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Graham whittaker

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· Picking Up Peas With Chopsticks

· The Butterfly Effect

· The Girl From Kosovo


Short Stories
· Planting Seeds

· A Christmas Tale

· Picking up Peas With Chopsticks

· Into White

· When It's Over... It's Over

· Katies Ride

· Better Late Than Never?

· Thursday Night Roast

· Betrayal

· not finished... trying to find pages!

· What is a futurist



· People

· Passion - a reflection


· Is This What I Have Feared All My Life?

· England My England!

· Alien Visitation

· What's In a Handbag...?

· Waiting in the Wings

· The Leader

· A Cyber-curse on Bank Managers

· Threads

· Love

· Kings

· The Ballad of Rolly Rat

· Andy and Me



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Thursday night roasted again
By Graham whittaker
Posted: Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Last edited: Wednesday, March 14, 2007
This short story was "not rated" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Graham whittaker
· Into White
· A Christmas Tale
· Planting Seeds
· When It's Over... It's Over
· Thursday Night Roast
· Katies Ride
· Holy Spirit Tours
           >> View all 37
it's getting a little warmer in the kitchen!



A soft tinkling tune awakens me.  The magical announcement  that you are already awake and that your first thought was of me. My eyes struggle to focus as I reach for the mobile phone on my bedside table.  I slide it under the covers, close to my chest. The little electronic message envelope tantalizes me, but  I want to savour the moment when I open it later. 


Next to me, my husband sleeps.  His jaw slack, mouth so wide open I feel the urge to shove one of his damn golf balls in it.  A thin stream of drool has dried on his chin.  He makes a series of rhythmic choking sounds with each inward breath. Then with every outward one,  the acrid smell of stale beer and cigarettes wafts past my face making me grimace. This is the first morning I have woken up next to him in over a week


I touch the tender spot under the rib on my right hand side.  As if I have turned on some kind of  pleasure button, the pain brings a flash of excitement.  I think about last night and actually moan out loud.  Even the thought of it  brings an involuntary  spasm.  I slip my hand between my legs and feel the new wetness you have just caused.   A bizarre chain reaction - beginning with the phone message – has already started flashing images of the raw intense sex we had only hours ago.  A slideshow of tastes, smells and textures begins.  The smooth, fruity wine we shared over dinner. Plump briny oysters we sucked from their shells.  Then the main course…served salaciously in the restaurant’s disabled restroom facility. The slight musky aroma of your cock as it  slides in and out of my mouth  then the faint saltiness of you on my tongue as you  explode in my throat in a climactic gush. The sound you make when you come. Oh when I think about that sound …and how it has affected me for the last 3 years and four months…


I don’t know when I first started to quantify our relationship in terms of days, months or years.  I don’t know why I need to at all. Once I vowed never to do such a thing.  I enjoyed the free, floating connection we had.  How we were drawn together mostly by lust and the need to explore different pleasures.  How we took from each other only what we needed at the time.   But …things have changed between us. You marked that change by telling me that you love me.  That our relationship means something to you.  Tsunamis have swept countries away, earthquakes have devastated colonies since the dawn of time - but nothing shook my world more than that announcement.


I have loved before. But I have loved carefully. Always protected myself from the hurt that love inevitably brings.  Shrouded myself with a protective coat of love-proof armour…that I wear with pride still today.  I will never take it off.  Not even for you. It’s because of you that I need that armour now more than ever.  


I have been desired before. But  I’ve always treated that desire with somewhat bittersweet disdain. The notion that I can bring pleasure thrills me.  It has always made me feel powerful…in control.  But no man has ever made me feel like you. Power and control are two things I never feel when I am with you.


That powerlessness leaves me hot and yearning  all the time, in a constant state of unfulfilment.   It’s as though your need ignites mine and neither of us  seems to be completely satisfied for long. It’s like some terrible disease that has spread to our core, making us crave each other like a vampire craves blood.   You never care where or when…but you touch my breasts in public places. Your hands touch my ass no matter where we are or who we are with.  You do this because you delight in the fact  that I am continuously aroused  when I’m near you.  The thought that I have been permanently aroused for 3 years and 4 months makes me smile…


Those thoughts prompt a quickening of finger strokes increasing the slick wetness between my legs. I feel the hard tiny nob of my clitoris swell until I think it will burst, yet I am nowhere near orgasm.  With you, orgasm is as much a mind pleasure as a physical one. 


Sometimes being with you terrifies me.  Obsession is not part of my makeup,  yet  I think I can never do without the soul altering highs that you cause. When I am not with you I feel the way a junkie must feel when he can’t have a fix. I have to keep reminding myself that I can walk away at any time.  That I can just tighten my protective coating, turn my back on you and move on with my life.  Cold turkey.


