It was ungodly early--still dark out-- and Jack was standing beside my bed. I pulled him under the covers and went back to sleep.
What I hadn’t realized was that Jack had turned on the overhead light.
I also hadn’t remembered that Jefferson was sleeping beside me.
Sandwiched between the blonds I felt the larger one swing his legs over the edge and step down. He walked across the room and turned off the light.
“Ah Cain’t Sayee! Hay! Jeyffurrsuhhn! Ah Cain’t Sayee!”
Jack was protesting from under my arm, his accent thick with sleepiness.
I spoke to him sternly, “Jack. If you want to see, you may go to your room. It is very early and I want this light off.”
He climbed down and went back to his own bedroom.
I turned toward the remaining blond, “Hayy…” I smiled.
He wrapped himself around me, resting his chin on my head. We dozed, his erection grazing my thigh. I rolled onto my side, facing away. His hand reached around, cupping a breast, tracing a lazy path down my stomach, stopping and flattening when it reached my pussy, fingers closing over, covering it protectively.
I moved my hips slightly, squeezing my legs together, wanting friction.
His fingers parted and I could feel the slickness between them, the cool air hitting my labia for a fraction of a second before his middle finger began circling my clit. It was exactly the right pressure and speed and I could feel my inner lips flutter with anticipation, moistening and swelling as his finger danced above them and his breath grazed the back of my neck.
I half-turned my torso toward him. He smiled, eyes closed, and kissed my forehead.
I love sleepy morning sex, legs and arms tangled under the duvet, our scents mingling in the warm trapped air, my hands grabbing the headboard, pushing back against him, adjusting our bodies to maximize thrust and minimize noise.
His right hand was under my right thigh, his left stretched behind my neck and cupped my left breast, holding me to him as his dick slid up and down and I pushed our heads together, breathing through my nose, making very little sound.
My orgasm. I shuddered.
Falling back to sleep.
“EEEEE! EEEEEE! EEEEE! EEEEE!”
I stumbled into the boys’ room, where I turned off their alarm clock that makes monkey sounds and said good morning. I handed them their clothes and herded them to the bathroom to brush teeth.
“Momma, is Daddy picking us up tonight?”
“Yes, he is!”
“Are we going to see Jefferson this afternoon?”
“No, honey, but you’ll see Jefferson on Monday, after Daddy leaves.”
“I want to say goodbye,” said Jack.
“Baby, Jefferson is sleeping. Let’s not wake him.”
“But it’s light outside! He needs to wake up!” Jack was insistent.
“He is on vacation. That means he gets to sleep late, right Momma?”
“That’s right, Miles. Come on, let’s get you to school.”
“Can we just go look at him?”
They had already opened the door to my room and walked in. Miles reached into his pocket and placed a piece of candy on the pillow beside Jefferson’s head.
“This is for later,” he whispered.
Thank goodness the condoms and foils had all made it into the trash.
I shooed them from the room and out the door.
When I came back from the daycare and tossed my clothes into the chair, Jefferson opened his eyes and smiled. I slid into bed, curling up, with a groan.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“I don’t feel at all well,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m kinda shaky.”
“Go back to sleep,” he kissed me, “I think I’ll go read my book.”
“Thanks; there’s coffee in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll manage. Get some rest and feel better.”
I stayed in bed for about 45 minutes, dozing on and off until I had to get up.
I walked to the door, rounded the corner, saw Jefferson reading on the futon and announced, “I am going to be sick.”
I don’t remember what he said as I swept into the bathroom and closed the door.
I was thankful he stayed on the other side.
As a parent I get my fair share of puke. Try as I do to help my kids stick it out when they're sick, telling them to go to the bathroom even if they think there's a chance they might be sick, I usually end up with a bit of puke on me. Seriously, I can’t wait until my kids are old enough to deal with their own vomit. And the last thing I want is for someone trying to "help" me while my stomach empties its contents into a porcelain bowl.
Seriously, please don't hold back my hair.
I washed my face, rinsed my mouth, blew my nose and brushed my teeth.
I cracked open the door and peeked out, gingerly making my way to sit on the futon next to him.
“Poor baby, are you feeling better?” His hand lightly touched my hair.
I nodded, “Still shaky but much better. I really think I’ll be fine if I can eat something to settle my stomach. Like toast. But I’m out of bread. So let’s go to breakfast.”
I had a cup of tea and rallied myself. I would have showered, but I knew that the sooner I got out, the better I’d start feeling. Besides, who were we going to see on a late Friday morning downtown?
The restaurant was packed and we sat at the counter, ordering omelets and splitting an order of biscuits & gravy. That shit was the shit.
We ate, reading the underground paper, talking about a show we wanted to see the next night. I looked up and saw Maya smiling and gliding across the floor toward where we were. I patted Jefferson’s knee, “It’s Maya,” I stood and met her a few feet away. Hug, kiss.
“Hey, honey! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”
“I took the day off! Is that…”
She beamed as she walked toward Jefferson, extending her hand. He stood and took it, kissing her cheek in greeting, “Finally…so nice to meet you, Maya!”
I’m sure we looked terrible. Unwashed, unshaven and I’m certain my hair was doing weird flippy things but at least our teeth were clean and we were fully dressed.
We chatted for a bit and then went on our way. We had groceries to buy.
But first, we had to meet my mother.