Domestic Bliss
Chapter 4 - Happy Birthday
I shut the garage door behind me and cut the engine on my bike, parking it next to the other two in the garage.
Rogue's bike isn't here, which means she all ready left for work. It's kind of a bummer; I was hoping to see her.
After spending 16 hours uncomfortably stuffed in someone's heating vent, I was looking forward to a certain friendly face when I got home (or at least a friendly blowjob). Not to mention that I haven't seen her for a week and half. (It's been a busy week at the office, so to say.)
Obviously, I don't call or text her to let her know I'm on my way home. This time I gave her a date, which I don't always do. If something happened, which it never will, she'd have plausible deniability and all that. Giving her an ETA on my arrivals would clearly give her information she shouldn't have. I don't try to keep my business life Completely separate from hers, but I'm certainly not going to put her in a situation that could make her uncomfortable.
I mean, she moonlights as a damn super hero for goodness sake. I am Not messing that up.
Placing my helmet on the peg on the garage wall, I let myself into the house. Rogue forgot to arm the alarm system so I do that as well, typing a few numbers (her measurements) into the retrofitted unit on the wall. It's not so much an alarm system as a way to keep the security cameras up and running. It's doesn't contact the authorities or anything. The only person it alerts is me.
I suppose you could say it's a point of pride.
I mean, really, I could not have any of my family visit without at least a few pressure sensitive buried trip wires or infrared lasers. It would be embarrassing if they could show up by just walking to the door and knocking. I'd be the laughing stock of the Christmas party, for sure.
And, obviously, I'm much too smooth for anyone to laugh at me.
I look around the kitchen to see a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and a couple pair of shoes lying near the back door. There's a half full cup of juice on the table, and well as what looks like my unfinished beer that Rogue said she'd finish after I left. On the opposite side of the kitchen table is one of her shop towels, with a partially disassembled two-cycle engine on it.
…I mean, why give her a work shop if she can just use the kitchen table?
Also, what do we even own that uses a two cycle engine? Leaf blowers, weed eaters? Nope. I hire out all our landscaping work. I'm not home enough and, let's be honest, Rogue's idea of pruning the rose brush is taking a chainsaw to it.
Ah, chainsaw. Makes sense. Although I doubt it needed to be taken apart in the kitchen.
I haven't figured out if my cleaning ladies love or hate her. On one hand, our house is a perpetual pigsty, but on the other hand, they're making good money.
I pay the cleaning service more now than I did when I was living on my own, and having seven pairs of sheets and seven women's outfits laundered a week. If you count the towels and throw blankets, it was a lot of laundry.
I grab the cup off of the table and proceed to drop it in the dishwasher before I head upstairs. Of course, the dishwasher is full (explains the sink full of dishes), but at least everything in it is clean.
Why the silverware tray includes three different crescent wrenches, I have no idea, but some things are better not to question.
I strip of my dusty, black long sleeve shirt as I round the kitchen and head up the stairs to our master bedroom. On the middle of the staircase, I see a discarded pair of tiny, lace panties. They're black. My favorite.
Not even questioning it, I pick them up, fisting them hard in my hand as I picture my woman dressed up in lingerie. My tongue is all ready wetting my lips as I find a discarded matching bra at the top of the stairs. I hear myself groan, knowing that I'm half hard and Rogue isn't here to help me with that problem.
The black stockings tossed haphazardly on the landing are nearly my undoing as I pick those up too. She's diabolical, that one. This isn't a case of my girlfriend being a slob, it's a case of her trying to put certain images in my head.
And it's certainly working.
I finally make it into our bedroom, one hand grasping my shirt and her delicates, the other slowly palming at my erection over my black pants.
I groan out loud, a bit frustrated, but I can't help the smirk that makes it's way to my face. I'll play the game. If my woman wants me all keyed up when she gets home, then that's exactly what she'll get.
I drop her discarded delicates onto the bed, figuring I can jerk off on them later.
Stripping out of my socks, pants, and boxer briefs, I stuff all my clothes into the hamper, and heads towards the connected bathroom.
I roll my head to either side and hear and feel a semi-uncomfortable pop in my neck. I should probably take time to stretch out at some point, holding one position for 16 hours isn't good for anyone, and I can't imaging having my left shoulder awkwardly twisted towards my face helped at all.
Either way: shower first. You'd think people would get their vents cleaned out more often. It was disgusting. Seriously, it's a house, not a barn.
I don't bother to flip the light switch. Our bathroom has a large window over the soaking tub that faces the back end of our property. Without any nosey neighbors (or neighbors in general), we leave the south facing windows open nearly all the time. The natural light is great, as is having your girlfriend sit on the edge of the tub, naked, wanting, and bathed in moonlight, while you bury your face between her legs.
The first thing I notice is the writing on the mirror. It's purple, obviously the shade my lover used to favor. She doesn't wear it so much anymore, but there have been a few moments she's had it on (along with matching goth outfits; you'd have to see it to believe it), mostly times I wanted her to play the high school student begging her devilishly handsome Cajun teacher not to give her detention.
All I'm saying is that there is just something about watching purple painted lips wrap themselves around your dick.
Ritz. 7:00
Room 313.
Happy birthday, lover.
Next to her script is a clear lip print; she obviously kissed the mirror, lips all freshly painted.
I press my hand again the mirror, my thumb resting over where her lips had been.
The 'lover' gives me pause. It's not a term she uses for me often, or nearly ever. I think my commitment-phobic girlfriend can't handle all the intimacy wrapped up in that word. Granted, it's a more than accurate term, and it's what I use most often to describe her, but she hesitates.
My thumb smudges the perfect imprint of her lips, as I step away from the mirror and head to the shower.
The water is hot and it feels good against my tired body.
Happy Birthday. What's that about? Technically, I have no idea what day my birthday is. There's a fake date on my fake license and fake birth certificate, but they don't mean anything to me. Rogue does her best to celebrate that day if we happen to be together, and I guess here we are again.
Not like I'm going to turn down a chance to celebrate with my woman. Birthday blowjobs are a given, and I'm not complaining.
I tilt my head down, letting the hot water run over the tight muscles at the back of my neck. The heat helps a bit, but not as much as I'd like.
Grabbing my container of body wash, I proceed to scrub the layers of who-knows-what and sweat off of my body. I repeat with my shampoo.
I guess it's time for a haircut. It's kind of getting ridiculous. I rinse my hair, feeling the tips brush my shoulders. I prefer it on the shorter side, by Rogue likes it longer so I let it grow. Typically, whenever it got past my chin, I knew it was time to cut it. That gave Rogue just a bit to run her fingers through. Now? Well, as Rogue's good friend Kitty would describe it, I look like I should be posing for the cover of some romance novel.
Despite the fact I had it tied back tightly today, I'm sure it got just as disgusting as the rest of my body, which is even more reason to chop it off…
But, I guess I'm just finding that I like to have my hair pulled as much as she does.
I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water relax my muscles and rinse the grim off of my worn-out body.
I have a few hours before I have to meet my woman, and I'm guessing I should take a nap first.
I have a feeling that I'll be in for a long night.
