What does a 10-year-old girl’s birthday party, a shockingly hot blonde tax accountant in a shitty ten-year marriage, and a gorgeous divorced orthopedic surgeon with an endless supply of Oxycodone spell to you? Yup, a train wreck of bad decisions waiting to happen. But hey, the sex was good.

I’ve kind of spoiled the story now, as you know what’s going to happen, but the details can still be fun to flesh out, right?

The Birthday Party: I shouldn’t have been there, but it was a new neighbor’s kid, and she and my daughter were about the same age and had hung out a few times during the summer, so it seemed like the right thing to do. They got along okay, and who doesn’t like cake? Plus, the kid’s mom was smart, if perhaps being a little avant-garde, by having an open bar available for the parents. Free booze was going to make the whole screaming kids’ shebang far more tolerable. Maybe she’ll start a cool trend with moms of Bellevue. Yay.

I say I shouldn’t have been there because it was technically my asshole of a husband’s time with his daughter, but something “…had come up last minute…” and so I had to take her instead. I know what that last-minute thing was, and it was called a Deborah from HR. Bitch.

Still, the cocktails made everything tolerable. And remember, I live next door, so there would be no driving involved. So you keep your self-righteous pants on, thank you very much.

And then he had to walk in and ruin everything. I am talking about: The Gorgeous Recently Divorced Orthopedic Surgeon. Yup. I’m capitalizing his title for emphasis. The Chicago Manual of Style can go fuck itself.

He lived three houses down and was here for the same reason I was, except his daughter was a son, and I think there was some sort of crush going on between the kids—Meh, who cares about the details, so long as no one gets pregnant. I know, they are only ten and twelve, but we live in scary times, right?

I knew he liked me; I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m pretty hot for being on the wrong side of forty, but I work out furiously (thank you, Joseph Pilates) and keep up with the Botox injections. I could swing for thirty-five if I took time with my make-up, and someone else did my hair for me.

The flirting was outrageous. We were both being as subtle as sledgehammers, and the only banging we were interested in was each other. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that third Mojito, and I probably should have said no to him when he surreptitiously said,

Do you want to take some Oxy?

Uh oh. Warning bells should be going off in everyone’s heads right now, but you know what, my marriage and my life sucked at that moment, so what would one little pill do?

Holy Mother Of GOD,” I exclaimed as it kicked in.

We exited the party that was in full swing and unlikely to finish for another hour or so, my house being a staggering forty-five seconds away on sexually frustrated feet.

The front door slammed shut, and we were at each other like teenagers. Thankfully I had not crushed the Oxy between my teeth but just swallowed as you are meant to do when it’s prescribed for pain. I didn’t need to be flying super high; my life sucked, but I wasn’t about to check out completely. I just wanted a little bit of fun.

And my little bit of fun was actually 6’4” and a combination of Norweigan and Japanese. The Norwegian was the dominant ancestry, though, so he was more Viking than Samurai. But still, the mixture was exotic enough.

He skillfully picked me up like I weighed nothing and took me upstairs, and I navigated us to my bedroom, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the lot from the ongoing party. I really didn’t need the kids to hear my ecstatic screaming.

He was shockingly gentle in his removal of my clothes for such a big man, but I guess that what becomes of you when you are a surgeon: Every movement was precise and controlled. I felt like I was being taken apart piece by piece, and it was lovely. It had been so long since I had any physical contact at all that his careful appreciation of my body was intoxicating.

Fully naked, I couldn’t really wait for him to get undressed, so I just unzipped his fly and took him in my mouth. Whatever they say about a man’s hands and his penis size is correct, at least as far as Norwegian Japanese surgeons go. I was going to be very well fucked indeed.

And I think we were thinking the same thing, as he didn’t let me suck him for very long. Just long enough for him to get his clothes off and be standing naked before me, my cock buried deep in my mouth all the while. 

Pushing me back on the bed, he didn’t mess around with licking my clit; I was already soaking wet from probably half an hour ago when he walked into the party.  I pulled his cock quickly into me, and feeling him fill me completely was the best sensation ever. But I was wrong. When he started to fuck me was even better.

Again, either his skills as a surgeon or some deep ancestral Viking genes (from all that raping and plundering, no doubt) made him an excellent lover. I haven’t been that well fucked in a dozen or so years. I could watch his fabulous torso above me all day, and with my legs wrapped around his great ass, he slammed his hard cock into me relentlessly. It was a brutally elegant fuck.

Shockingly I felt an orgasm appear out of nowhere. I have climaxed maybe three times in my whole life with a cock in me, so this was going to be exceptionally fun. As if sensing my excitement, he picked up the pace and took deliciously long strokes, sending me into an even higher realm of pleasure. I held out for as long as I could, and I think he was doing the same, not wanting the rapture to be over, but my screaming was going to be noticed at some point.

I buried my face into his body as I finally and exquisitely came, muffling the last scream by biting down hard into his chest. I’m sure that was going to leave a bruise if not drawn actual blood. Oops. But he didn’t seem to notice as he collapsed, totally spent on top of me. 

Time elapsed, from dropping the Oxy: Not more than twenty-seven minutes.

We would still be back in time for cake! Yay!

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