While Chris was visiting me, the sex was practically non-stop. We did it on the front porch numerous times, the kitchen counter, the back patio, in the laundry room, and at least once in every room of the house, not counting the bedroom, where to count how often would be impossible. We could not get enough of each other. We were consumed with passion, and even when we were sore and tired from all the sex, we would do it again.
In between those times, Chris and I talked about everything except where this relationship would go. Aside from words whispered during sex the first time, when he arrived, there was no more discussion of the matter, though I could tell that like me, Chris was thinking about it.
In the most subtle manner I could, I tried to sell him on Louisiana. I took him into New Orleans, showed him all the sights, the bars, and briefed him on the history of this great state. I had him drinking mint juleps, eating real Cajun food, and learning how to understand the accents.
Despite all the fun we had, however, the questions loomed over us like a dark shadow. At night, when we would finally go to sleep, we would hold each other with an intensity almost comparable to sex, each of us wanting to say something, but giving in to the silence. It became a source of deep frustration for me, and I knew that at some point before he left, we would sit down and have a serious talk.
I had no idea that it would come about the way that it had.
It was early morning, and I had just called in for a substitute to cover my classes for the next three days, for Chris had four days left in Lousiana. We were still in bed, cuddling quietly, and my fingers were tracing over the skin of his thigh, teasing him into a hard-on. I had risen that day with a need to have him in my mouth, feeling his cock throb as he came down my throat.
My fingers brushed over his heavy balls, producing a shudder from us both, and he leaned his head over to kiss me - one of those deep, wet kisses that could melt a glacier. I took hold of his cock, feeling it stiffen in my hand, squirming a little as the arousal built up within me. "I'm going to suck your dick," I told him in a soft whisper, licking and nibbling away from his lips, down his throat.
He moaned low, stretching to allow me to kiss my way down his tattooed body. I was stroking his cock to full erection, the feel of it in my hands a pleasure in and of itself that made me a little crazy.
The phone began to ring as I let my tongue linger over one of his nipples. "Ignore it," I whispered, letting my breath wisp over the rigid nipple. Chris quivered.
I stroke more intensely, my grip tightening around the thick, rigid cock as the answering machine clicked on. The male voice was familiar, and though I tried to ignore it, it was sickening to me.
"Darlin', I need to talk to you. Meet with me this Saturday? It's important. I miss you."
I felt the grip of strong hands on my shoulders as Chris pulled me up, and I lost my grip on him as his eyes bored into mine. "That's the ex boyfriend?"
I nodded, hating the ex boyfriend for ruining the mood. "Jeff's been trying to get me back since we broke up. That's his monthly call."
"Do you ever hook up with him anymore?" There was fear in Chris' expression.
"We have lunch once in a while, but it doesn't go beyond that." I gave him a puzzled look. "You aren't worried, are you?"
He held me tightly to him for a long moment, kissing my neck lightly before he replied. "Of course, I am worried. I trust you, but considering how long it's been since you broke up, the idea of his still trying to get you back bothers me."
I raised my head, meeting his eyes. "He won't get me back, Chris, whether you are in the picture or not." I paused, sighing as I blurted. "What's going to happen once you are gone, Chris? What are we going to do about us?"
