j. l. navarro

Motherfucker














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Sometimes unusual events grip our lives, unforeseen by mortal men—or women—that change the course of our existence, for better or worse, blind to ethics or moral sensibilities, forcing us to choose in plain sight of demons and angels alike.  When the events are of a sexual nature some will attribute these decisions to fate or karmic obligations, others to outright lust and lack of self-restraint, or simply to a hedonistic perversion of temperament.

 

Whatever the reasons were in Thelma Schroeder's case, her lover was not the type to pass moral judgment on her.  He had just moved into her apartment so they could save on living expenses. On the surface, letting him stay with her at such an early stage in their relationship may have seemed a bit rash but, in actuality, it was very practical.  Thelma was very nearly broke.  And Lee Mezaro, the new man in her life, had a decent paying job as a venture capitalist and was well disposed to giving her the kind of heated sex she valued and found difficult to find.  Excluding masturbation, Lee had endured a bleak year without so much as causal fornication.  He had been in recovery for acute alcoholism and the participants had been advised early on to stay clear of anyone they might get emotionally involved with, recommending that if they could not hold their libidos in check for at least a year, and if masturbation was not a suitable substitute, to employ the sensible and unemotional services of a prostitute.  The recovering drunks needed no excuses to go back to drinking.  He agreed.

 

By her own admission, after having separated from her third husband, Thelma had been on a five-year sexual dry-spell.  Lee Mezaro found it difficult to believe that a woman, especially one as sexually compelling as Thelma, could stay away from sex for such a long period of time.  He was fifty-two, she was sixty.  But their sexual tension was infused with a primal intensity that is usually reserved for the young.  There were days when he stayed home from work for no better reason than to lounge in her bed and fuck repeatedly at their leisure.  They agreed that they had met each other at the appropriate time in their lives, both having pent-up sexual cravings that ran deep, each needing someone of like mind to fuck their brains out.  And fucking, make no mistake about it, was the primal glue that kept their newfound relationship together.

 

 

Continues…

 

This story is included in The Blood Cake Vendor and Other Stories. 































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