Humorous Erotica
"Me and My Man," a flash fiction sex story by Samantha Memi
He was hard and fast and, as I wrapped my arms around him and felt him drill into me, I wondered if I'd put the cat out or if she was stuck inside and liable to run upstairs and meow just outside the door.
He wheezed in my ear and spluttered something inarticulate. I think it was a token of affection. At least I hoped it was. He never said he loved me. Once, a few years ago, during sex, he called me a fucking whore, said I needed a good fucking to fuck some sense into me. It kind of turned me on, but I couldn't admit to that, otherwise he'd have done it every night. Well, not every night, but every time we had sex, and then he'd get into thinking of me as his fucking whore, which wouldn't have been so nice outside of the bedroom. It would affect our relationship. I had to make sure he understood the difference between me as his darling wife and me as his fucking whore.
The first orgasm I had with him was when he fucked me on the kitchen table. Just as I came I knocked a plate off and it smashed on the floor, so at the moment I was experiencing a surge of pleasure sweeping through my body, all I could think was, “Oh fuck, my mother bought us that plate, she’s bound to notice it’s missing.”
Still, at least I came.
I smelled his fetid breath as he whispered, “Cor, you’re hot.’
I was hot. He'd been shagging me so hard there was steam coming out of my ass.
But I was sure he loved me
I was sure he did. If not, why stay with me? He was not bad looking. Thick as shit, but he had nice eyes and fine cheek bones and sometimes his mouth had a cruel twist which I liked – it was the cruel twist of the mouth of a Mexican bandit in a B-movie western, just as he says, “Senorita, do as I say or I kill you.”
He grunted. I looked over at the bedside table. Where were the tissues? Where did I put them? Why have they moved? I'll have to hold his cum in and go to the bathroom. This was a bit I didn't like about sex – the physicality of having his cum inside me and needing to clean up, otherwise, I'd have to sleep on the damp patch with it trickling out of me, and wake up with the sheets stuck to me in the morning.
He rolled off of me and I felt the cold air against my titties. A thin film of sweat covered my chest and a little pool of it had collected in the hollow of my rib cage.
Why do we go through all this? We fuck, we have babies, they grow up, they fuck, and they have babies. The world isn't getting any bigger and everywhere you look, there’ people. Why? I mean, you look at the picture of a lemur with its big, limpid eyes, and then you look at a picture of George Bush, and you wonder which was created by God and which came from the sperm of the devil?
Why do I ask questions that have no answers?'
I got out of bed.
“What's up?”
“I need the bathroom.”
Sitting on the john, I thought, God I need a crap, and, as a turd the size of Big Ben slid out of me, I heard the cat meow outside the window. No need to go downstairs. I wish we had a bidet. There is something so disgusting about bodily functions. Why did God make us reproduce in such a ridiculous fashion? Why couldn't we just lay an egg every so often and then have the guy come on it? Pop it in an incubator and, nine months later, a baby gets hatched. I don't think I could cope with having a baby. I wish he'd get sterilized.
When I got back to bed he was asleep.
Kneeling, by Lee Jones (prints available at ObsessionArt.com)
I put some tissues where it was sticky, and slid into the still warm covers.
‘Till tomorrow.
Copyright July 2011, Samantha Memi
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
