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By Raziel Moore
Invisible Lines (Novella)

Mere Moments

by Robert Buckley


erotic fictionThe house was lit up, a beacon in the darkening twilight guiding her to its dead-center location within the suburban cul-de-sac. But she hesitated; rather than making straight for the driveway already occupied by Jason’s BMW, she parked across the street and cut the Jeep’s engine. Even if she hadn’t seen his car she would know Jason was home. Every light in the house was on; he liked a lot of light. It must have made home seem like the office, and he always took his work home.

She leaned back, still gazing at the house, and covered her mouth with the back of her left hand. She had been absently stroking her index finger along the ragged band of her thigh-high stocking, the one that now drooped just above her right knee. She traced a slight scratch that nevertheless had swollen into a small welt. When had that happened? Oh, yes. When she made a futile grab for her panties and her nail had caught the top of her stocking instead. Futile? Or half-hearted?

“Jesus,” she whispered. “What the hell did happen?”

She had agreed to show the homely ranch-style home as a favor for Margretta, who got called to pick up her daughter from school. The girl had taken ill in class.

“She damned well had better not be preggo,” Margretta said as she hauled on her coat and glanced at Ashlyn. “Thanks, Hon, I owe you one. Did I tell you he’s a single guy just looking for a small place by himself? Sounded like the ranch was perfect; besides, how long has it been listed? Since before you started, I think. Okay, wish me luck and hope it’s the flu.”

Ashlyn thought she saw the air swirl in Margretta’s wake.

Ashlyn looked at the clock. The client wouldn’t be there for another forty-five minutes. It would be dark before she got home. Then she shrugged. Jason would have made himself something in the microwave and eaten it in his home office while conducting non-stop telephone conversations. Hadn’t she spent entire evenings and gone to bed without even seeing him, much less greeting him?

Still, she didn’t like showing a property so late in the day, especially at dusk.

The client was entirely average looking. That is, nothing really stood out about him. She guessed he was in his late thirties. No wedding band on his finger. Short, dark, straight hair. Maybe 5-feet, 9-inches. Maybe not that tall? Utterly unremarkable, except for one of the few times he raised his gaze to her. Didn’t it seem like he had the saddest, deep-brown eyes? It affected her, took her by surprise; a wary concern rose in her breast. A few times she tried to look right into his eyes again and succeeded; each time he looked away, almost like a boy trying to avoid being seen to cry.

My God, she thought, he looks like a kid whose puppy just died.

He had introduced himself as Gabriel Ralston.

“Hi, Ashlyn Corey. I’m afraid Margretta got called away on a personal matter and asked me to show you the property. I hope that’s all right.”

“Yes, sure, of course. She said she had a specific house in mind for me?”

“Yes, it’s a small ranch. It had been owned by an elderly man, but he passed away. His children are selling it.”

“He lived there alone?”

“Yes, he did. I’m required to disclose that he died in the house.”


“Um, yes, I’m afraid he did.”

“Well, good for him. Better than dying in a nursing home surrounded by a bunch of strangers.”

“Um, yes, I suppose. Well, would you like to ride with me ...?”

“I’ll follow in my car, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. It’s not too far. It’s on a very quiet street.”

“Fine. Please, after you Ms. Corey.”

He followed her outside where they got into their cars.

She kept her eye on her rearview during the short drive to the house. There was nothing special about his car either. She couldn’t even tell the make or model. But she became aware of a nascent curiosity about the man. She shrugged. He’s just a client, just another guy.

There wasn’t much to show. The place was small, the only bedroom tiny. The bathroom was off the hall. The largest area in the house was the combo kitchen-dining area. There wasn’t much to plug about the outdated and worn cabinetry.

She stepped a distance away from him, allowing him some space to inspect the area, then she turned her back to him. The sensation came on her all of a sudden, not one of dread, nor even anxiety, but perhaps ... anticipation?

She sensed him behind her, but before she could turn he had lifted her off her feet. He carried her, carefully she thought, to the breakfast island and gently laid her down on the faux marble counter.

