Scotch

My head pounded from the scotch when he called me at dawn.

I wished it were one of those mornings that I woke still drunk, thinking I’d fooled the booze.

Not today.

“I’ve fallen in love with someone,” his voice was deep and stern.

As if this hangover couldn’t get worse.

I thought about rather than hearing him say anything about love, especially when it didn’t include me, I’d rather feel his humming between my legs.

That might really cure this slicing pain in my brain.

There’s almost nothing a little head can’t fix when a man eats pussy like a lesbian.

I moaned to the thought.

“Come over and get in my bed,” I responded.

After all, it was my last chance of swaying this lover from making the biggest mistake of his life; never getting to sleep with me again.

He took a deep breath, “I just told you, I’m in love.”

“Yes and I just told you to come over and get in my fucking bed.”

He hung up the phone and I knew he was on his way.

I didn’t even get up to wash the scotch seeping through my pores.

I wanted him to ingest my exact state.

He always did love the most disgusting parts of me.

When he arrived, I sat up on my knees and began to undress him touching my mouth to every part I exposed to air.

I inhaled, he smiled.

He grabbed my knees and flipped me over while running his hand up my back and tongue down my ass.

I’ve never been the emotional type during sex, but thinking about this particular tongue belonging to another woman made my eyes burn.

After all, it had been three years of being blessed with his mouth when mine wasn’t on someone else’s.

The others never compared.

He lifted his head from between my legs, “I’m getting married.”

I leaned over the side of my bed and threw up.  He wiped the vile from my cheek and I smiled, “She’s a lucky woman.”

“She’s no you.” He smirked and continued until I orgasmed.

 

 

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