Total Eclipse of the Heart

  Patrick took my hand and kissed the inside of my palm, pleading with his eyes. “Think about it; that’s all I’m asking. I understand that you don’t want to rush, but, technically, we’ve been together long enough to know what we want. I’m very clear on what I want … and I am sure.”

  I imagined Patrick reciting marriage vows to me in a chapel someplace.

  I, Patrick, take you, Brooke, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part: according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I pledge you my love and faithfulness.

  Or he could really go hard and say something like:

  I take you, Brooke, to be my wife, loving you now and as you grow and develop into all that God intends. I will love you when we are together and when we are apart; when our lives are at peace and when they are in turmoil; when I am proud of you and when I am disappointed in you; in times of rest and in times of work. I will honor your goals and dreams and help you to fulfill them. From the depth of my being, I will seek to be open and honest with you. I say these things believing that God is in the midst of them all.

  All of it would have been complete bullshit!

  Patrick had constantly made it a point to put me down. He hadn’t been open and honest with me. He had worn his disappointment in me, my job, and my background on his sleeve. No, there would be no marriage, only pure, unadulterated fucking.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” I suggested. “We can make love all night and talk about this some more in the morning.”

  Patrick grinned like the cat that had swallowed a few canaries. “Sounds good.”

  I stood up and led him into the bedroom so that I could drown my misery by letting him give me some stiff dick. I had zero intention of being there to discuss jack shit when he woke up in the morning.

  Damon

  August 1, 2008

  I THREW myself back into my marriage, determined to forget about Brooke, but, at the same time, realizing how impossible that would be. Carleigh was trying her best to be the ideal wife. She was coming home early every day. She was cooking, even though I really preferred to burn in the kitchen. She was refraining from bringing up her mother, whom she knew that I couldn’t stand.

  When I arrived home on Friday evening, she had the dining room table set with candles, and the aroma coming from the kitchen made my mouth water.

  “Something smells good,” I told her as I walked into the kitchen and found her rinsing lettuce over the sink.

  “Dinner’s almost ready.” She shook the water off the lettuce, placed it in a bowl, and started chopping up tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh mushrooms. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  Even though I’d eaten a late lunch with Bobby, I replied, “I’m starving. I was hoping you’d cook.”

  Carleigh turned to look at me and grinned. She was truly a beautiful woman. “You shouldn’t have to come home after a long day and fend for yourself, honey.”

  “What did you make?”

  “I decided to keep it simple. I made a lemon-and-chicken casserole.”

  “Ooh, you know how I love anything lemon.”

  “Then you’ll love the lemonade.” She pointed to the refrigerator. “There’s a pitcher in the fridge.”

  I grinned. “I’ll be right back. Let me go wash my hands and change right quick.”

  When I entered the bedroom, I noticed that Carleigh had the bed ready for some “good good.” I could always tell when she expected sex, and she was definitely anticipating some that night. She had scented candles burning, the bed was turned down, and I could smell the linen spray she liked to use.

  Even though we had been spending a lot of time together, I’d yet to make love to her since I’d broken things off with Brooke. “Broken things off” seemed like a bad way to look at it, but I was dating her. I may not have succumbed to my desires, but I was emotionally tied to her. Some people don’t think that having emotional ties to another person constitutes cheating, but that is complete bullshit.

  I took off my suit and changed into some sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I didn’t want Carleigh to have to stare at my arm during dinner, even though it was a part of me that was never going away.

  When I got back into the kitchen, Carleigh had stripped down to her lingerie. Whoa, she isn’t playing! She had on a purple satin bra and panty set, and her body was looking tight.

  “Got too hot in here?” I joked as I sat down at the kitchen counter and watched her prance around in her four-inch heels. She was putting on a show, and I didn’t want to be an inattentive audience. “Want me to turn the air on?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d turn up the heat.” She winked at me over her shoulder and continued to toss the salad she was making. “Your mother called a little while ago.”

  “Oh, cool. I spoke to her briefly earlier but she had to go to her bridge club meeting.”

  “She really likes playing bridge, huh?”

  I chuckled. “She and her friends play that game like their mortgages depend on it.”

  “Speaking of mortgages, can you believe I actually sold a house today?”

  “Wow, that’s great!” I clapped for Carleigh. “Big house or little house?”

  “Big house. In today’s market, the asking price dropped about a third, but, still, I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

  “How much was your commission?”

  “Fifty-one thousand.”

  “Damn, girl, you just made my dick hard.” We both laughed. “You know I’m playing, but I am proud of you. I’m sure this means a lot to you.”

  “It makes me feel like I’m not a complete failure.”

  I got up from the counter and walked up behind her, placing my real arm around her waist. “You could never be a failure; not in my eyes or anyone else’s.”

  Carleigh turned and kissed me on the lips. “You always say the right things to make me feel better.”

  “I saw the bedroom,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “Looks like you want me to make you feel a whole lot better.”

  She gazed lovingly into my eyes. “I do. I need that. I’ve felt like there’s been such a distance between us lately.”

