upon my knee. Her skimpy red and black plaid skirt ended abruptly at mid thigh, granting me an enticing view of her smooth sculptured legs. O yes, she most definitely had my attention.

Kelly teasingly opened and closed her legs, her knees brushing the inside of my thigh like silent windshield wipers. I could feel the nerve endings in my groin springing to life. If she was trying to convince me that she could play the part of the sultry seductress, she had already passed the audition.

Stroking my cheek with the palm of her hand, she leaned into me. “Who did you come here to shoot, Roger,” her face was barely an inch from mine.

If I had really been a hit man, I would have told her everything at that point. I’d have spilled my guts. I was powerless. Instead, I opened my mouth to give her some kind of impromptu answer, but my mind was blank. She had me speechless. I just sat and stared at my seducer with my mouth agape.

Kelly moved in and met my open mouth with hers. In an instant we picked up where we had left off before – our tongues dancing. Her mouth was alive with mint and lime from her drink. Her kiss thrilled me. My cock was hard and throbbing. She had me where she wanted. I was putty in her hands.

Just then an upbeat country song bellowed from the bar’s jukebox. She pulled away and leapt to her feet. “I love this song,” she exclaimed with a devilish smile.

She began to dance in front of me, gyrating her hips to the beat of the music and thrusting her pelvis toward me suggestively. I sat mesmerized, watching her every movement.

The femme fatale bent her body forward and jiggled her tits before me. She clasped her hands on my knees and slid them upward, caressing my thighs while continuing her seductive dance.

“Is that your gun?” she asked, grinning slyly while her fingers approached my crotch. “Or are you just enjoying my dance?”

“Oh, I am enjoying it very much,” I laughed.

Quickly she spun around and began twerking. Arching her back she pushed her butt backward, raising it up in the air and rocking it up and down, temptingly within my reach. When she bent over, her short skirt rode up – exposing fine red lace panties. I love a girl who coordinates her underwear. My cock ached. She was driving me crazy.

My decadent dancer’s gyrations did not go unnoticed. She drew the attention of two scruffy faced locals who looked intently at her with hungry eyes and exchanged lurid remarks between swigs of beer – each laughing hardily at his own witticism.

Kelly backed up gradually as she swung her hips and wiggled her ass – dancing closer and closer to me – until she fell backward onto my lap. As soon as she seated herself, the keen onlookers turned away, evidently assuming that the show was over. For me the sensuous vixen’s performance was just beginning. She carried on with her provocative dance – now on top of me. Her butt cheeks captured my hard shaft within her crack and she slid back and forth on it.

When she turned her head – as though about to say something over her shoulder – I clenched a fistful of her hair and jerked her head backward. This role-play was turning her on so much that I thought I’d play my part – however briefly.

“No more talk about my hit,” I growled into her ear. Releasing her hair I pushed her head forward.

Immediately she squirmed backward, more determinedly on my cock. I could feel the warmth and softness of her pussy – even through the layers of our clothing. She rubbed herself on me vigorously. If she had kept it up I would have shot my load right then and there, but then she hurriedly climbed off me.

“I have to use the little girls’ room,” she whispered coarsely and disappeared into the crowd.

I sat there at the tiny table stunned, alone with the lingering scent of her perfume – an excruciating erection begging release from its torment. Kelly’s lap dance had been so stimulating that I could still feel her body grinding on me.

My head was spinning. It was mind boggling that this crazed vixen not only seriously believed that I was her husband, but also that I was role playing the part of a ruthless hit man. But whoever she thought I was and whatever she thought I was up to, it didn’t matter to me. I wanted her. She had me worked up to the point that I desperately wanted to fuck her.

I waited patiently for the object of my lust to return and bided my time drinking what was left of my Jack and Coke. Just as I was contemplating a refill, I saw the blond bombshell working her way back through the throng of fellow boozers.

“I have a gift for you,” she looked down upon me with a naughty smile as she approached the table. Inside the clenched fist that she raised from her side was a balled up mass of crimson cloth. She tucked the fabric delicately into my shirt pocket. Realizing at once that it was her panties, my cock twitched.

