Lifers

by K.C. Blume

I can’t get enough of it. The love bombing, the pet names, the subtle touches, and the eagerness to take care.

I think I could strangle her if she’d let me. If it meant she wouldn’t be just another temporary blue, I could handle watching the life drain from her eyes.

Our clits kiss beneath the water, just as sloppy and messy and wet as our mouths had.

If this were the nineteen-forties and we’d met under similar circumstances, I think she’d still have enamored me. Maybe our husbands would’ve tossed us into the same insane asylum for “failure to perform wifely duties”,