What happened then? What didn’t happen? She replayed the sequence in her head, questioning herself, accusing herself. Was she in shock? Was she frightened? She shook her head as if to clear it and restarted the scene in her mind again.

She never said stop, she didn’t say no, even as she lay on the counter while he unzipped her boots and slid them off her legs. She could have kicked him away; she could have screamed. Why didn’t she?

She closed her eyes and watched herself lie there, passive ... no, not passive. And not resigned, either; not like a rabbit in the fox’s mouth. The realization came to her and made her stomach knot, then flutter. She was waiting to see what would happen next.

Her ears burned as she recalled his hands reaching beneath her skirt, coursing up her thighs, his fingers curling around the waist of her panties, the way he drew them down, not violently, not even in a hurry, and she feeling them slip off her hips as if in slow motion. They were already past her knees when a voice told her she had to do something. That’s when she tried to snatch them, but it was already too late; her finger grazed her thigh and curled around her stocking top. She recalled the sound of the fabric tear.

She continued to lie there, unresisting, even as he lifted himself onto the counter and rucked her skirt up to her hips. His hands cajoled her thighs to part and then he was above her, his cheek pressed to hers. She gasped when he entered her, and then there was a deep and transcendent sensation of being filled. Her cunt clenched him as his arms slid beneath her and cradled her. His thrusts were tentative at first, but then they accelerated, achieving a rhythm that remained, however, gentle.

She closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation. Held in his caressing embrace, she relaxed as if she were being carried along on a rolling railcar over tracks, lulled not by the clickety-clack, but by their alternating breaths, pants and gasps. Her legs, bent at the knees, clenched his hips as her heels spurred his buttocks.

He trembled and then released himself inside her. But even as his body relaxed he held his weight off her.

Then he kissed her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Wha ... what?” Her orgasm was delayed, low-wattage, but it pulsed beyond her pussy and into her belly. It was the realization that she had one that made her at last try to push him off, even as she realized that her arms tightly cradled his head.

He hesitated until she relaxed her embrace, then he pushed himself off the counter and stood.

She raised herself into a sit and then swung her legs off the counter and hopped down. Her head was swimming and she had to hold on to the island a moment. She tried to fix her skirt. The damaged stocking drooped off her knee.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not ... I don’t ...”

She gathered her things.

“We better go,” she said. “Go!”

He attempted to say something else, but turned and strode out the door.

She tried to keep her wits about her, locked up the house and hurried to her Jeep. Inside she fumbled for her keys, then fired up the engine. She didn’t even remember the drive home.

*    *    *

She continued to gaze at her house, thinking she’d caught sight of Jason’s shadow across one of the windows. A chill made her shiver, then her hand curled beneath her skirt.

“My panties!”

The last time she remembered seeing them they were dangling off her ankle.

“Oh, shit!” They must have fallen off. They must still be at the house. She’d have to go back.

But she wanted to change out of her clothes. She didn’t relish driving back to the place in a skirt and no panties, and one stocking just about falling off. What if someone saw her?

They’d think I just got laid, she thought, her face contracting into a rueful frown.

She started the engine and pulled into the driveway. For a moment she sat.

What would she tell Jason? Would he even notice? Had he ever once greeted her when she got home? No, not once, not ever.

What if this was the first time? Sure, maybe he’s standing at the door with flowers in one hand and dinner waiting in a candle-lit dining room.

She almost laughed out loud. She got out of the car and hurried inside, not stopping to call out I’m home. Instead, she bolted right up the stairs and along the hall to their bedroom. She heard Jason chatting loud enough to make out the conversation, and even guess who he was talking to. No hesitation at all, not even a beat to acknowledge she’d come through the door. He probably didn’t realize she was there.

She stripped off her clothes, making sure to toss the ravaged stockings in a trash receptacle in the bathroom. She gave herself a cursory inspection. No bruises, no cuts except for the self-inflicted scratch. The panties flashed in her mind. She envisioned them lying out in the open on the kitchen floor. How would she explain that?