Kelly pulled her chair in front of me and sat down facing me, her knees nestled between mine. Without hesitation I placed my hand upon her leg and subtly slid it under her skirt – the gift of her panties had been, in my mind, an invitation. Cozy warmth and slick dampness greeted my advancing fingers.

I inched my hand forward with quiet intensity and felt the smooth soft bulges of her vulva. For the record, there was no carpet – just as I had suspected. I wriggled my fingertips between her pliant folds sliding through the lubricious secretions that welcomed me there.

Hearing a hissing rush of air, I glance up at Kelly’s face as she tried to suppress a gasp through gritted teeth. Her eyes rolled backward when my fingers probed her sex, eyelids fluttering. A quivering smile lit up her face.

Her hand lunged forward and settled on my groin where she squeezed and tugged on the prominent lump in my jeans. She clawed hungrily at my erection and then heedless of the mob around us, she began to unbuckle my belt. I no sooner realized what Kelly was doing than my pants were opened and she was jerking them off my hips.

Instinctively I lifted my ass off my chair to help and right away Kelly had my pants bunched at mid thigh. She would have had them down around my ankles, had she not been blocked by her own knee. At that moment I should have been consumed with sobering apprehension – worrying that Hank might unexpectedly appear with guns blazing or that an Atlanta policeman would bust me for indecent exposure. But all fear evaporated into the muddled mayhem of the busy bar. The only thing that occupied my mind now was Kelly and what she was going to do next.

She closed her petite hand around my stiff shaft and slid it slowly up and down. Her thumb swept back and forth across my tip smearing the precum that oozed from its slit. Her touch roused me. My mind raced. Is she going to jerk me off? Is she wild enough to blow me right here? I squirmed with untamed anticipation.

Meanwhile beneath her skirt, I slid my fingers through her slippery slit. She was making me feel so good that I eagerly wanted to return the favor. Locating her tiny engorged button, I flicked my thumb tenderly across its surface. Gradually I increased pressure on her clit and she responded by thrusting her public bone into my kneading fingertips. All of a sudden she pulled away.

Kelly let go of my cock, pushed her chair backward and stood. When she quickly turned her back on me, I was – for a split second – convinced that this had been an elaborate joke on me after all. I was certain that in a moment the crowd would simultaneously burst out laughing at the sight of me sitting here bare-assed on a bar chair with a raging hard-on, wet fingers, and a stunned expression on my face. But I was wrong.

My lover backed her shapely ass toward me and lowered herself down just as she had done earlier. But this time she reached back and flipped the hem of her skirt up like a concert pianist tossing the tails of his tux out of the way. I caught a momentary glimpse of the pale globes of her scrumptious ass as she descended onto me and I licked my lips.

When Kelly dropped that beautiful bare bottom on my lap, she missed my anxious erection by an inch and pushed it back toward my body. At once she rose up and made a second attempt. This time she hit her mark. This was not this cowgirl’s first rodeo.

Having positioned her succulent opening above my tip, she dropped down again, snugly engulfing my shaft with comforting warmth and exhilarating slickness. A vibrant flash of pure pleasure seized my cock. It was heaven – it felt so unbelievably good. After savoring that luscious instant of penetration for the slightest moment, Kelly rose up and fell upon me again – and again – and again.

She rode my cock – unhurriedly at first – pressing down with her body as she slid meticulously upward and then plunging back down in a relaxed free fall. I shifted my forearm below her skirt, skimmed my hand over her warm velvety skin, and nuzzled my fingers into her slickly coated crease. My fingertips tenderly dug for her clit. When I found the tiny yet distended nub, I massaged it tenderly – clinging to it as her body rose and fell steadily on my staff.

Kelly responded immediately to my finger caresses by pumping her body quicker on mine. With each thrust of her body she grew more fervent and soon she was rocking on me with a feral zeal. With her body blocking my view, I wasn’t able to see crowd that surrounded us, but I could hear bits of their comments.

“Oh my God! Do you see what she’s doing?!”

“Atta girl! Ride ‘im! Ride ‘im!”

“Get a room!”