In my more vulnerable moments… I  think of myself as some kind of lovestruck teenager.  But I am not a teenager. I am a married woman with a husband and three children who depend on me for their every need. You – with your oozing sexuality  have thrown my planet out of its orbit and sent me hurtling towards some strange solar system.  And I… in my most vulnerable moments… just want to give myself up to it all.


With my free hand, I slide the phone under my t-shirt and rub it against my nipples. I close my eyes and relive last night.  After the restaurant.  The walk to your car, parked discreetly in the shadows of the empty carpark. Your cock hard… swelling again after the restroom interlude, straining against your pants.  Pressing against my belly as you kiss me.  You turn me gently, and my tingling nipples press against the door of the car.  You lift my dress.  As always, a moment… a thrilling moment of slight panic. What if someone….then the delicious, incomparable sensation of having you inside me.  The relief of it. As though I have been just surviving on almost empty and now I am complete again..

As always, I  am  wet and  ready…the mere anticipation  of each encounter is all I ever need to cause a slick readiness. You kiss my neck, sending quivering electrical pulses through every nerve.   Your breathing quickens with each firm, urgent stroke.  It feels  so good  even here and now…under the covers.    Then you pull yourself out of me, and turn me around, opening the car’s rear door.


As always, you try to take control, guiding me into the back seat. But I want  to be in control this time.   

“You sit” I whisper…forcing you into the car. Your cock already free of the constraints of your trousers  as I climb in after you.  All I can think of is feeling it inside me again….the intense longing almost too much to tolerate.  The moon casts a dim light around the car…just enough for me to see your face as I straddle you and lower myself ever-so-slowly onto you.  I feel so swollen with lust that I just want to tear at you and make you pound the need out of me.  But instead, I force my body to make slow rhythmic movements…grinding gently against you like a belly dancer. You try to quicken the pace, arching your back, holding my hips, trying to thrust harder, pulling me against you, rubbing almost maniacally. Under my dress, against my bare skin your thumbs dig roughly into my ribs.  The pain sears like a stream of molten lava.   The sensation of your cock sliding across my clitoris with each stroke ignites tiny fireworks inside me and I know I have lost any control I ever thought I had. 

Tell me how it feels” I whisper…barely able to form the words

Your eyes are closed and your breathing  becomes  desperately shallow.  I know you are close …

…so good… oh God I can’t hold..”  

 Then your body convulses in a series of thrusting spasms inside me.  Each one followed by those sounds you make.  Those beautiful shuddering sighs that sweep me up higher and higher till I’m carried away in the twister of  our orgasms.  Sometimes it is strangely disappointing when the orgasm comes.  Even though the climax  is indescribable…I always want you even more when it quells.


After it’s over…we stay in that position. Collapsed in each other’s arms… hearts beating out a furious, fabulous tribal dance for a few minutes. Then you hold my face and cover it with tiny, tender kisses and I feel the creeping need begin to claw its way into my heart again.

God I love you baby” you say.


Under the covers I let my mind once again conjure a picture of your face just before you burst open inside me. My fingers don’t need to do any more and I come as quietly as I can while my husband continues to snore. This morning I feel physical relief but nothing more. Nothing like I felt last night. This is what terrifies me.  The emptiness I feel when I am not with you.  The weariness of trying to feign normality during the meaningless chasms of time that stretch from you - to you.


I watch the stranger, snorting and moaning in his sleep beside me. Vaguely I wonder why I feel no sadness, or guilt for the way I have betrayed him. I try to recollect when the passion died but I know that with you I have re-defined passion.  No matter how far I reach inside myself, I cannot find those feelings for him.  I still function as a loving mother. But my children don’t have to know that sometimes when my smile beams brightest, it is because of a little electronic envelope and the message of love it contains.   They don’t need to know that my day contains other things besides the laundering of their clothes and the cooking of their meals. 

I love them. That is without question, but as I slip out of bed  and head for the shower, I feel a surge of confidence that was never there before I began this journey with you.  I know myself. The real me is a complete woman whose passion for life is fuelled by many things.  I will wash you off me, and out of me…then I will think about cereal and school lunches.  Then I will open my mail…











Reader Reviews for "Thursday night roasted again"

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Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 1/12/2005
great write, dora! well done!

(((HUGS))) and love, your tx. friend, karen lynn. :D
Reviewed by Judy Lloyd (Reader) 1/11/2005
Now this should be printed in Harlequin Romances it is that good.

Books by
Graham whittaker

Picking Up Peas With Chopsticks

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The Girl From Kosovo

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Signed copy!
Kindle, Nook, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, more..

The Butterfly Effect


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