She pulled on a pair of fleece jogging pants and a top. She didn’t bother with a bra or panties. Then she slipped on a pair of sneakers and skipped down the stairs and out to the car. Nothing at all from Jason. He was still chatting in his office.

It was a short drive back to the house, but it seemed like every idiot in the world competed to get in her way. She beeped at some old person in one of those hover-mobiles, or whatever they called them.

Get off the road with that thing, you old fart!

She passed him in a wide arc as he shook his fist at her.

Finally she pulled up across the street from the house. It was dark, quiet, she took a furtive glance up and down the street, and then she stepped out and began to cross. She came to a dead stop when she saw him sitting in his car.

Holy shit! Why is he still here?

She thought she should run, but then a creeping anger took hold. She strode up to his car and demanded, “Why are you still here?”

Startled, he sat up, his mouth agape. “I ... I was waiting for the cops.”


“I figured you had probably called them, told them what happened, what ... I ... did.”

She shook her head as if to clear it.

“You think you raped me?”

“Well ... I did, didn’t I?”

She didn’t know how to answer him. Instead she said, “You’ve been sitting here ever since ... waiting to be arrested?”

“Look, Ms. Corey ...”

“It’s Mrs. Corey ... I’m married!”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Look, for what it’s worth, I don’t ... I mean, I’ve never ever ...”

She shook her head again, as if frustrated, confused. She walked past him and headed for the house.

“Where ... where are you going?” he called after her.

“I have to get something!” she said.

She fumbled with the keys, dropped them, fumbled them again. Finally she unlocked the door and flicked on the lights.

The panties lay on the floor a few feet from the island, which she inspected, as if expecting to find an impression of herself.

“God,” she whispered. Then she noticed the tacky streak of semen on the counter.

“Jesus!” She searched the cabinets until she found a mostly spent roll of paper towels. She ran a piece under the faucet then returned to the counter and scrubbed away the streak. With a remnant she dried the spot.

Hurriedly she inspected the area and, satisfied there was no further evidence of her ravishment, she shut off the lights and locked up.

He was still sitting in his car. She walked up to him.

“You didn’t use anything,” she said.

He appeared momentarily puzzled, then, “Oh, no ... you’re right. I’m so sorry; but I wasn’t planning on ...”

“Raping someone today?”

“Oh, Christ, I hope I haven’t gotten you pregnant.”

“Huh? No! You can’t. I mean, I won’t. But how can I tell if you haven’t given me some ... some disease or something?”

“That’s not very likely.”

“Says you?”

“Really, I haven’t had any kind of intercourse in ...” he began to count his fingers. “Um, seven ... no more like eight years, maybe longer probably. I think if I had something, it would have shown up long before now.”

Ashlyn cocked her head. “What the fuck is with you?”

“Look, I could tell you that ... something just came over me, but that would sound so ridiculous. I’ve done you a terrible wrong and I wouldn’t blame you if you turned me in. I’d almost rather you did.”

“You think you raped me?” She asked the question of herself as much as she asked it of him.

“Well, yeah ... didn’t I? I mean, I didn’t ask; I didn’t even make a pass. I just ... I wish I could explain, but I can’t even explain it to myself.”

She stood back from his car.

“Do you want to fuck me ... again?”

His adam’s apple bobbed violently from a double gulp.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you still want to have sex with me?”

“I ... well ... I don’t know what to say.”

“Aw, for Christ’s sake, it isn’t a trick question.”

“Um ... but ... yes.” The way he said it was like steam escaping from a radiator.

Ashlyn was again feeling like she was standing outside herself, wondering what was going to happen next.

“Well, I suppose we should behave like any other tawdry, cheating, skulking, illicit couple and find a hotel room,” she said, even as a shiver shook her spine. “I know a place just off the highway. Follow me.”

*    *    *

It was one of those chain motels, clean, efficient, convenient.