It didn’t bother me at all that our out-of-control lust had become the center of attraction in the bar. I was so consumed with a ferocious hunger for completion that I couldn’t have cared less if CBS News came in and filmed us for a 10 o’clock exclusive. Kelly also seemed to be unfazed by our audience. In fact, I think she dug the attention.

Soon I began to feel her body trembling. Her thrusts became less rhythmic but more determined. I knew that she was on the threshold and the anticipation that now consumed her was contagious. My body responded with equal eagerness.

A pulsating wave of electricity swept through my every muscle and rushed swiftly toward my groin, pulling with it every bit of energy and feeling that my body held. My scrotum tightened and the fine hairs on it bristled as if they had been statically charged. A forceful tingle began to resonate from behind my sack to the tip of my cock.

Kelly continued to writhe and thump on me. She was close. I struggled to keep myself from falling over the edge – my cock was throbbing unbearably.

Hold it back. Wait for her.

She arched her back, bent her neck backward and stared up at the ceiling while she road me. With my face pressed firmly against her back, I could hear anxious gasps of air coarsely rushing in and out of her lungs.

Hold it.

In the next instant she lunged forward, flinging her head onto her chest – her long blond tresses hiding her face.

Wait for her.

Her body abruptly jerked to a halt and she remained motionless for a split second. She moved slightly and then another spastic jerk seized her. She was cumming.

She squirmed undauntedly and ground her genitals steadfastly on mine as her orgasm took hold. Spurred on by her passion, I could no longer contain that raging urge within me.

An onslaught of viscous cum gushed upward from the root of my cock and spewed deep inside her cavity, spurting out of me in rapid disjointed bursts. I raised my hips pressing my shaft more firmly into her pussy as I came. Overcome, I fell forward against her back and snuggled my arms around her. Our bodies were fused as one in our separate orgasmic delight and we rode out our rapture together. We thrashed helplessly against each other’s body until our enthusiasm subsided.

Kelly remained atop me after our orgasms had faded. With my arms still securely folded around her waist in a lover’s embrace we sat motionless in silence, basking in the serene afterglow of our lovemaking. Our audience – fickle voyeurs that they were – quickly lost interest in us and drifted away to find better things to amuse themselves with.

I could feel my dwindling cock reluctantly withdraw from the cozy sanctuary of my lover’s pussy and a thick ooze of our spent secretions begin to gradually drip onto my balls. When Kelly stood up, I quickly rose from my sticky chair and yanked my pants and drawers up. Nobody seemed to notice.

“I think that I should go clean up,” she said with a self-conscious smile as she straightened her skirt and glanced toward the restrooms. “Me too,” I said with an uncomfortable wince, feeling the gummy mess that I had trapped in the crotch of my boxers. When Kelly began to push her way through the crowd, I trailed close behind with a slightly bowlegged gait.


After our post-coital clean-up we met outside the restrooms and decided to have another drink. We ambled over to the bar.

Kelly eyed the motley seats of the old barstools – marred by beer stains, cigarette burns, and God only knows what else. She thought twice about sitting and decided to stand. Leaning against the bar with her elbow on the rail, she took hold of the Mojita that George the Bartender had just placed there.

“You didn’t give me back my underwear,” she smiled devilishly. I laughed and roguishly replied, “Hey, a gift’s a gift. Besides, you don’t need them anyway.”

“I suppose not,” she giggled and squeezed my knee affectionately. “Should I still call you Roger?” she added, fluttering her eye lashes and raising her eyebrows inquisitively.

I grinned at how coy and innocent she appeared – this girl who, only moments ago, had ridden me with reckless abandon in full view of the bar.

“That really is my name,” I moaned. Would she ever believe that I wasn’t her husband?

“Well then, Roger, why don’t we go home now and finish what we started?” Kelly said softly in the lilting seductive voice that she mastered so well. “I want to fuck your brains out.”

I thought for a moment that I should call it a night and head back to my hotel room. I was beginning to feel guilty about having so much fun – getting laid and boozing it up – while Rita was back at the hotel, suffering with her migraine. But maybe I had a death wish and was excited by the threat of being caught by Hank while screwing his wife, or maybe I just wanted to see how much this guy really looked like me, or maybe Kelly’s offer to fuck my brains out was simply too enticing. Whatever the reason was, I felt compelled to follow this woman to her apartment.

