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There Just May Be New Life in Saturdays

I followed her down the hallway toward the bedroom, expecting her to direct me to the guest room as punishment for my fucking around behind her back. However, she continued into the bedroom, pulled the covers back and climbed in on her normal side. I carefully slid in and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. She turned the lamp off and said nothing. I kept mute, not wanting to risk saying the wrong thing. I continued staring at the now dark ceiling, thinking--How long will the freeze last between Marks and me? Will we celebrate Halloween in two weeks, or maybe I'll have to continue to hide like the turkeys at Thanksgiving. Will we go to the Mall, see Santa, and do our shopping while I'm still not getting any homegrown pussy? Will Ginny be modeling winter clothes while we're there? That was the safest pussy I bonked because it was the one place where Alana, that asshole traitor, didn't have wired. My thoughts turned to--It would be heart stopping to have another round with Ginny in the model's changing room, keeping plunge time to the 'Little Drummer Boy.' Oh, shit! I've thought myself into a raging hard-on and no way to make use of it. Should I fake a pee trip and jack it off or do I roll over and hope it dies without Cumming in my lounge pants. If that happened, I would have to fight that damned gooey, sticky, worthless, wasted climax mess. My thoughts were abruptly disturbed when Marks rolled over and put her arm around me, kissed my chin and said, "I'm trying to fully forgive you so mind your pecker. Good night, hon." ...

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