"Did you just tell me to shhh?"

"You're moaning too loudly."

"I didn't moan; I squealed. You're the one making too much noise." Balancing on my palm and my knees, I snatched a pillow off the bed and handed it back to Kevin. "Moan into this."

Without halting his thrusts, my husband took his hand off my bare bottom and held the rectangular foam against his face to muffle his cries. "Oh, oh, ohh."

"That's better." Then I let out a yip. "Slower. Deeper."

He complied, enhancing the friction of our Saturday morning intercourse.

Outside of our bedroom, there was a thud. "Did you hear that?"

Kevin kept pumping. "Huh?"

As he sawed his shaft in and out of my engorged canal, I listened carefully to the goings on in the rest of the quiet house. There was a squeak.

"That was the refrigerator."

Kevin froze. "Riley!" he yelled at our child through the wall. "Get out of the kitchen, and go back to bed."

I heard the refrigerator close, a shuffle across the tiles, and a moment later, down the hall, a door slammed shut.

Kevin resumed his oscillations, his balls slapping against my round, brown behind. "Do I still need the pillow?"

I rocked back and forth, my full breasts swaying as we undulated on the mattress. "Give it to me. I'm about to cum." I made him drop the cushion, and I placed his fingers on my throbbing clit.

He rubbed my pink button good on the outside, while his divining rod searched my slick cavern on the inside, urging the climax to reach a peak.

My squeals grew into screams as I bucked on my husband's cock, the back of my thighs smacking the front of his. He worked my swollen nub, milking the lady cum that streamed across my legs, soaking the sheets. 

As I calmed down, he ramped up, bellowing with the power of his ejaculation, his liquids blended with mine. His quakes triggered another thrilling spasm from my body, followed by a gentle wave of pleasure that evolved into a shared afterglow.

He rolled out of me and onto the bed, gratified as I climbed on top of him so he could re-enter me.

"Good morning, Jax."

I panted into the side of his neck, my nose on his fuzzy, black sideburn. "Very good."

"How long do we have,” he exhaled, “before we need to leave for the carnival at Riley's school today?"

"Set up starts at 9:00, but Amber said she and Quigley would meet us there at 10:00, because that’s when Imogen is bringing Cory."

He arranged my knees so that I was comfortably straddling his copper thighs. "Quigley is planning to survive a hot morning in a public park, surrounded by screaming children, accompanied by his own child, his wife, and his ex-wife?"

"Imogen's new husband, Viggo and their other kid won't be at the carnival, since they have other plans with Viggo’s ex-wife, so it could have been worse."

"Divorce sucks."

"It's working out well for them."

"Can we stay married, Jax?"

"Certainly." 

“Promise?”

“I promise, Kevin.” I checked the clock. "To answer your previous question, we have enough time for a shower and a nap."

He pulled the blanket over our clammy, connected bodies. "How about a nap, then a shower?"

I clenched around his tumescent member. "Can I fall asleep with you inside me?"

He crossed his lower arms on my lower back to hold me in position. "That's an effective way for me to wake up hard."

"Very good."

…

“How is this healthier than a hot dog?”

"They're vegan," Amber informed me, sticking a plastic fork into her fried Twinkie. "Not really, but I like to pretend they are."

As I sat with her at one of the few wooden picnic tables in the shade, adjacent to the fundraising festivities for our education institution, I examined the grease from my snack cake permeating the paper tray. “And they never decompose.” I glanced at Kevin and Quigley guiding our respective progeny through the colorful booths to play games together.

Laden with an open box of additional refreshments, Imogen appeared at our sanctuary, bearing chicken fingers, cheese sticks, and strawberry smoothies. 

"This contains actual fruit." I shook an insulated cup at Amber.

“Which nutritional plan is she on this week?” Imogen asked me, tightening her scarf around her bantu knots.

“Stop making fun of my capricious whims.” Amber poked a clump of mozzarella near her nose. "You’re the one who can’t decide which language Cory is going to take next year.”

“I decided," Imogen countered, "but I’m taking suggestions from everyone involved.”

I sucked the white cream out of my hot, yellow tube. “What did you choose, Imogen?”

“I think my child should learn German.” Imogen crossed her arms and peered at Amber.

Amber bit a blob of cheese. “I prefer Japanese.” She was eyeing the ticket table.

“I would let Cory decide, but why those languages? Do either of you speak--”

“She doesn’t even speak Chinese, much less German,” Amber shouted at Imogen.

“My mother forgot to teach me, so what?”

“Is Chinese an option?” I pondered.