  That’s because I’ve been dating Brooke, I thought, then forced a grin. “Well, I’ve been so boggled down with the sites, but, from now on, I’m going to be around so much that you’ll probably get sick of me—quick.”

  “Ummm, never that.”

  Carleigh picked up a cucumber slice, placed it in my mouth, then kissed me. It felt good to be flirting with my wife; kissing my wife.

  After we finished dining by candlelight, Carleigh made her next move.

  “How’d you like the casserole?”

  “It was incredible.” I rubbed my stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Aw, I was hoping you’d have room for dessert.”

  My eyes perked up. “Dessert? You made dessert?”

  “Don’t seem so shocked, Damon. I’ve baked a few cakes.”

  I tried to suppress a laugh, but fell out laughing anyway.

  Carleigh waved her finger at me. “Don’t bring up my pineapple upside-down cake.” She picked up a dinner roll. “Or I’ll fling this upside your big-ass head.”

  “I wasn’t going to bring that up.” I held up my palms defensively. “But now that you did, remember how we couldn’t get that smell out the kitchen for two or three weeks?”

  Carleigh threw the roll at me and I caught it.

  “I’m gonna get you now,” I said, then jumped up from my chair, as did she.

  I chased her around the table. “Damon, leave me alone!” she screamed out in delight as I tackled her and started tickling her. “Damon … stop!” She was laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out.

  “Say you’re sorry for throwing bread at me,” I demanded, still tickling her.

  “I’m … I’m … I’m sorry … now
quit!”

  I let her go and we both lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard.

  Carleigh climbed on top of me and started kissing me. I wrapped my arms around her waist as she straddled me. After a long, prolonged kiss, she lifted up my shirt, planted butterfly kisses all over my chest, and started grinding her hips on my dick.

  “What about dessert?” I asked, when we came up for air.

  Carleigh grinned. “Why don’t we eat it in the bedroom?”

  Five minutes later, we were in our room making human ice-cream sundaes out of each other. Carleigh had brownies—that she had actually baked—vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, chocolate sprinkles, whipped cream, and cherries.

  I did her first and she was delicious. She was completely nude and lying on a towel. I spread chocolate syrup on her thighs, her lower legs, and her feet. Then I put whipped cream and sprinkles on her breasts. I strategically placed four cherries around her belly button and put a nice, big scoop of ice cream right on top of her vagina. Then I proceeded to lick and eat it all off her.

  The sensation of the ice cream on her pussy made her shiver as I started with her breasts. I licked the whipped cream off slowly and methodically, enjoying how she moaned with delight. Then I suckled on her breasts, one at a time. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always been a serious breast man. Most of my friends were all about the ass and thick legs, but give me breasts any damn day.

  “The ice cream’s melting. My pussy’s so damn hot,” Carleigh told me as I continued to work on her breasts.

  I came up for air, grinned. “I’d better pick up my pace then.”

  “Your pace is perfect. I was just saying … Oh, shit, Damon,” she practically screamed as I lapped up the cherries around her belly button.

  I stuck the tip of my tongue inside and she winced. Carleigh was so ticklish; it was extremely cute. As I consumed the last cherry, I pulled her thighs apart and fingered her clit. The ice cream that was sitting on top of her mound was melting and trickling down, mixing with her juices.

  I moved farther down but skipped over her pussy and licked the chocolate syrup off her left leg. I started at the thigh and went all the way down, until I was on my knees at the foot of the bed, sucking her toes, one at a time.

  “We need to do this more often,” I said, pausing to stare Carleigh lovingly in the eyes. “This is the best dessert I’ve ever had.”

  Carleigh gave me a look that I hadn’t seen in ages; one that made me feel like she appreciated both me and our marriage. Then … she pouted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “How come you didn’t use any of my brownies?” She propped up on her elbows to eye me suspiciously. “You think they’re going to taste nasty, don’t you?”

  I chuckled. She knew me too well. I put down her leg, grabbed a brownie off the plate on the nightstand, and took a huge bite. “Scrumptious!” I proclaimed. “Just like you!”

  I kissed her with part of the brownie still in my mouth. When we came up for air, I said, “See how good good they taste?”

  “Your loving is good good.” She looked down at the ice cream on her pussy, which was more like soft-serve now. The heat from her was melting it like the sun. “Get back to work.”

  “Oooh, feisty. I like that.”

  I laughed and proceeded to lick the chocolate off her other leg and the rest of her toes. It was finally time for the main course, and I wasted not a moment burying my entire face in her pussy. I ate her like she was both my first and my last meal. Carleigh grabbed on to pillows, the sheets, the headboard, the edge of the nightstand; any and everything to try to keep herself from catapulting from the bed. My “head game” was right on point that night—if I proclaimed so myself. It had been a long time since I’d felt so comfortable with my wife, in my home.

  When it was Carleigh’s turn to make a human sundae out of me, she did an overwhelming job as well. She put whipped cream all over my dick and cherries all over my balls, crumbled pieces of brownie all over my chest, and made a trail of small spoonfuls of ice cream down the middle of my stomach. She consumed all of it and sucked my dick like it was giving her life.

