Nope.
by parthenogenesis

"Nope." was written for review and critique by the Fish Tank. Because it was 732 words long, I declared it to be a flash story. Then I found out from the Serious Flash People that Real Flash ^TM is 300 words maximum. Acting on changes suggested by Fish Tank participants, I decided to accept the challenge to make "Nope." a Real Flash story.

Both the original version and the flash version are presented below. I leave it as an exercise for the student to decide whether the flash version is successful.

As Submitted (732 words)

My wife and I have had a storybook-happy marriage for twenty years. Sometimes I even think we've been blessed. We haven't had to face any real adversity, we haven't suffered any tragedy, fidelity has never been at question, and we've never had to endure one of the periods of severe marital strife that have threatened—or ended—the marriages of many of our friends. The mortgage is paid off, the cars are all ours, and the kids are away at college, all expenses paid by a trust fund my father established for the purpose when he knew that death was immanent.

My wife and I are near the peaks of our careers—though still on the ascent—and invest a lot of energy in our work. We are not averse to putting in extra hours when necessary, so it's not unusual for one of us to stay late at the office when a big project's near completion or a new product's about to ship. Thus, I didn't give it a second thought when my wife called me one afternoon to tell me that she was working late and wouldn't be home for dinner.

I stopped for some Chinese take-out on the way home, then spent a relaxed evening checking my email and reading newsgroups I participate in. By the time my wife returned about 11:30, I'd moved to an easy chair with a novel. I rose when she entered, and the instant I leaned toward her for the usual perfunctory welcome-home peck, I smelled it on her.

Before I could think of a single word to say, my cock went straight up, faster and harder than it has for some years. I crooked my arm behind my wife's neck, opened my mouth against hers, and insisted my tongue between her teeth. With my free hand, I began to knead her left breast roughly. At first my wife tried to pull away. Then she said, "Nmf!" and pressed her pelvis against mine.

After a few minutes standing in the den, I steered her to the bedroom, where I fairly tore off first her clothes and then my own. I pushed her onto the bed and fell beside her. I clamped my mouth to hers again and continued an insistent and urgent foreplay, squeezing the same left breast, then breaking the kiss to suck and nibble on her nipple. When I reached between her legs, I found that she was not just wet: she was sloppy, and the hair around her pussy was crusty. Seeing that no further lubrication was required, I ceased preliminaries and just piled in.

Then I fucked my wife, without finesse. Perversely, I found the proof of sloppy seconds to be far more exciting than repulsive. I was steel. I stayed up with my forearms extended to give me better leverage and let me watch my wife's face all the while. I withdrew and went deep, out to the tip and in to the hilt, out to the tip and in to the hilt, setting up a steady and unvarying rhythm. We did not speak. No "I love you's," no "God, you feel good's." Nothing. Presently, a flush spread up my wife's chest, her breath rate increased, and her calves snaked around my thighs—which I found interesting, since she's never reacted to me like that before.

Nonetheless, I didn't break my stride, and continued out to the tip and in to the hilt, out to the tip and in to the hilt. Some minutes later, I slammed into her one final time and came bullets. When she felt me pulsing inside of her, her eyes opened wide in surprise and she began to scream. At the same time, her heels beat a tattoo on the backs of my knees, and she pounded her fists into the mattress—which I found particularly interesting, since she's never come with me like that before.

I stayed inside of her while she went through her aftershocks, until I'd softened to the point where one noteworthy spasm was able to push me out. I performed the usual and customary services with Kleenexes, then rolled to one side, where I lay flat on my back and stared at the ceiling.

Silence—but not a heavy one—hung between us.

Finally, my wife spoke. "I guess I didn't get away with it, did I," she said.

Flash Version (300 words)

One afternoon, my wife called to say that she was working late and wouldn't be home for dinner. We both often work long hours, so I didn't give it a second thought.

By the time she came home, about 11:30, I'd settled into an easy chair with a novel. I rose when she entered, and the instant I leaned toward her for a welcome-home peck, I smelled it on her. My wife? Unfaithful after twenty years of marriage?

Before I could say anything, my cock went straight up. I kissed her, hard, and kneaded her breast roughly. At first she tried to pull away. Then she said, "Nmf!" and pressed her pelvis against mine.

I steered her to the bedroom, where I tore off first her clothes and then mine. When I reached between her legs, I found that she was not just wet: she was sloppy. Seeing that no further lubrication was needed, I piled in.

With a cock of steel, I withdrew and went deep, setting a steady and relentless rhythm. Presently, a flush spread up my wife's chest, her breath rate increased, and her calves snaked around my thighs—something new to me.

I pounded her even harder, moving my hips from side to side, until I slammed into her one final time and came so hard my vision faded. Her eyes opened wide and she began to scream. Her heels beat a tattoo on the backs of my knees and her fists pounded the mattress—something else new to me.

I stayed inside of her while she went through her aftershocks, then rolled to one side, lay flat on my back, and stared at the ceiling.

After some minutes of silence, my wife spoke. "I guess I didn't get away with it, did I?" she said.