A Man of Letters (m,f, humour?)

‘Right. I’m off. Don’t forget you’ve got an interview at two,’ she said.

‘Yeah yeah…’

She stopped at the living room door, turned and stared at her husband, sprawled along the couch in T-shirt and boxers.

‘And don’t lie there playing all day.’

‘I won’t,’ Jake said.

‘I mean it. You better not screw up this time, I recommended you.’

‘I’ll be there. Go to work.’

She looked him over. ‘You’d be off that couch quick enough for one of the neighbours.’

‘Don’t start that again.’ He scratched. ‘Actually I might see if one of them is going into town later, maybe get a lift.’
‘Yeah, which one?
’
‘Well, I don’t know yet, do I?’

‘Hmm. I’ll be late tonight,’ she said.

‘Again?’

‘There’s some of last night’s dinner in the fridge.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Whose name Jake? My boss’s name? The person I work for, the person who holds a sword over our finances, is that what you’re asking?’

‘Okay, I get it. You’re working late.’

‘Yeah.’ She spun round and marched out. He listened to the front door close, a half-hearted thud then a second, louder slam.

He lent back against the armrest and rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead. With his right hand he reached down to the floor beside the couch, moving a cold coffee-mug out of the way. His fingertips felt for the stack of small plastic tiles, neatly piled on the squared playing board down by his side.

He clacked them up and down like casino chips before grabbing a handful and bringing them up to his face.
‘E – 1 point,’ he grunted, disappointed; then ‘X – 8 points!’; then another groan, ‘T – 1 point.’

Jake dropped the tiles, one by one, back into a neat pile on the floor. He lay back, his eye lids growing heavy as he listened to the hum of humanity outside his suburban front door; commuters shuffling and gossiping along the pavement past his window, a rap of car horn from near the junction, the deep rumble of laden bus, making the windows rattle.

The doorbell woke him with a snort. He wiped dribble off his chin and stared at the ceiling, listening and blinking.
The bell rang again. He sat up slowly, rubbing his neck, cursing as he peered through the net curtains next to the couch. There was no one in the front garden but he couldn’t see round as far as the front door. ‘Kids,’ he muttered.
And whoever it is will lose interest and bugger off in a minute, he decided, punching one of the cushions into a square shape and dropping it behind his head.

‘Hello!’

‘Christ! Someone’s in the house.’

‘Hello? Jake?’

The living room door slowly opened. The top of a head, then an attractive, smiling face, then a complete, womanly figure crept round the door.

‘Jake! I’m so sorry to barge in…’ She nodded at the door then turned to him. ‘The front door was swinging open as I walked past, so…I just wondered if there was a problem.’

He groaned and rolled his eyes, ‘The wife. I’ve told her not to slam the door. It needs a gentle touch.’

She stopped herself from the obvious reply with a short cough into the back of her hand. ‘So is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ he said, sitting up straight, suddenly conscious of his underpants, yesterday’s T-shirt and stubble. It took him a moment to compose himself, to take in the woman standing beside the door. Amberley, his neighbour, was wearing a short jacket over shiny blouse, mid-length suede skirt and high-heeled knee boots.

‘You a player?’ she said, pointing a polished toe at the Scrabble board on the floor.

‘Whenever I get a moment to myself. And a partner of course.’

‘Me too!’ She flicked her mousy hair off her shoulders and stared at him with green eyes, her tongue running across glossy pink lipstick, the toe of her boot tapping.

‘That’s great. Fancy a game now? Sorry – you look as though you’re going somewhere important…’

‘Just town. Shopping. You know.’

‘Yeah. I’m going there myself later.’

‘I’ve time for a quick one…’ she said, adding quickly, ‘Oh I’m sorry, that sounded like an awful joke.’

‘No problem, we’re all adults here. Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee – something stronger?’

She flashed her eyes over him. He wondered if she was deciding if she could trust him after a few drinks. I wouldn’t, he thought.

‘Coffee’s fine,’ she said.

Jake pulled a cushion across his groin and went to get up but she was quicker.

‘I’ll do it, you set up the board,’ she said, unzipping her jacket and throwing it over a chair. She spun round with a swirl of suede and marched out of the room.

He slid off the couch, sat on the carpet and put the tiles in the velvet bag, listening to the click-click of her heels on the polished kitchen floor.

He closed his eyes and followed her movements – the march to the sink, a rush of water into empty plastic; strutting boots moving to the worktop socket and the squeak of cupboard doors, opening and closing.
‘Cups in the second one on your left,’ he shouted.

‘Got them!’ The clank of ceramic mugs grabbed by their handles, more click-clicking, the breathy suck of a fridge door.

