The Long Pause

Not Again

Jamaica? He can't be serious?

After all we just left Manhattan. When we moved two years ago he promised that the move to Omaha was a great career move. "For both of us," he said. Not totally convinced and with much reservation I listened as he went into great detail why this move was going to be good for us.

Omaha uh? At the time it sounded good. I was tired of our tiny apartment in the city. When he brought over the laptop and placed it on the small glass table where I was cutting out samples from tawny tan suede I was quickly drawn to the large homes. The laptop barely fits on the crowded kitchen table covered with sketches and fabric.

David clicked on a link revealing even larger houses beautifully landscaped with an endless green space. I was mesmerized with the click of the mouse on the next link. It was a fairly large house. The two story red brick structure was framed with four stately white pillars accented with what seemed like the miles of blue skyline and seductive cascading snow cap hills in the distant. He knew I was a sucker for modern colonial houses. This is Omaha? I thought to myself.  “This is it.” he said with reserved excitement.

David and I got married three years ago in a small antiquated church in Rosedale with twenty of our closest friends. That's all the church could hold. We lost thirty more of our other friends because they could not fit in the church. In an era of mega churches go figure.

We both lived at home at the time. We agreed after the wedding we would move to the city where he worked. Our wedding and move was all very well calculated. David is anal about advance planning.  When we told his parents about our plans his very outspoken Jamaican mother asked quite poignantly "You two have Manhattan apartment money?" David was her baby. Days leading up to our wedding she made several inferences to "baby" remaining at home. I did my best to ignore her. All I knew I was not going to live with his parents.

Don't get me wrong his parents have done quite well for themselves. They own several boutique hotels across New England. They have a waiting list of over a year to get a suite. They live in a modest house in Rosedale all because his mother fears Uncle Sam. Strange as it sounded I would later learn that this was a common fear amongst elder West Indians and Vida and her friends were no exception.

Well as it turned out we had Manhattan apartment money, but only for eight hundred square foot space. Bent to live the city life with David's plans we moved into our quaint studio in the middle of January.  As luck would have it the furnace in the newly renovated build was broken. Most of the tenants were all crammed into the bistro across the street. The mood was electrifying with the mixture of jazz and spirited conversation escaping from the eatery each time someone entered or exited.

Looking forward to enjoying our first night in our new home we left the cramped bistro and walked across the street to our building. We raced up the brightly lit narrow stairwell to the fifth floor straight to studio five B. We spend our first night in our apartment huddled under blankets. That night I would discover I was married to a man that knew how to keep his wife warm on an unexpectedly cold New York night.

I can still remember it so well as if it was yesterday. Flooded with memories of that night Miss Kitty flushed with moistness purred. Moving my hands to the warm area I attempted to calm her with gently strokes.

Once up the stairs we stumbled into the tiny studio feeling the effects from all those drinks with our new neighbours. I found a couple of blankets made a makeshift bed on the newly stained wood floor. David was busy putting things away. He brought in the last box from the hallway and placed in on the kitchen counter even though it had bedroom written on it. "David, that’s for the bedroom." 

"Well when we get a bedroom I will put it there."

I deserved that. "Baby I'm starving." Getting caught up in the feverish excitement in the crowd at the bistro we never ate. It all started as soon as we entered when Allen and Jenna; the couple in studio A bought us the first round of many. 

"Me too." He walked across the kitchen floor swiftly and lay next to me. Right away I could feel his hardness against my ass.

"David, seriously I want food."

"Me too" he could barely get the words out as his lips covered my mouth. His tongue was warm and thawed my cold body. My hunger pangs were replaced with a different kind of appetite. I closed my eyes and let him take over. His hands clumsily fondled my hard nipples. I do believe my husband was mildly drunk.

I was further aroused at this new revelation. I could not help but hope that this time he was tipsy enough to succumb to the beckoning of Miss Kitty. Erupting with desire I pushed his head between my full round breast hoping he would get the hint and continue going south to munch on my cleanly shaven kitty. 

End of preview.

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