Confirmation continued

Hello friends. Sorry for being late. This is a continuation of my earlier post, Confirmation. It might be turning into a story...It's got bodily fluid, a little rain and memory, and a touch of food : )

Leo sat in the car a few hundred yards from Smith's house and watched as the garage door opened and the midsized sedan pulled out and drove down the road. It hadn't taken much work to find Smith's address and other details about his life once he'd flipped through his wife's phone. He knew he lived alone, and after a few mornings of observations, he knew he left between 7:30 and 7:40. He also knew he wouldn't be home until 6:00 today because of the meeting his wife had told him about.

He walked around to the back of the house and entered through a window. It was early fall--warm during the day, cool at night--the season when windows were opened and shut so much nobody ever bothered to lock them.

The house was typical for a twenty-eight year-old bachelor on a teacher's salary: non-matching hand-me-down furniture, maybe from a thrift store or family member, some photos of times with drinking buddies, a flat screen TV and DVDs scattered around. He felt a tinge of jealousy when he saw what looked like a more recent photo of Smith and a friend holding a trophy-size brook trout.

The Cialis he'd taken earlier was clearly working. He walked into the kitchen and twisted the blinds closed and then pulled open some drawers until he found the utensils. It didn't take long to reach orgasm, and though the angle was awkward and he was standing on his tiptoes, leaning forward with one hand braced against the edge of the counter, he managed to distribute his cum over a good portion of Smith's open silverware drawer. When he finished, he closed the drawer, walked into the living room, and sat down in the recliner.

He felt guilty for a minute, especially when he turned on the TV and saw Smith had been watching ESPN. He seemed like a regular enough guy. But Leo knew plenty of people who seemed regular enough at first but turned out to be real pricks. Most people, in fact, in his experience. He flipped through some channels until he found a morning talk show. After watching a few mind-numbing interviews, he flipped again and stopped on a black and white detective movie. These old movies always put Leo at ease. They didn't rely on techno music or shock value, tits and ass or bloody beheadings, just old fashioned story telling. Kids these days had no appreciation for subtlety. They didn't understand the value in suggestion. But they'd learn.

Leo woke to the phone ringing. The name of the caller showed up on the TV screen. He'd seen this caller ID function on his sister-in-law's TV in Tempe once and had wished he had a TV that fancy, but his wife never let him spend any money. She never let him do anything fun anymore. The caller ID said O'Terry, Jennifer. Leo wondered if this Jennifer was another of Smith's sexual exploits. He answered the phone but it was just a telemarketer.

It was almost noon, so he decided to eat something after taking his next Cialis. Smith didn't have much to choose from in the kitchen. Obviously, he was too busy fucking other people's wives to go grocery shopping. After some searching though, Leo managed to put together a sandwich and set to eating it as he walked around the house. He was lucky to have finished by the time he got to the bedroom because what he saw there would have definitely ruined his appetite. This Smith, this bearded Romeo-fucker-of-wives, didn't even have a real bed. He had a futon. What kind of adulterer uses a futon for his sexual conquests, he wondered. Now he really felt ashamed. He could imagine losing his wife to some Don Juan, some Brad Pitt motherfucker, but not a slob with a futon. What did this say about him? God, the thought killed him. He crawled onto the futon. From his knees, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his thighs as he leaned against the wall with one hand and masturbated with the other. It took a while this time, but after concentrating steadily on the image of Smith fucking his wife, the tension in her neck muscles and Smith's hairy ass clenching with each deep thrust, he managed to cum on a decent portion of both pillows.

After a long, hot shower, Leo put a CD in the player and kicked his feet up in the recliner. He'd found a bottle of red wine when he was looking for lunch earlier, so he poured himself a glass and tried to relax because this Smith just kept finding new ways to piss him off. A light rain started falling, and he thought of his wife. She always loved red wine and rain. He smiled. She'd started him drinking wine in college, started him doing a lot of things he'd never done. They went to the opera. The opera! The fun his high school friends would have had with that one.  And the shooting range, where she taught him to shoot his .38, the first place they'd kissed. But the rain and red wine evenings, those were ones, those were the evenings they'd stay up half the night watching Hitchcock and fooling around with strawberries and cream and chocolate syrup, carrots and cucumbers. Those were the nights he could imagine being with her all the time. All the time.