A crunch of wrappers peeled then discarded, drawer runners sighing out and in, the small tinkle of stainless steel.
He checked his breath and armpits then lifted the cushion across his lap. He rearranged the optimistic opening in the front of his boxers, finishing just as she returned. She entered carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee, milk and a plate of biscuits.

‘Milk in a jug!’ he grinned, noting that she had undone the top two buttons of her blouse.

Carefully putting the tray on the floor beside him she sat down, next to the board, stretching out her legs. He grabbed a chocolate biscuit and a mug of coffee.

‘I should warn you,’ she said, gripping the top of each boot in turn, flexing her ankles while pulling the leather tight, ‘I often cheat.’ She continued to smooth the leg of each boot.

He breathed deeply at the display before taking a sip of coffee and dragging his eyes away. ‘Well, cheat or not, this is where the action is,’ pointing a half-eaten biscuit at the board.

They dipped in the bag, swirling the tiles round before taking one. He drew D, she X. ‘Looks like I start,’ he said, grinning.

‘If you were a gentleman…’

‘This is Scrabble. No chance.’

They dipped in again; eyes occasionally flicking up at each other over the racks as they noisily arranged then re-arranged their tiles.

He put down a horizontal D-E-S-I-R-E, the ‘S’ going on the starting square. ’14 points,’ he said, rubbing his back against the edge of the sofa, hands behind his head.

‘That’s the game, is it?’ she said. ‘Right.’ She tipped all her tiles on the board in a heap. He looked at the pile then at her, wondering what she was doing, shocked as she undid three more buttons on her blouse. As she leant forward he caught the sight of a twin-orbed V disappearing into silk and a waft of musky perfume. She rearranged her letters into a vertical C-L above the second ‘E’ of DESIRE, then A-V-A-G-E.

‘26 points!’ she exclaimed, ‘Plus the 7-letter bonus. Now let me see, that’s…’

‘Alright, 76 points,’ he said, sighing. She let him feast for a moment longer before sitting back, grinning.
He breathed in noisily. ‘I can’t compete with that.’ He used her second A to make RAMROD, muttering, ‘18 points.’

‘Couldn’t make it upright?’ she said.

‘Nowhere to go.’

‘You need to stretch your horizons.’

With a mock shake of the head she placed S-T-Y-L next to the last E of CLEAVAGE. ‘Only 13 points myself, maybe we peaked too soon.’

He studied the board for a while, brow furrowing in concentration, glancing back and forth from the tiles to his neighbour.

‘Maybe not – this one’s for you,’ he said, snapping down T then O, N, G and U against the first E of DESIRE.
‘Sometimes it’s the little things that count. 9 points.’

‘Um-mm. Nice. Let’s see if I can return the favour.’ Her long nails clicked against the plastic as she placed U-C-K under the S of DESIRE. ‘How was it for you?’ she whispered, leaning forward, mouth open.

‘No complaints so far. 20 points, by the way.’

Jake stared at the front of her blouse, wondering what it would feel like to caress and smooth and mould that silky roundness. He adjusted the cushion that was perched on his groin as she sat back and slowly undid the last of the buttons, nodding at him to do the same. He ripped off his shirt in one move and threw it over the couch.

Amberley crawled round the board, her blouse hanging open as she prowled. Sitting in front of him, her breasts level with his face, she let her hand ripple up and down his thigh like an incoming tide, each wave reaching higher.

‘Would you mind?’ she said, glancing down.

‘My pleasure.’

Her bra was delicate and lacy, ivory-coloured, with a pretty pink clasp in the centre of the V. A front-loader he mused as he unclipped her. Her round breasts didn’t move, not the slightest sag, as she removed her blouse then slipped the straps off her shoulders. She pushed herself into his face, letting him lick and suckle on each hard nipple, his hands cupping under her smooth firmness while she ran her hands over his chest. Her hand wandered down towards his boxers, yanking away his protective cushion, sending it spinning across the room in one swift move before reaching in, squeezing and stroking, making him gasp then moan.

He took a gulp of air and looked up at her – she was peering over his shoulder, at his tiles.

‘You little minx!’

She giggled, quickly rolling away, back to her side of the board. He watched as she faced him on all fours; raw, panting, feline.

‘I did warn you,’ she said.

He laughed, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, trying to concentrate. Still chuckling he reached forward. ‘Well, here goes wishful thinking…’ he said, sliding THON against the G of TONGUE. ‘Oh, happy dreams,’ he smiled.

Amberley stared at the word for some time before responding. Without a word she stood up and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall with a swish and crump of lined suede before gracefully stepping out of it. Jake watched as she slowly turned, hands on hips, smiling down at him. Her delicate, ivory-coloured thong – sister to the previously discarded bra he imagined – making a pleasant contrast with the dark leather of her high-heeled boots.

