Caring is Sharing
written by:
Naughty Miranda

"Are you sure you're okay?"

It was the third time I'd asked him, and here's why. He was quiet as the grave, he looked guilty as sin... and he smelled of pussy. Not my pussy, either.

Oh, it wasn't that strong; probably on account of the mints he'd obviously been chowing down as he made his way home afterwards. But it was there, and it took me a few minutes to work out my response.

"It's just that you're awful quiet," I said, my most solicitous tone of voice hopefully not oozing with the venom I could taste in my own mouth.

"No, I'm fine," he said. "Sorry." And then, "I think I might go up to bed."

"Okay. I'll come with." I was going to get to the bottom of this if I had to stay up all night.

Husbands are funny things, aren't they. Well, they are if you're a wife. They think they can get away with whatever they want, so long as they don't catch your eye when they've done it. A bit like puppies, in a way. They forget about the hundred other little ways in which they can give themselves away, and Barry was just stacking them up.

The way his pre-bedtime trip to the bathroom took three times as long as usual, as taps ran and towels rubbed, mouthwash was gargled and he scrubbed his teeth three times.

The fact he was wearing his PJs for the first time in months.

The fact he "fell asleep" within moments of turning out light, instead of rolling from side to side a few times, while he decided which level of personal comfort he most required tonight. And when I say "personal comfort," yeah, that as well. He didn't even try to get his leg over.

I lay in silent darkness for a while, then once I was sure he thought I was sleeping, I spoke.

"So, tell me about it?"

"About what?"

There. I knew he wasn't asleep.

"Your evening."

"I told you. The Superbowl party downtown"

"Where'd you go?"

"Milligan's."

I let that hang. They always went to Milligan's. And I knew about their plans to combine the most boring day of the year with a guys' night out. But I also knew the guys, and I was pretty damned certain that not one of them wore an aftershave that smelled like a woman's vagina. I think I'd have noticed at the last office party.

"So, who won?"

"The Seahawks."

Yeah, like I didn't see that on the 11 o'clock news.

"So, just you guys?"

"Jerry's sister came along later with her husband, and some of their friends."

"What were they like?"

"They were nice."

Again, I was silent for a moment. "Nice as in - what? Nice people we might want to hang with?" We'd been talking a few weeks ago about how our social circle needed refreshing.

"Maybe. They were just nice."

"So tell me about them."

"Well..." - and, for the next five minutes, I got the long and the short of three or four people who sounded positively dreadful, and when I said that, Barry laughed, and admitted he agreed. "To be honest, the only one I really talked to was this one girl, Ginny." Who he had not breathed a word about beforehand.

She worked downtown, she kept exotic fish, she was this and she was that, and I laughed and said, "if I didn't know you'd better, I'd say you were rather smitten with her."

Barry laughed, too. "She was kinda cute."

"Tell me about her, what she looked like?

A little taller than me. Brunette. Big eyes. Dressed well. A ready laugh. A good sense of humor.

"Nice tits?" Ha. I knew that would throw him.

"What?"

"I said, did she have nice tits?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Come on, you must have noticed them."

"Yeah, they were okay. Not as nice as yours."

I smiled into the darkness. How typically male, changing the subject with a compliment. "Big? Small?"

"Medium, I guess. Average. Not as big...."


"Not as big as mine." I completed the sentence. "So, what did you talk about?"

"We just chatted."

"I figured that out. What did you chat about?"

He told me, and it was all as boring and innocent as I expected, and then she said she had to leave, "so I said I'd give her a lift, because I was more or less passing right by her front door anyway."

"Where does she live?"

He named a neighborhood which... well, I'm not certain exactly how anyone driving from downtown to our house could "more or less" pass within three miles of her door. But let's not split hairs Not yet, anyway.

They talked in the car, they detoured to the minimart so she could pick up some milk, and when they got to her door, she invited him in for a coffee and a look at her fish.

"Her fish," I said flatly.

"Yeah. She keeps..."

"You said. You missed the end of the Superbowl so you could go look at her fish."

"It was obvious who was going to win, I knew that at half time. But yeah, they're really cool. I mean, really beautiful. I could watch them for hours. I was even thinking, maybe we could get some."

I kept my voice light. "You want us to start keeping fish. Five minutes with a perky breasted brunette and you're suddenly Jacques Cousteau." And I giggled, so he knew I was joking. Which, of course, I wasn't, and I think he knew that as well, because the next thing he said signed his death warrant with a flourish.

"Nothing happened, you know."

"I know that," I answered. "But come on, tell me about the fish."

So he told me about the fish, and how Ginny made coffee, and they sat around talking. She put on some music, and he was just about to start extolling the virtues of her CD collection, when I decided we'd danced round the garden just enough.

"Did you fuck her?"

"No!!!! I told you... she put on some music.."

"Did she suck you off?"

"No!!!!" Again, his tone was adamant enough that I knew he was telling the truth. And if I just waited silently long enough...

He couldn't stand the silence any longer. "I went down on her."

I remained quiet.

