1. Love, lies, and the apocalypse


    Date: 9/27/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Alexandra_A, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    on her back, eyes closed in exaggerated ecstasy, mouth open in eager anticipation, and drizzled the dregs onto her lolling tongue. * Again the figures are alarming. The ice shelf is shrinking, shedding floating progeny in unparalleled numbers. It will collapse, just as others have collapsed, but this one will be catastrophic. Surely no one can deny the cause? And yet, summit after summit, politicians continue to dither, and all the while industry continues to churn out its toxic gasses. When will they accept the truth? When their capital cities are submerged? When crops fail and countless billions are starving to death? * Home. I thought the hardest thing would be pretending I hadn't had sex for almost six months, but that wasn't hard at all. It was surprisingly easy. On the station, I fucked Mia every night. It was passionate, desperate, as though each kiss might be our last; as though any perfunctory penetration could tip the world into chaos. Now at home, I fucked my wife every night. Thoroughly. Proficiently. Sometimes indolently. As though we were eternal; as though there'd always be a tomorrow. The contrasting performances were as different as the two women who starred in them, as different as life and death, yet both women seemed equally impressed by my ardour, by my sexual dexterity. Perspective is a funny thing. The fact that I sometimes thought of one while I fucked the other was of little consequence. It worked. And while it worked, everyone was happy. So, despite ...
    my earlier trepidation, the stark dissimilarities between the two women in my life made the deceit possible; they maintained my interest and thus sustained my daily erections. Mia was bronzed and slim with not an ounce of fat on her petite body. Blonde hair was cut like a boy's and her arse was tight as a drum. Despite her scars, she never wore make-up, had an intrinsic beauty that would have been polluted by it. Her muscles were toned. Her mind was painfully sharp. The harsh environment honed her, continually kept her keen. She lived every day to the full, squeezed every last drop from every moment, because she knew what it is to die. My wife, on the other hand, was pale and perfectly plump. Long dark hair almost reached her cellulitic buttocks. Her muscles were mostly toneless. Her mind was mostly dull. Though once the possessor of an enquiring brain and an outstanding natural beauty, suburbia had spoiled her, bloated and blunted her. Cosmetics plastered her face; a dizzying range of lotions further softened her plush body. She existed day to day in a state of blissful ignorance, her head seemingly full of shoes, frocks and sticky cakes. To my wife, death was a distant, somewhat unlikely possibility. * When I first returned to the mainland, the colours jumbled my brain - after the endless icy monochrome wastes, I found myself endlessly dazzled and constantly confused. It was early autumn and the leaves had never burned so red, had never turned so golden. The grass between ...
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