His mouth fell open as she came round in profile; the up-turned breasts, flat stomach; her backside high and round like an Olympic sprinter.

She turned full circle then sat down again, humming to herself as she stared at her tiles.

‘So, where were we?’ she asked.

Jake gave a long, sad sigh. ‘My turn, I believe,’ reaching forward before she could protest at his own cheating. His hand shook as he slapped down S-I-X next to the T of TONGUE, completing the word with a Y. ‘Another 16 to me.’
They both studied the new word. Jake lifted an eyebrow, ‘Can you complete the position?’

She looked at her rack and shook her head, ‘Sorry. It’s a lovely idea but I can’t finish you off…’ She put her head on one side. ‘But I do have this…’ and using the ‘O’ from RAMROD made MOIST.

He nodded in appreciation. ‘We should have been cousins. 26 points.’ He sat back, no longer trying to hide the enormous bulge straining at his boxers.

For a moment they looked at the board in silence, lost in their daydreams.

‘I keep forgetting, whose turn is it to move?” she asked.

They grinned at each other. He suddenly pushed himself away from the couch, knocking his rack over with his knee, skittering tiles across the board and under the sofa before stalking towards her. At the last moment she turned round, over the board, backside in the air as he lined up behind her. She slowly spread her legs, the V of thin silk disappearing between inner thighs goading him forward.

He slid a hand up the inside of her leg. Two fingers gently stroked her through the material, a thumb at the back, she began rocking back and forth, pressing against his hand.

She arched her back, laughing over her shoulder before leaning forward and selecting five of her tiles. ‘This is not strictly one word, but…’ she pushed back against him, ‘…Who’s going to complain?’

She placed D-O-G-G-Y in front of the ‘S’ of STYLE. ‘We could always stop and consult a dictionary,’ she said coyly.
He slipped her thong to one side, held his swollen tip against her parting lips. With a gentle thrust he was in. He held still for a moment, looking down at the perfect roundness of her ass, flare of hips, sharp curve of her waist. His shaft, hard and thick, disappearing between the globes, past the stretched thong.

Reaching over her, down to the board, he gathered up a handful of his own pieces, studying them in his palm before putting together O, A then a D after the ‘L’ of CLEAVAGE.

She began to move her hips in time with his. ‘I hope that’s not a premonition,’ she said between breaths.
His fingers dug in around her waist as he trampolined off her taut ass.

Jake heard the approaching footsteps before she did. He paused, mid-stroke, listening. There was a snap of letterbox, the sound of whistling then a thud on the hall carpet.

‘Post,’ he said unnecessarily, breathing out and resuming his thrust.

She tipped the bag up, rummaging through the remaining tiles before throwing down C-R-E-A-M, using the ‘A’ from his LOAD.

He glanced down at the board, over her shoulder. ‘Not sure how many points that is…’ he gasped.
‘Just make sure you don’t finish the game before me.’

They began panting louder, shouting encouragement and obscenities as their strokes became harder and faster.

The doorbell rang – long and angry.

‘What the…!’

‘Jake!’ Came a muffled shout through the front door.

‘Oh shit! The wife!’

‘Oh my God!’ Amberley shrieked. She yanked forward, disengaging, making them both curse. Jumping up she grabbed her skirt and blouse and ran into the kitchen, struggling to stuff hands through flapping sleeves as she went.

Jake snorted and his eyes snapped open. He lay on the couch, blinking rapidly at the ceiling before rubbing his hands over his face.

The bell rang again, three times with hardly a breath between.

‘Jake, you waster!’ mega-phoned through the sprung letterbox.

Sitting up he looked slowly round the room, then down – to the floor next to the couch. The scrabble tiles were still in a neat stack on the playing board, the area devoid of underwear, jugs of milk or crumbs. He fell back and groaned with a mix of relief and frustration.

He crawled off the couch, peered cautiously – gratefully – into the empty kitchen then stumbled into the hall and opened the front door, jumping back as it was given a violent shove from the other side.

His wife strode past him. He followed her into the living room where she grabbed her keys off the table.

‘Your fault,’ she announced. ‘You made me late this morning, I had to rush.’

He put his hands across his boxers as she looked him up and down. She slowly scanned round the room before settling on the disheveled couch, her eyes narrowing. ‘You went back to sleep, didn’t you?’

He scratched his groin, taking his time before answering; ‘I may have dozed a little.’

She turned and marched towards the door, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Don’t you dare miss this interview,’ adding as she left the room, ‘and for goodness sake get some clothes on. What if you had to go to the front door in a hurry?’

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/5e20yj/a_man_of_letters_mf_humour