Mr. Early Morning

WRITTEN BY: DAYNIAH MANDERSON

    Morning had arrived. It was one of those nights that made reality feel unreal.  The kind of night that makes you smile sporadically throughout the day each time another slice of memory came up.

The night began ordinarily.  Dee commanded her daughter to go take a shower and put her things away.  She double checked the house for anything she might have forgotten and headed to her room. It was only 8:30, but sleep was making its presence known and she refused to fight its pull. The last thing she remembered doing was yelling to the kid to turn off the lights and go to bed. There might have been an idle threat about wasting energy and someone getting killed.

He didn’t send his usual text. The brightness of his picture woke her.

“Hello,” she whispered.  His call never went unanswered.

“I’m coming inside”. No explanation. Clearly just out of courtesy for the fact that he wasn’t her man and this wasn’t his house.

“Ok.”  She looked at the time. It was 3:17 am and that made her wonder what was wrong. She began anticipating a retelling of a fight he had with the one he called his wife. What else could it possibly be?

The wind chimes notified her of his grand entrance and his footsteps kept her aware of how close he was getting to the room.  It was dark in her room, but he’d add light when he got ready.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?”  She failed at that joke.  He didn’t laugh and said nothing back.  This was so unlike him and it threw her off.

He put the keys on the table and kicked off his shoes.  She watched him questioningly. Did he know he wasn’t at his house?  Was he drunk?  Can he say something?  She didn’t dare speak. He removed his belt and threw it onto her wheelchair. Then his pants, shirt, under shirt, and boxers. He said nothing the entire time.  He walked over to the dorm-sized refrigerator that Dee kept in her room and took out a small cranberry juice bottle.

They’d been friends for the past 5 years and this was the first time she felt like the other woman Nina sang about.  Besides the fact that she had seen his nakedness in pictures, nothing about this scenario felt normal.  He said nothing.  He sat next to her feet, stared at the opposite wall, and raised the bottle high enough to finish the last of the 6 ounces.  She watched his dick swing as he walked over to the empty garbage pail and dropped in the bottle. She tried not to watch his dick swing as he walked over to the bed.

Dee was laying in her usual fetal position. He walked over to the space between breast and waist and sat down. She inhaled and smelled man. Almost everything about him was perfectly male and this mostly perfect man, male friend, was sitting so close and so naked.

He reached for her face. Touched her eyelids, pinched her nose, and rubbed his finger across her lips. He bent down slowly and kissed her.  She was brought back to the days of bbqs and hanging out.  A time when they exchanged kisses in the dark hallway; he with his drink and she with her spliff.  They were still lip locked when she felt his hand move from her neck to her breasts. Her nipples made it clear to him that he wasn’t violating their friendship. His tongue released hers and casually traveled down to the chocolate pyramids.  She felt a bite on the tip of her nipples and it sent fluid between her lower lips. He continued making circles around her nipples and biting at random intervals. His fingers made their way to the inside of her sleep shorts and he squeezed her clitoris between two fingers.

“So far so good,” was all he said after being in the house for 27 minutes.

Dee tried to respond but that wasn’t a question and she thought good was an understatement.  She decided to say nothing; words were useless and this moment spoke for itself.  His fingers continued surveying the landscape and she suddenly wanted to kill herself for never seeing the purpose of shaving.  As her brain began to create scenes of his being turned off by hair, she saw him throw his head back and his dick jumped.  Two fingers entered her moist pussy and she let out a sound that meant “about fucking time”.

In the five years they’d been friends, they flirted with each other, kissed, and he’d even sucked on her breasts.  It just never went passed that and it wasn’t because she didn’t want to.  Their friendship didn’t require sex and preserving that friendship was necessary for them both. He had keys in the event of an emergency.

Without removing his tongue from her breasts, he climbed into the bed and used his knees to push her legs apart.  He gripped her side with his right hand and kissed her again. Looking into his eyes intimidated her. She felt like 17 again when she decided to pop her cherry and had to trust her more advanced boyfriend to be gentle. He was too composed which suggested confidence in his skill.

He continued kissing her while his hand moved to her knee and his arm went under to lift up her left leg.  She gasped as she felt the puzzle pieces connect.  She couldn’t help but think of how it was meant to be there. Length, width, and girth* were perfect. He must’ve had the same thought because he just stopped moving and looked into her eyes.

He pulled out slightly and went back inside.  With each in and out motion, he increased speed and force.  He grabbed her wrists and stretched them above her head and he pounded her pretty little unshaven pussy.

“Alex,” she murmured.  That familiar feeling in her abdomen was getting stronger. She inadvertently tightened the grip in her pussy and he pushed against her clit.

“Don’t cum,” he ordered. How could he make such a request?  Wasn’t that the point of all of this?

He pulled out and walked to the refrigerator. Water!!!  I should delay cumming because he needs water?

“I’m going to move you. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”  In a quick motion, he flips her unto her belly.  She was taken aback.  He never appeared to be physically skilled and his manicured hands were excellent devices of deception.  This process was too easy.  Was this a dream?  

Nope.  She was reminded that this was real as she felt him too deep inside.  She was being introduced to another level of her vagina; a puzzle that only his curve could fit.  Plus, there was never this much sensation in her dreams.

He gripped her waist and slowly grinded until he was certain that she could go to stage two.  It was only a matter of seconds, seemingly, that all 6 cylinders of his were running and she began to sweat under his 1,400 rpm torque.  She scanned her brain for the last place she remembered seeing the asthma punk.  

“Dear, God,” she prayed, “if this is going to be the death of me, please forgive me for knowing beforehand that he’s married and loving this road to my grave.  Amen.”

There was no more resistance left in her.  She needed to release this cum and felt no guilt in letting her juice soak into his balls and surrounding areas.  

“Fuck you,” she whimpered.  It was a mixture of defeat and satisfaction.  She’d never be able to laugh at him or find some fault in his performance.  He collapsed thereafter.  Like, seriously, he’d have it no other way.  

He threw his hand across her and allowed his fingers to caress the soft hairs below. 

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