  For the first time since the accident, it didn’t seem that she was uncomfortable at the sight of my arm. In fact, she was the one who took my prosthetic off because she knew that it sometimes still caused me slight pain. Then she shocked me.

  “Turn over. I want to lick your ass,” she stated nonchalantly.

  In my entire life, I’d never licked a woman’s ass, and no woman had damn sure ever licked mine. I was not sure how I felt about her saying that, but two things were for sure. I was not going to turn down her proposition because the chance might not ever come around again, and I was curious about whether it would feel as good as I had heard.

  As I turned over, I held back a laugh. I didn’t want Carleigh to think that I was amused by her. I was remembering how Steve always bragged about an ex-girlfriend of his, Raquel. This was way back in the day; Steve hadn’t had a bona fide woman in years. Anyway, he used to tell Bobby and me that Raquel was a big freak who loved to toss his salad. The mere thought of it used to make me wince because Steve was not the cleanest man on the planet. His breath was often tart, his armpits would offend my nostrils from time to time, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what his ass must have smelled like … nor did I want to imagine it.

  On the flip side, I tended a bit toward overkill on my personal hygiene, but at moments like this it all paid off.

  Carleigh first spread whipped cream on my ass cheeks, then licked it off. Then she poured chocolate syrup down the crack, held me open with her hands, and used the tip of her tongue to tickle my anus. I found myself thrashing on the bed; it felt great as she made sure she got every drop of that syrup. She stuck one of her freshly manicured nails into my anus and I shuddered.

  “They say that a man’s prostate is his greatest sexual organ,” I barely heard her whisper. “Even more so than his dick. Is that true?”

  I tried to regain some composure so I could respond. “Um, I’m not sure about all of that, but what you’re doing feels incredible.” I could feel a nut building up in my balls and I was ready to explode. I’d already come once when she was blowing me, and I didn’t want to risk not being able to get hard for a third time to fuck her and give her some of my good good. I turned over on my back, and seeing Carleigh’s face covered with chocolate syrup and knowing it came out of my ass was extremely sensual. “Why don’t you come ride my dick? We might be able to make a baby tonight.”

  Carleigh giggled and climbed on top of me, putting my dick inside her hot, welcoming pussy.

  “I can’t wait to have your baby, a little Damon to run around here,” she whispered as she began to ride me slowly.

  I reached up and pulled her head backward by her hair. “I want two babies, a boy and a girl.”

  “Whatever you want, baby.”

  Now that’s what I’m talking about, I thought, as Carleigh gripped my dick and started milking me with her inner muscles. I could feel myself explode inside her about ten minutes later and wondered if my seed would finally be planted.

  Brooke

  September 12, 2008

  I OFTEN thought about Damon and had to refrain from calling him a hundred times a day. The first anniversary of our accident had passed, and even on that day I somehow kept myself from calling. He had become such a significant part of my life, and a part of me was missing. I understood why he had to stay away from me, I really did, but it didn’t make matters any easier on me.

  Patrick and I were taking things slowly, despite being lovers again. I refused to make a serious commitment. His parents were still his parents and were always going to be his parents, so that presented a major problem. Neither of them would ever forgive me for destroying the facade that they had built in their marriage. Patrick didn’t want to discuss that I’d outed his father. It was a bone of contention for him, and even though it was not his fault that Mr. Ster
ling had taken him around his mistress, acting like she was his stepmother when he was still married, Patrick regretted having ever confided in me about it.

  That’s the thing about secrets. The only true secret is one that no one else knows about but the people involved. Take my true feelings for Damon. They were my little secret; there was no point in others knowing that I was head over heels in love with him. Nothing good could come from it, which is why I denied my emotions to Destiny every single time she asked.

  Destiny was getting ready for a date with Wesley, a man she had met on Damon’s Last Good Men site. They had been out once before. Well, not technically. She had met him at a Starbucks so they could both get a visual of each other, but that had only lasted about ten minutes. She was on break at work and couldn’t stay. However, she came back and told me that he was “so fine that I want to suck his dick until I can tell him his blood type.” Now that is some hella fine right there.

  “So, where are you and Wesley going tonight?” I asked, flipping through the latest issue of Newsweek. They had a great article on the Obamas. I envied them as a couple.

  Destiny was sitting on the sofa, opposite from the armchair that I was sprawled in, working the straps on her heels. She had on a formfitting white dress that showed much cleavage, and her hair was up in a bun.

  “I believe he’s taking me to a restaurant in Adams Morgan called Bossa. Then we’re going to see the Punany Poets perform at the Black Box.”

  “Oh, that’s a cute little theater.”

  “You’ve been there?” Destiny seemed surprised. “Wow!”

  “What do you mean ‘wow’?” I rolled me eyes at her, then flipped to the next page. They had a photo of Michelle Obama reading to some kids at an elementary school.

  “You don’t get out much, Brooke, even with Patrick.”

  “Well, his law firm had a private function there a couple of years ago, and I actually went.” I paused. “You make me sound like a hermit.”