“Not bad,” my friend Paul said, catching his breath after I managed to escape a hold he had placed me in. “But now let’s see you try to take me down.”
I first attempted a leg sweep, but Paul side stepped it effortlessly. I circled as he defended, his eyes constantly sweeping side to side, anticipating my next move.
Suddenly, I lunged forward, attempting the takedown. Now, if you’ve ever seen the famous footage of Bruce Lee sparring Dan Inosanto, you’ll have an idea of what happened next. Paul caught me leaping forward with his lead hand. My friend Paul is considerably taller than me, and outweighs me by quite a bit as well. So the resulting effect was painful, to say the least.
As my friend helped me gingerly stand to my feet, he complimented me on my agility, but reminded me to fight more patiently. I tried to wheeze out a thanks (Paul’s blow had been to my ribs) and a congratulations for putting me on the canvas.
I think I might need to drive over to the doctor’s, I thought to myself as I gingerly walked towards my car. Meanwhile, I wondered if my ribs were fractured, or only bruised.
*******
The steady rain made a soothing rhythm on the pavement as I turned the key in the door of the run-down apartment where I lived with my best friend and wife, Vanessa. While it wasn’t much to look at, it was our newlywed love nest, and that’s what mattered. And trust me, as a young married couple still in our 20s, we had made plenty of memories in the dimly lit bedroom (and the hallway, the shower, the kitchen, and on the carpeted living room floor).
“Rest, ice, and breathing exercises,” the doctor had said. I took my anti-inflammatory and my prescribed muscle relaxant, and went to bed, an ice pack wrapped in a small towel placed against my bruised ribs. I turned on the radio to the classic rock station, and closed my eyes.
Several minutes later, my eyes fluttered open again as I heard the door slam, Queen’s “We Will Rock You” playing in the background. Well, I certainly got rocked today, I thought to myself as I gingerly tried to sit up, grimacing with pain.
My adorable wife Vanessa danced into our bedroom, her large hips swaying. “You look just like him, you know,” she said.
“Huh?” I replied.
“You know, like Freddie Mercury!” Vanessa laughed melodically. “Only a bit swarthier.”
“Oh yeah, everyone says that,” I replied, before my face contorted into a strained expression.
Vanessa, who was taking off her rain jacket, looked concerned. Her hair was a wild mess of chocolate-caramel curls from the dampness outside, but she was as beautiful as ever. She wore a simple cotton t-shirt—the kind that clung to her full breasts in a way that made my mouth water—and denim blue jeans that complimented her hips and ass wondrously.
“What’s wrong, Hunny? Did Eduardo get the better of you in sparring again?” she asked.
“No, it was Paul this time,” I said. “Thankfully, nothing serious, just a bad bruise.”
“Ohhh,” she replied, walking over and hugging me gently.
I particularly loved it whenever she hugged me as I was sitting, pressing my face into her curves.
“Hmmm… How about I give you a nice, relaxing evening?” she suggested. “You know… a little Southern Hospitality,” she added, finishing with a wink.
Now, three of Vanessa’s four grandparents had been born in the Deep South, and hence, her family roots went back many generations there, specifically in the Gulf Coast and Appalachian regions of that beautiful and hospitable region of the country.
I smiled to myself, knowing that to Vanessa, “Southern Hospitality” meant a night of complete pampering of her husband. So as you might imagine, I agreed eagerly to Vanessa’s suggestion.
She kissed me on the lips, and then hurried off to the kitchen, her bare feet going pat-pat-pat on the linoleum floor, the sound of her singing mixing with the rain drumming against the windows.
My eyes grew heavy once more with the combined cadence of the soothing rain, the soft klink-klank of the pots and pans, the pitter-pat of Vanessa’s bare feet on our linoleum floor, and her soft soprano voice humming along with the radio.
I was soon asleep.
**********
After some time had passed in restful sleep, I woke up to the continued soothing sounds of a steady rainfall against our windows, and immediately noticed a wonderful smell filling my nostrils. Vanessa walked in, a sweet smile across her full lips, a dark burgundy lipstick accentuating her lovely, feminine mouth. In her hands was a quaint wooden tray, similar to something you’d see in a stereotypical grandmother’s cozy abode in some forest glade.
Vanessa swayed over to me, kissed my cheek (leaving a nice lipstick mark on me, I might add), and placed the tray in my lap. She had prepared me a wonderful meal of Southern fried chicken (an old family recipe, she said), mashed potatoes with gravy, fresh biscuits, and cinnamon rolls for dessert. There was a pitcher of coffee waiting for me, and a large glass of cold milk as well. My heart skipped a beat, and I said a prayer of thanks to God for the food, and for my lovey wife.
She sat next to me, occasionally feeding me bites of the food as she sometimes does for me whenever I am sick or injured. Every now and then she interjected with, “You need to try this!” or “It came out better than I expected,” or “Do you think I seasoned it enough?”
After I had eaten my fill, she pulled off my shirt, appraised the bruising on my ribs, and had me lay down while she read aloud to me from a novel she was currently reading. Not long after she began, I fell asleep once more to the soothing sounds of Vanessa’s melodic, comforting voice.
**********
I sleep soundly until I was jostled awake by the bed moving and groaning slightly. It was pitch dark, except for the soft glow from the hallway night light, and the streetlight outside. Beside me, Vanessa was deep in the throes of passion. Her panties had been kicked down around her ankles, and she was already topless, as she never went to bed with anything covering her chest unless it was exceptionally cold. Her body was moving rhythmically as her legs were clenched tightly around her hand, her index and middle fingers flicking and rubbing erratically. I looked down, and saw (and felt) that I was also aroused, and she was fondling my erection with her free hand.
“Ohhh…. OH!” she cried softly, her body suddenly going stiff as a board, then shivering for a few seconds, and finally relaxing as a long, breathy sigh escaped her lips.
Her other hand was still wrapped around my hard penis, and she moved it back and forth every now and then, but I could tell she was asleep.
She was edging me in her sleep, and she didn’t even know it!
Pretty soon, long streams of semen shot forth like a geyser from the engorged head of my penis, making a soft pitter-pat sound as it landed on the bed around us, mimicking the rain outside.
My ragged breathing slowly returned to normal, and I looked over lovingly at my beautiful angel and best friend as she lay beside me, still glistening with her sex-sweat.
The last thing I remember before sleep took me again was softly twirling her wild waves of hair with my fingers, as Proverbs 19:14 echoed through my mind: “Fathers can give their sons an inheritance of houses and wealth, but only the LORD can give an understanding wife.”
“Thank you, Lord,” I mumbled incoherently.
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