Love is....A Funny Thing

Status: Finished

Love is....A Funny Thing

Status: Finished

Love is....A Funny Thing Love is....A Funny Thing

Short Story by: Barbara Miller

Genre: Romance

Houses:

Short Story by: Barbara Miller

Details

Genre: Romance

Houses:

Summary

Love is such a funny thing....it can get us into all sorts of trouble.....

Summary

Love is such a funny thing....it can get us into all sorts of trouble.....

Content

Submitted: February 25, 2014

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Content

Submitted: February 25, 2014

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Love’s a funny thing, Sean thought as he watched her.  You think you’re in love but are you really?  Isn’t it all just about pheromones?  Or is it just lust?  He’d fallen in love with her a couple of years ago.  They were staying at the same hotel in the Algarve.  They got talking while they were trying to sunbath around the pool, shivering in a cold April wind.  They’d spent all their time together during that week and discovered they had a lot in common.  They lived in the same part of town and worked in offices in the city.  How cool was that?  He smiled as she came over to him.

She swung her hips provocatively at him and giggled.  He grasped her round the waist and pulled her onto his lap.  “I want more than that…” They kissed hungrily and slithered off the sofa.  He pulled her on top of him.

Innocence… she had been innocent when they’d met.  Never had a boyfriend before.  Never made love to any man.  He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him.  How could she have got through life without love? But she had.  The first time they made love, she was timid and frightened.  But now… now she was like a wild woman and she couldn’t get enough of him.  Even after two years, they still made love madly and passionately.

So am I in love?  He wondered as they made love on the fluffy rug in front of the sofa.  And what am I doing making love here of all places? 

“Stop!”  He exclaimed, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

Catherine pulled herself away, “What’s wrong?”

“This.  This is wrong.  We shouldn’t be doing this… here…!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” He felt emotions whirling inside him.  Was this what they called love?  This turmoil that went on inside you?  This nervous, pent-up tension?  He pushed her from him and tried to stand up.  She grinned, glancing down at his trousers.  “Oh!”  He exclaimed, blushing.

“Why can’t we do it here?”  She asked, “We’ve done it in most places!  Why not here?”

“Because…” Oh hell!  What am I doing?  He thought as he grasped her and pulled her towards him again, kissing her.

She groaned softly, then whispered, “Shall I shout loudly?”

Shout?  No!  “No, just softly, in my ear like you always do.  I like it like that!”

She moaned again and he hoped no one could hear.

He opened his eyes and was alarmed to see that they had an audience.  A small boy was peering from behind the sofa.  “Hi!”  He said to the boy, feeling his face going red as he hastily tried to fasten his zip.

Catherine sat up and stared at the boy as she fastened her blouse.  “Hi there little fella!”

“Hi!”  The boy said, “Were you having sex?”

“That’s right!”  Catherine exclaimed.

“Here?”

“Yep!”  She said, smiling at the boy.

“Wow!”  He exclaimed as he turned away.

“Hey!”  Sean called.

The boy turned back.  “What?”

“Don’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Sean wasn’t sure what to say, “Well we’re supposed to be in here to buy a sofa….”

“OK!”  The boy ran off.

“We’d better go.”  Sean said.

“Why?”  Catherine stroked his leg.  “We could do it again…”

“No!”  Sean exclaimed as he sat on the sofa.

“Ah why not…?”  She purred.

Whatever happened to innocence?  Sean wondered as he looked at the woman standing before him.  How had she become such a siren, leading him astray?  “We’re supposed to be in here buying a sofa.”

“So?”

“So we should leave.”

She grinned.  “OK if that’s what you want!” 

As they left, she winked at the assistant at the door and Sean wondered whether anyone other than the little boy had seen them on the floor at the back of the store.

 


© Copyright 2016 Barbara Miller. All rights reserved.

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