“Imogen thinks the German guy is hot.” Amber gestured to a handsome chef at the burger grill.

“Herr Yang is hot,” Imogen admitted. “He is not German, he just teaches the language.” She swooned in his direction.

I checked him out. “He could get it.”

“And he also speaks Cantonese.” She stuck her tongue out at Amber. “But we’re not best friends yet, like this helicopter mom and the Japanese goddess.”

“Her name is Tasha, and it doesn’t hurt to have an advocate in our child’s classroom.”

I sipped my smoothie. “What does Cory want to learn?”

“Spanish,” they both answered. 

“With Riley,” Amber elucidated.

This was new information to me. “The Spanish teacher is neither handsome nor charming?”

They both shrugged.

Imogen pointed across the expanse of grass towards a man eating a cheeseburger next to the face painting station. “If that’s your type. Señor Nielsen has certain gym rat qualities.”

“Look at her husband,” Amber quipped. “Obviously that is Jax’s type.”

They laughed.

I pouted in silence as my friends poked fun at my presumed predilections. Then I took another glance at the teacher. Though his muscular physique mirrored Kevin’s, with Señor Nielsen’s pale skin and shorn grayish hair, he didn’t even resemble my...

I abandoned my Twinkie and made a beeline for the face paint.

“Jax,” Amber called, “where are you--”

“I’ll be back.”

He was chomping into the last of the beef patty, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame seed bun as I arrived in front of the station.

"Nicky?"

He wiped the sauce from his mouth and finger with a stray napkin. "Jax, oh my gosh." He stepped from behind the folding table to give me a hug.

"Or should I call you Señor Nielsen?"

"If you're nasty." He leaned back but left his hands on my shoulders. "What are doing here? Are you a parent?"

"For a few years now, yes.” I caught a glimpse of his cerulean eyes boring into my soul. “How come I haven't seen you around?"

"Is your kid old enough to start foreign language?"

"Not until next year."

"That's why. And I’ve only started here last year." He shook his head, grinning at me. "This is wild. How long has it been?"

"I missed the 15th reunion, so 16 years?"

"No way college was that long ago."

"Way.” I slid my sweaty palms into the back pockets of my tight jeans. 

“Tell me everything. Who’s your kid? Where are they?”

I remembered the picnic table. I saw that all of our party had returned to eat lunch. “Cory’s with my husband, Kevin. Would you like to meet them?”

Nicky draped his arm around my shoulders. “Lead the way.”

…

"During senior year, Nicky and I were in so many of the same classes and the same friend circles that we hung out practically every day." I drank some more of my smoothie.

"But after graduation, I left for Teachers College on the East Coast," he explained, noshing on my cheese.

“And we haven’t seen each other since our commencement ceremony, even though I stayed in the area.” I fed a chunk of chicken to Kevin, who was seated across from me, enthralled by our story.

Quigley frowned and continued eating his corn dog.

"I've changed my mind," Imogen announced to our group of adults, while our kids ate their lunches nearby with their classmates. "I would be honored to have Cory learn Spanish from you, Señor Nielsen. Amber?"

"Here here," Amber concurred. 

"Isn't that what Riley wants to take next year?" Kevin asked me. "Then I'm in."

"It's unanimous," Imogen declared, "if Señor Nielsen will have us."

"I welcome you all with open arms," which he physically displayed, before he put one back around my torso for a side hug. 

Quigley rolled his eyes.

"And outside of the classroom, you can call me Nick. We're all adults."

"Not 'Nicky'?" Amber winked in my direction. "Or is that moniker saved for close, personal friends?"

"Nicky is also fine," he chuckled.

"Nice, 'cause that's what I was planning on calling you," Kevin joked.

"Isn't anyone going to ask me?" Quigley grumbled.

We all turned to face his shady end of the bench.

Amber patted his elbow. "Q, what do you want us to ask?"

"Maybe I want Cory to learn Korean," Quigley shrugged, "connect to our heritage."

Imogen replied gently to her ex-husband, "But you don't speak Korean."

"You don't speak Chinese, Imogen!" he yelled.

"We already covered that!" she yelled back.

"My coparents, ladies and gentlemen," Amber cracked. 

Nicky assured her, "I've seen worse."

Invoking the spirit of a mime, Kevin gestured and mouthed to me, "You, me, together, forever."

I drew my life partner a heart in the air.

…

Later that night, after the midday hubbub, I had cocooned myself next to my slumbering husband in our bed. The house was still, save for the turning of the pages in the paperback that I was reading.

As I reached a turning point in the tale, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. 