Ashlyn stood a few feet away from the desk as Gabriel signed for both of them. Another shiver rattled her as the clerk gave her a cursory look. She wished them a good night and informed them of the complimentary breakfast.

The room was spare and neat. Ashlyn chuckled to herself thinking: It looks like it’s never been slept in.

Gabriel stood beside the bed and looked down, then turned to her.

“Well.” He shrugged.

“Well,” she said. Then she lifted her top off over her head and tossed it to the floor.

Gabriel reacted with a sudden intake of breath.

Goose pimples emerged over her shoulders, but she didn’t feel chilled.

“Why?” she asked.


“Why did you do it? Why me ... why’d you pick on me?”

He shrugged and his gaze went past her.

“I ... I could say ... and it’d be true ... that I just noticed ... the color of your hair, or the way you turned your ankle and cocked your hip when you pointed toward something. Or your voice, how really ... sweet it sounded. And maybe all kinds of things combined, and I wanted you ... I wanted you so much.”

A pink blush chased away her goose pimples.

Then his face changed, contorted, and again she saw that barely repressed agony in his eyes.

“Or maybe,” he said. “Maybe ... the loneliness just began to spill out.”

He looked straight into her eyes then. “Have you ever wanted ... needed to connect ... just connect with someone? It wasn’t so much for the sex, I just wanted to be inside you, and hold you ... even ... become one with ... Ah, hell, I can’t explain something that ... I can’t explain.”

“Connect?” she asked. “Yeah, we connected all right. Listen, I’m going to tell you something because it’s driving me crazy. A woman isn’t ... I’m not supposed to feel like this. But ... for that time you held me ... Jesus ... screwed me! I had never felt so ...”


“My, God, yes. That’s the word.” She swept a finger past one eye. “Yeah, cherished.”

“But still ...”

“Still what?”

“I shouldn’t have ...”

“Yeah, me neither.”

She touched her arms, as if she just remembered she was naked from the waist up.

“Well, are we going to do this?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He began to undress as she pulled her pants down and kicked them off her feet along with the sneakers.

They stood naked, one just watching the other. His cock had risen. He blushed.

She tugged the bedclothes back and slid beneath them. He followed her and settled beside her.

“We don’t have to rush,” she said.

“Won’t ... someone be missing you?”

“No ... Not for a while anyway. Take your time ... please.”

She lay back as his hands flattened against her thighs and began long slow surveys of her body. He kissed her knees, ankles, her feet. Then his hands proceeded over her belly, where he dipped his tongue into her navel, swirled it around and then kissed his way along each rib.

Selfishly, she thought, she just lay quietly, passively enjoying his attentions, allowing the heat of his hands to penetrate to her core. She measured his breaths that were becoming ragged, desperate. When he separated her thighs she offered as much resistance as a rag doll. That wonderful feeling of being filled in turn aroused her desire for that cradling embrace with which he had fucked her at the house. Would he?

At once he slid his arms beneath her and rocked her gently with each thrust. She felt entirely taken and gloriously helpless.

God, let it go on forever.

An orgasm snuck over her, a weak pulse followed by another, then another. A steady trickle of low-wattage jolts.

Then he moaned, and the sensation of him releasing his fluids inside her triggered a deep, shuddering thump. She grinned helplessly like an idiot as they both came down.

But he was not through. He kissed her, a deep, claiming kiss. And after he had lifted himself off her he continued to cradle her in his arms.

She remained quiet, still passive.

“How ... how is it you’ve been celibate so long? Eight years?” she asked. “How old are you anyway?”

He chuckled, a rueful acknowledgment.

“I just don’t get along.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have any friends ... not, you know, real friends. I mean, sometimes I go along with some guys at work for a drink, but ... well, I hate sports bars. Nobody talks about anything, but everything’s loud. I’m out of my element; never been much of an athlete, never been interested in whatever it is that guys are supposed to be interested in. And with women ... I’ve always been pretty much a non-entity, I guess.”

“But ... you’re such a good ... um ...”

“I never thought I’d hear a woman say that.”

“C’mon,” she pressed. “You’re not a virgin ... you couldn’t be ...”

