A mile in. Still gasping too much. Short winded.
Gin. Fucking Virginia. Fucking beautiful. Beautiful mess.
Two miles in. Side shivers. Like someone was putting a blade in my ribs.
Ginny wanted a lover. Needed a lover. Hell, I was her lover. Father to Kevin and Mattie. What the hell was wrong with me?
Three miles in. Lungs burning. We were married for thirty-five industrial strength years. Why can’t we stand the test?
Four miles down the road. The heat was starting to kick in. Large dollops of sweat fell to my chest from my brow. This work project took precedence in my head. Fuck. We were behind.
Five miles behind me. Thighs searing. Calves cramping. What was my mother’s maiden name?
Six miles in the bag. A 10K. Starting to feel alive again.
Mile seven. Always a slog. Always a mental barrier. I’ve got the 10K in, why go further?
Miles eight, nine, ten, eleven. Not really there mentally anymore.
Twelve. The second 10K. Sides splitting. Lungs burning. Mind still fogged.
Thirteen. Half marathon. I didn’t even care to look at my time.
Working my way back toward the house. A second set? A full marathon? Did I dare?
It was time to go home.
A good day’s work in my rear view mirror. A hell of a run in my bucket.
I walked the last few yards from the street once removed from our neighborhood and limped into our driveway.
Ginny’s car was in.
Slapping down on the locks to our privacy fence, I swayed open the gate and waddled into the backyard.
Ginny was sitting on the patio.
Tank top. No bra. Silky running shorts. A wine glass in hand. Tears in her eyes.
Breathlessly, I made my way over.
“Hey,” I managed.
“Hey,” sniffle. “They’re beautiful, Miles. Thank you.”
She stood. Wrapped her arms around my neck. Kissed me, tentative at first, then more aggressive. Our tongues danced.
I pressed into her. My sweat now hers. Wet. Everywhere.
Her neck. Light kisses everywhere. Her mouth finding my crevices, licking up the salt.
Pulling away. A boner out of nowhere pressing into her abdomen.
Another deep kiss. And another. Hands roaming over her curves.
Her hands roaming. Finding my crotch. Hard and fast.
“Let’s go in,” She offered.
“Let’s go in?” I responded.
“All the way in?”
I found her hand. Intermingled digits. It felt like the tumblers of a lock falling into place.
We walked through the patio doors.
Gin dropped her shorts in the den, followed by her tank top coming off over her tresses. Flip flops kicked to the side.
She was tugging at my soaked T-shirt. It was cast to the side.
My shorts around my ankles. Reeboks kicked away.
I fell on the La-Z-Boy couch recliner, my soaked ass seasoning the material.
Gin straddled me. Her thighs were thick. Her pussy sopping. My cock rigid.
She took the moment in hand. Guided me in. Tears still streaming down her cheeks as she looped her arms around my head and pulled me into her breasts.
Nipples. Areola. KIsses. Deep, soulful kisses. Her pounding cunt slamming down on my cock. Hard. Relentless.
Gin orgasmed. A gusher. Continued on. Orgasmed again. Another gusher.
I continued kissing. Sucking. Loving.
“Good God, are you ever gonna cum?”
“Enjoying the moment, love,” I offered.
She climbed off me. Got between my knees. Wrapped my cock up in her breasts.
“Fuck my tits, lover,” she offered.
I pushed through. Dry. Gin spat on my cock. Reached down and found what she was looking for. Liquidated her offering with copious amounts of her orgasm.
“Fuck! That’s so fucking hot!”
I began to thrust. My own orgasm imminent.
“Like my tits, baby?”
“Love your tits, baby!”
“Then fuck me!”