"It didn't mean anything. We were sitting talking, and then she asked if I wanted to see the rest of the apartment, and we were in the kitchen, she was sitting on the kitchen table swinging her legs, and I was fooling around, trying to catch her feet, and I thought I'd have a better chance if I crouched down a little...."

"Go on."

"I don't even know how it started. I was crouching there, then she sort of hitched her body forward a little, and her hand was on my head. So I kissed her thigh and... I don't know, at some point I guess she must have taken off her panties. Because...."

"Was she shaved?"

"No."

"Was she pretty?"

He didn't answer. "Come on," I said. "You just told me you went down on some woman you'd only met an hour or two earlier. I at least want to now that you weren't sucking on some butt-ugly mutant minge."

"She was pretty."

"Describe her."

"I can't."

"Did she have thick lips? Thin ones?"

"Umm... her skirt was over my head, I couldn't see that well."

"And besides, you wanted to taste her, not look at her."

"Yeah."

"And she tasted good?"

I felt his face turn towards me. "Yeah. She tasted good."

"So, what did you do?"

"I parted her lips with my thumbs... you know, the way you like it." I think I must have exhaled angrily, because he stopped talking. That probably wasn't the wisest thing to say under the circumstances.

"So you were thinking about me," I said.

No answer. "I just started gently, running my tongue around the edges... then she reached down and I thought she was going to stop me at first, but she didn't. She pulled herself wider, so I put my hands back and stretched as far as I dared, and I could tell she liked it...."

"How could you tell?"

"She gasped, and her hips started moving, so I started licking her again, in the opposite direction, like she was moving clockwise, so I went anti-clockwise, and then she moved again, thrusting into my face, so I started fucking her with my tongue..."

I laughed. "Well, that explains why you came home tonight smelling like a cunt. Go on."

He remained silent. "Come on, I want to now. You're fucking her with your tongue, she's smearing pussy juice all over your face...."

"She had a really big clitoris. It was almost like a nipple. So I started concentrating on that, and I could tell she was getting close, from her movements... so I stopped for a little, let her relax a little... and then I started sucking on it."

"How big was it?"

"I told you, it was like a nipple. I've never seen one that big before... but I was sucking on it and she was moving faster and faster, and then she came..."

"Was she loud?"

He gave a little chuckle. "Remember that time when we were staying at your folks' house, and I had to clamp my hand over your mouth because you were making so much noise?"

I remembered.

"Almost as loud as that."

"Did she squirt?"

His silence said yes.

"Tell me."

"Not a lot. Not like you see on line...." I‘d almost forgotten we once spent an evening dialling up squirting videos on various Tube sites. "But she was soaking wet and suddenly my mouth was full." All trace of contrition was gone. "It was amazing."

"Tell me," I repeated.

"It didn't... it didn't really taste of anything. It wasn't like water, but it wasn't like pee or pussy either. It wasn't the flavor, it was... you know when I cum in your mouth and you say it's not the cum, it's the cumming that matters, just the feeling and the knowledge that you're suddenly full of your partner's pleasure?"

I "uh-huh"-ed thoughtfully.

"I never really understood what you meant when you said that. Now I do. It was the most amazing feeling. Anyway, I carried on licking for a while, because she was still moving her hips, and then as she slowed, I moved away...."

"Wow," I said, and I meant it. "Sounds like you had a lot of fun down there."

"I'm sorry, Chrissie."

"Yeah." I let the word hover between us for a moment. "And then what happened?"

"Well, she got off the table, we laughed a bit, we cuddled, and then she said she had an early start in the morning, and I knew you'd be waiting up for me, so we said goodnight and... well, then I came home."

"So... she didn't even touch you?"

"No," he laughed. "It's funny, I was thinking about that on the way home. You know how girls always complain that all the guy wants is a blowjob or whatever, and once he's cum, he completely loses interest?"

"I don't complain," I objected, and for the first time, he kissed me, softly on the lips. "You know what I mean. It's like the guy uses the girl to get what he wants, and what she wants doesn't matter. Well, I guess now I know how that feels."

"You poor sweetie." He'd moved closer to me, up on one arm, looking down at me. I kissed him again, then reached between his legs. A semi-hard cock, aroused by the memory he'd just confessed to, I guessed, greeted me with a grateful twitch, and I tugged gently on it. "All that hard work, and no pay off for you. What a bitch."

"You're not mad?" he asked.

I pushed him onto his back and nuzzled my way down his abdomen.

"I haven't decided yet."

"I thought you were going to kill me," he said, as my lips parted over the head of his now solid cock.

"I still might," I said, in between gentle sucks.

"But not right now," he breathed, as I took him deeper.

I made an "uh-uh" sound in my throat as I sucked him, and my fist began jerking the last inches of his shaft. No, I wasn't going to kill him. I wasn't even going to stay mad.

What I was going to do was claim a free pass. If he could go round giving head to complete strangers, well two can play at that game. And maybe, I'd even tell him about it.

In fact, yeah. I would definitely tell him about it. Caring is sharing, after all.