“There’ve been women ... sure. Nothing special ... I was just what was available at the time.”

She said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “Aw, it’s my own fault. I don’t like people; truth is, I like my solitude. I wanted to buy a small house for myself so I could avoid living in an apartment building. Listening to everyone’s life going on around me, and me just out there ... beyond anyone else’s orbit. It just ... it just ... sometimes it ... I get so lonely ... and I’ve no one else to blame for it.”

“When I first saw you I thought you looked like someone who’d been hurt by someone else... very deeply.”

“No,” he sighed. “Just me ... my own worst enemy.”

For a moment her thoughts turned to Jason. She wondered if he had missed her. It must be late. She was about to take a quick glance at her watch when Gabriel said, “Hey, turn over.”

She complied and he began to explore her back in the same slow deliberate manner that he had her belly, breasts and thighs.

After he pulled back the covers and coursed his hands over her ass, he whispered, “You are so beautiful. I can’t imagine your husband being able to keep his hands off you.”

“Shh, please.”

“I ... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ...”

“It’s okay. It’s just ... I know a thing about loneliness too.”

He nibbled her cheeks and slid his tongue between the rounds of her ass. She was mildly surprised when he lifted her to her knees and plunged his cock into her from behind. In this stance his thrusts were more aggressive, like that of a teenager going all into a tumble for his first time. She grinned at the thought, even as he pummeled her ass. He came all at once and slipped out of her.

“Oh, Christ. Sorry, your behind made me crazy.”

She began to laugh.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No! Course not.”

They fell together again. This time she kissed him, and nibbled his shoulders. For a while they dozed.

Finally she looked at her watch and gasped. She stood out of bed and quickly dressed.

“I have to go ... I’m sorry.”

He lay back in the bed and shrugged.

After she had slipped her sneakers on she looked down at him.

“We shouldn’t see each other again.”

“I understand ... but ...”


“I think I’m going to buy that house.”

She shook her head. “Well, you’ll need to deal with Margretta. Please, don’t take offense if I make sure I’m not in the office when you come by.”

“It’s okay ... I understand. Thank you, Ashlyn.”

She tried to say goodbye but her throat had thickened. Finally she managed, “Are you staying here?”

“Why not? The room’s paid for, and this is the most beautiful bed in the world. I guess I’d rather wake up in it, even if I am by myself.”

“Bye,” she said, and touched her fingers to her lips. She turned and hurried out the door without looking back.

*    *    *

The house was quiet when she got home, but every light remained on. She took inventory turning each light off in turn.

Jason lay asleep in their bed. She slipped into the bathroom and took a shower, then toweled off and pulled on a pair of flannel pajamas. She slid into bed beside him as he stirred.

“Oh,” he said, wiping his hand over his eyes. “When did you get in?”

“Why, were you worried about me?”

“Nah, I figured you were still at work. Anyway, that woman you work with called to ask how the showing went ... some guy she said?”

“Yes, it went okay. I just had to finish up some paperwork that I’d let go. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

“I can relate to that. But I thought you didn’t like showing places at night.” He chuckled, “Afraid of some serial pervert, I suppose.”

“Well, as a matter of fact this guy tossed me up on the kitchen counter and fucked my brains out.”

Jason laughed. “Well, I hope at least you made the sale.”

She responded with a wan smile that he didn’t notice, since he’d already plumped up his pillow and turned his back to her. A moment later he was snoring.

Ashlyn closed her eyes and lay still. She smiled as she submerged herself in the residual sensations of being rocked in a cradling embrace, and fell asleep.

© 2012 Robert Buckley. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Robert Buckley? Read his bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.


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Page 12 - No. F
by LilyOrchid

In The Name Of...
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The Classics
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The Wounded Healer
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by Nick Santa Rosa

The Cabin
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Post Mortem
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Newly Reformed Woman...
by Seneca Mayfair

by Sybil Rush

by Teresa Lamai

Alter Christus
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Shadows of De La Rosa
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