The message read, "Hola. That means ‘Hello.’"

I wrote back, "Lo sé. That means I know."

It buzzed again. "Can I call you?"

My heart beat faster. 

I gave Kevin a soft poke. His REM sleep had overtaken him.

In my Melrose Place t-shirt and matching aqua panties, I creeped barefoot through the hallway, phone in hand. Once I arrived at the extra bedroom, I locked the door. 

Perched on the daybed, I texted back, "Yes."

A buzz sounded immediately.

"Buenas noches," I spoke into the receiver. "That means ‘Good evening.’"

“I didn’t know you were into white guys.”

“Wow,” I gasped. “That’s a lot coming at me at once.” 

“I saw something, I said something.”

“First, I have many interests. Not all of my attraction is centered on men with Asian ancestry.”

“All right.”

“Second, Nicky does not identify as white.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Quigley, as someone who divorced one Black woman, then married another, you should know that we people with Black ancestors come in every color.” 

“I didn’t know lectures could be a turn on, but continue.”

“Third,” I persisted, "Nicky and I are friends. We were friends."

"You have said the same about us."

“Fourth,” I brayed, “not that it is any of your business, but Nicky is not into women. In a romantic way.”

“He was certainly into you,” Quigley insisted. “Hanging onto every word, gawking like you were giving him a lap dance. I thought I’d have to turn the hose on you two.” 

A tingling emerged between my thighs. “Even if your perceptions were accurate--which I will neither confirm nor deny--why would this bother you, Quigley?”

He stammered, “I, well, I don’t... I remain unbothered.”

My free fingers unexpectedly found their way to the front of my panties. “Are you in need of attention?”

“My wife and kids keep me busy enough.”

The blue fabric covering my crotch already had a burgeoning wet spot. “Would you like your own private dancer? Did you want Nicky to take you to the champagne room?”

I heard Quigley inhale, then exhale. He took another deep breath before he disclosed, “Not Nicky.”

We both stayed quiet for a moment. 

I heard a rustling on his end of the line. “Where are you?” I inquired.

“In the guest bathroom. Are you in bed?”

“Kind of. Kevin’s asleep, and I’m in another room.”

“What are you doing, besides talking to me?” 

I was tracing my clit through my cotton panties. “I was reading a book before you demanded that we converse orally.”

More indeterminable crinkling. “I requested politely. What book?”

“Hold on.” I rummaged through the desk to find a pair of headphones. There they were.

Hands free, I resumed our conversation. “A dusty John Grisham novel from Kevin's law school days. The movie was better.” Lying on the daybed, I returned my right hand to my warm mound, the left to circle my puffy areola.

“That’s an uncommon opinion,” he croaked.

“I'm an uncommon human being.” I squeezed my thighs, creating friction on my clit.

“According to whom?”

“What are you doing?”

He murmured, “Enjoying a moment of alone time.”

“Alone with me?”

“Alone together.”

“Separately,” I delineated. I raised my t-shirt and switched to the other large nipple.

“Not in the same room.”

“We can’t even see each other.”

“Which is fortunate,” he muttered. “My hair is a mess.”

We listened to each other as our breathing accelerated, neither of us acknowledging what was happening, not even to ourselves.

He gulped. “Jax.” I heard his phone drop on the bathroom tile.

I released the phone, clamped my thighs harder, and rolled both my nipples between my fingers until I came, almost crying from the excitement, biting my lip to suppress my moan.

A full minute passed before I dared to touch the phone.

“Are you there?”

With my underwear drenched and my breasts exposed, I responded, “Yes.”

“Did you…” He waited. 

“Did I…?” I wasn’t going to admit anything first.

“Did you cu… did you org… did you enjoy the carnival?”

I closed my eyes. “I spent time with my husband. I saw Nicky. I spoke with you. After all that activity, I’m glowing.”

“You must look radiant.”

“How friendly of you to say.”

“This is quite a pickle.”

“Are you addressing your penis?”

“Why would you say that!”

“You’re on the toilet!”

“I am! But I’m not… Our situation is a pickle.”

“How so?”

“Let me think about it.”

“You do that.”

“I’m happy.”

“So am I,” I allowed.

“You make me happy.”

That cucumber was growing brinier. I finally whispered, “So do you.”

“I’m thinking.”

I tugged my shirt back down over my breasts and arranged the daybed to its original appearance. “Good night, Quigley.”

“Good night, Jax.”

I stared at the screen, expecting Quigley to hang up. 

He remained on the line. 

Eventually, he wheezed, “Thank you.”

I grabbed the phone and shut it down.