We walked about five minutes from the bar before Kelly left the sidewalk and climbed a short set of brick steps. She paused in front of the door, apparently waiting for me to open it.

“You know that I don’t have a key,” I smiled and she sighed. It seemed like she might have been getting a little weary of me remaining in character. After reluctantly fumbling through her purse, she found her keys and unlocked the door.

I followed her into a sparsely furnished living room with a quaint Casablanca style fan revolving overhead. A repetitive metallic squeak permeated the room. I glanced up at the ceiling fan.

“Sounds like that fan could use a little oil,” I laughed.

“Hmm. I never noticed that before,” she shrugged and then draped her arms over my shoulders. “Let’s not bother with home repairs right now, Roger. My mysterious hit-man.” She pressed her lips on mine and kissed me deeply.

“C’mon. Let’s get down to business,” she said with a sudden urgency. Taking hold of my wrist, she tugged my arm and led me down the short hallway to the rear of the apartment.

When the irritating squeak grew louder, I realized that it had not been coming from the fan. Clearly originating from the bedroom at the end of the hall, the persistent noise was, in fact, the telltale creaking of mattress and bedspring.

The bedroom door was ajar – opened merely an inch. Kelly hesitated before it and turned to me, her delicate features twisted with shock and confusion.

“Someone is here!” she whispered frantically.

“It doesn’t sound as though they intend to do us any harm,” I said reassuringly in a low voice. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

Before she could object, I carefully eased the door inward. The two naked lovers on the bed did not notice us – they were too involved in the act. With the man facing away from us and the woman hidden beneath him, Kelly had absolutely no clue who they were.

We stood silently for a moment in the doorway like a couple of Peeping Toms, watching the unknown couple fuck. Judging by the way their bodies were beaded with sweat, they had been at it for a while and judging by the way that they were panting, they were close to achieving another milestone. Kelly seemed particularly enthralled by the stranger’s well-toned ass moving rhythmically between his lover’s long outstretched legs.

“Who are these people?” she wondered aloud.

At the sound of Kelly’s voice, the man in her bed abruptly halted his thrusts, twisted his body, and looked back over his shoulder at us. The sight of his face staggered me. I was shocked.

I was not at all surprised that the man was Hank – Kelly’s husband. But what floored me was how similar we actually looked. It was like watching a 3-D video of myself – like looking into a mirror. It was so surreal.

“Hank!” Kelly exclaimed, staring spellbound at her husband. Immediately she turned toward me with her mouth agape and her hands clenched.

“Who are you?” she said faintly.

Roger,” I held back the urge to say “I told you so,” but I did give her my best duh expression.

She gazed intently into my eyes for a moment searching for truth and then swung her attention back to Hank. “You fucking bastard!” she wailed. “You had me waiting for you at the bar and, meanwhile, you were here fucking this bitch!”

“I can explain, Babe,” Hank stammered.

“Fuck you! I don’t need an explanation. You piece of shit!” Kelly countered.

It was at that moment that I saw everything with complete clarity. I realized that I had been set up. We both had been set up – Kelly and I. It had been Rita – my friend from New York – who had so highly recommended that bar to me. In fact, she just about insisted that I go there while she nursed her terrible headache. And Hank had sent Kelly there. . .

Even though she was hidden from view beneath Hank’s body, I knew that it was Rita lying there with his cock still in her. They had planned the whole thing together – probably to keep Kelly and me occupied while they played a few rounds of Hide-the-Sausage. To think how badly I had felt, believing that Rita was back at the hotel suffering.

“Let’s go, Roger,” Kelly clutched my arm as she turned toward the hall.

“Nice to meet you, Hank,” I smiled broadly over my shoulder before leaving with his wife. “Bye, Rita.” She lifted her head off mattress when she heard her name, her face flushed with embarrassment, her eyebrows scrunched acknowledging her screw-up.

“Fuck him,” Kelly spat as we exited her apartment.

“Fuck ‘em both,” I responded.

We strolled down the sidewalk, hand in hand, and headed toward my hotel.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © © 2014 Phillip Fogticus. No part of this material may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

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