My Name Is Mose

MY NAME IS MOSE By Sealock My wife called me Mose for Moses, my middle name, though everybody else called me Jack. I loved the charming way her voice, her mouth, her lips caressed my special name ? Mose. It's as if she kissed me passionately just by saying my name. My face tingled with joy and embarrassment as if we performed an overtly sexual act in public. I especially longed to hear her say "Goll, Mose!" She said it in mock indignation, her beautiful brown eyes wide. Nobody says golly anymore and I don't think anyone ever shortened it to goll besides my wonderful wife. After she said 'Goll Mose', she'd smile at me and fill me to brimming with satisfaction. My wife kissed me for the first time after she said "Goll Mose". She spoke those words to me after I told her how much I enjoyed her company. I looked into her shining eyes while she spoke those words. She squeezed my heart of all the love I hold and I was devoted to that image of her beauty and innocence. Marcia, I would marry. I stood still in that knowledge as she stood on tiptoes and her warm sweet lips touched mine for the first time. Her comforting delicate hands placed on my forearms made me tense in anticipation. When she stepped back and I slowly opened my eyes, she whispered "Mose" sensuously. I saw her loving lips making an "O" around my special name and I had to kiss her. I shook with anticipation, my hands uncoordinated, uncomfortable - fumblingly sought her hips, yet I did taste her lips. I did taste her warm moist mouth and I couldn't tell where I ended and she began and I luxuriated in it until I had to breath in great gasps; I parted with her in anguish. I could not bear more. My wife messaged my neck and my head became weightless and relaxed - a magic touch from her warm and tiny hand. I regained composure and kissed her again and again. I lost myself in her and keenly felt the ache of desire, but I wanted her this way always. I went no farther, haste making waste. With care, I wanted to build our relationship, stone by stone and we were married two years later. My wife was shy around strangers, especially men, and blushed easily. She was petite, just barely five feet, and very pretty. Some guys came on to her because they thought she encouraged them with her shy and blushing way. I had been kayaking on the St. Johns River when a squall blew up. The wind blew me off course and the rain blinded me, but I paddled non-stop to the boat ramp and spent, slumped in the boat from exhaustion. I was wrestling the kayak onto the roof of the car but the wind kept blowing the kayak from my grasp. A friendly man appeared and helped me manhandle the boat to the roof. He then held the kayak in place while I lashed it down. I held out my hand in gratitude and he grasped it firmly. I thanked him profusely and asked him to dinner the next day. He agreed. My wife greeted him at the door in a respectable red dress, though she makes anything look sexy. He looked her over, gave an exaggerated hello and held her outstretched hand a little too long. Her face colored and her pretty brown eyes gleamed. I felt a stab of jealousy, but this happens frequently with my wife. During dinner, I felt like white text on white background - a poem, a novel, a saga, all there, ready to be enjoyed, but indistinguishable from the background. They rarely broke eye contact, ignoring me. This too happened before; I knew I would have to outwait the excitement of novelty. My wife led him to the living room while, with relief, I got the last three beers from the fridge. Parties tend to end when the beer runs out. I served the beer while he told a dirty joke I didn't find amusing, but my wife found very funny. When my wife laughed that way she melted my heart, she can really shine and she did so for him. Her face flushed while her body convulsed with the vain attempt to suppress her laughter, her hand covered her pretty mouth and her eyes shone with mirth. I smiled in spite of myself - what a treasure. My wife finished her beer last. He said, "time for a beer run." "It's getting late," I said stretching and yawning. "It's only nine-thirty," she refuted. "All right," I said patiently looking at him, "Let's go get some beer." He squirmed a bit, not answering immediately. Finally, he said, "Do you mind going alone? If you fly, I'll buy," he added with a grin. Confusion stilled me; this was not what I expected. They waited on my answer while the tension rose. I couldn't say, "I don't want you to be alone with my wife" that would be rude and offensive on more than one level. She would think I didn't trust her and I invited him into my home out of gratitude for his assistance. "Mose would you pick up some milk, too?" she said into the rising tension, and for me, that settled it. "Yeah, sure," I answered loving the way she called me Mose. I reasoned jealousy was a base emotion and not worth the effort. I loved my wife dearly. My wife sat next to him in my cozy house - warm on the comfortable couch. I drove alone into the cold night and I was gone twenty-one minutes. Apparently, I took too long because it was enough time to ruin my life. I entered the house, but found no one in the living room. So, I went to the bedroom, still no sign. His car was still in the driveway, so I knew he was still there. That's when I heard the sounds coming from the master bathroom. The door never closed all the way, unless you put your weight against the door. They had forgotten and I will pay for that oversight for the rest of my life. The door was ajar and through the opening, I saw a reflection in the mirror. I still see it. My wife sat on the commode with her head lowered. Her lovely mouth forming the "O" in Mose I love so much. The beautiful warm soft pure lips that lift me to the heavens when speaking my name, slid down then up his erect penis while her delicate childlike hand squeezed his vile coarsely veined appendage. He stood over her, and guided her head with polluted hands in her silky clean chestnut hair. The swine growled, "You're gonna swallow it all you pretty little slut." My wife devoured him like a famine victim thrown to feast. Her legs were spread wide with hips rolled forward to him, while her other hand worked feverishly under her hiked up dress. She shook with an excitement I've never witnessed. The muscles of his forearm tensed like cables moving under his skin. He groaned loudly and rhythmically to the background of her deeply satisfied moaning. She worked her exquisite mouth as if he created the gods ambrosia from the hairy wrinkled sack between his legs and dispensed it through his glistening member. When he finished feeding her, he removed himself from her embrace with a grunt. She swallowed and licked the excess from her lips remaining puppy-dog eager to please him. The swine smirked down on her with an appalling lack of gratitude. I quickly and quietly walked away. I left, forgetting the beer and milk in the refrigerator. I stepped out the front door into the cold fresh air but the aching hole in my chest remained. I wanted to run but my chest felt too tight to breathe. Alone, I walked around the block, trying to put together coherent thoughts, but pain blasted them apart. I resolved to go home, get that pig out of my house and maybe confront her later. I walked in the door, went to the fridge and got three beers. They were back in the living room and spoke animatedly about a TV show they both watched, but they spoke too loud and the comments were inane. I entered the living room and looked on my beautiful wife with eyes that could not hide the knowledge of my betrayal. Instantly a look of concern and grief passed over her features and she looked away. I served the beers. Casually I asked, "what did you do while I was gone?" She answered defensively, "we were just talking." "No hanky panky then?" I said menacingly. "Well, maybe a little," he winked at me and laughed hard. I wanted to tear his throat out when my wife said, "Mose, stop it!" The lips that earlier caressed that pig's glistening shaft so eagerly now made the sensual O in my special name. She walked over to me and covered my hand with the delicate hand that earlier squeezed his coarsely veined member. I could feel her desperation - she ached to heal, but the wound was deep. She pressed her warm lips to mine. So, what was the thought that consumed my mind? Thoughts concerning her desperation to reassure me meant she still loved me? Gratitude at receiving this beautiful woman's attention again? Joy that ultimately, she cared deeply for me? Thoughts of Forgiveness for my angelic wife who, consumed by passion, strayed? No, No, that wasn't it at all. I wondered if she thoroughly cleaned the porcine semen from her mouth. 3300 1.22/512345