The Night the Stars Fell Down

Dan pulled into the driveway and noted every light was on in the house. Not surprising. Cathy never turned out a light.

‘Whoa,’ he thought as he glanced at the dashboard clock. 3:30 a.m. Where did the time go? But then, what difference would it make? She’d be sleeping like a woman in a coma. Later in the morning she’d have no idea he was out so late. She wouldn’t even ask when he got in. It had been that way for a while; so long he couldn’t remember when she had become so complacent. Of course, it wasn’t like she had anything to worry about. He was always there in the morning. Mr. Reliable.

He sighed heavily. He had been after her to at least coordinate their days off. But she was her company’s troubleshooter and she enjoyed the role, even if it meant their schedules conflicted wildly and they might only lay eyes on one another for ten minutes each day while they were coming and going.

And sex? They, or rather she, would fit it in somewhere. They had argued about it. She thought he was selfish, that he should be more understanding, that she was trying her best to fit him into her schedule. That’s what hurt. A woman shouldn’t ‘try’ to fit her husband into her schedule. It was almost like he had to make an appointment to see her.

After a particularly barren stretch, he realized they had had sex one time during an entire month. He mentioned it to her, and even she seemed surprised.

“No way,” she said, but he could tell she was backtracking in her mind. Then she said, “Okay, I’m sorry, it was just extra busy, I’ll make it up to you this weekend. I promise.”

The weekend came, but she was exhausted. She slid right into slumber the second her head hit the pillow.

Later in the week, they were passing each other again, one going, one coming. That’s when he remarked, “Since you’re too busy to spend a day with me, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I went out and got loaded? Maybe meet some chick, party with her, get laid. That kinda thing.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said, like an impatient mother would speak to a petulant child. Then she showed him that slanted grin that meant, ‘Sure, as if you’d ever …’

A quick “Bye,” and she was out the door.

Friday, she wasn’t due home until after 11 that night. That morning he had mentioned he might be out when she got home. He was going to meet Frank and Chloe downtown for a couple of drinks. Maybe shoot some pool.

She had answered, “Uh-huh,” but her mind was someplace else as she hurried about, scooping up briefcase and laptop. She really hadn’t paid attention to what he was saying. He just stopped talking to her. Not that she noticed. She was running late and breezed out the door without a word.

He met Frank and Chloe around eight. Frank needled him good-naturedly, “So, Danny, the old ball-and-chain gave you a pass for the night, let you go out and play?”

Chloe rolled her dark eyes and elbowed Frank, “Stop being a jerk.” She smiled warmly at Dan. “How’s Cathy, I was hoping she could come.”

“She’s working,” he answered. “She’s always working.”

He was surprised she had asked after Cathy. The two had met only once at his company’s Christmas party months ago, and while they had struck up a nightlong conversation then, there had been no other contact between them.

“That’s too bad,” Chloe replied, her voice kind and genuine. “But you guys get to see each other, don’t you?”

“Once in a blue moon, usually for ten minutes in the morning.”

“Aw, that’s terrible,” she said, reaching across the table and touching Dan’s hand. “You just have to make time.”

Without thinking he took Chloe’s hand in his, and replied, “Do me a favor, tell her that. I can’t quite get the message across.”

They smiled and their hands separated.

A few more drinks and the conversation turned to other subjects. Dan was enjoying the company. He was especially enjoying Chloe. She was about 37 and stunning, all softness and curves. Light seemed to dance in her eyes and a sweet smile was never absent from her face for long. She wasn’t exactly buxom, but her breasts called attention to themselves. And this night she wore a fire engine red, low-cut, sleeveless top with flimsy shoulder straps. Dan’s eyes soaked her up like sponges.

Later, playing pool, Frank and Dan were content to surrender the table to Chloe. She was good. One shot required her to nearly lay her tummy on the table, one leg raised. Dan could see as far as he was able straight up her black leather mini-skirt to the enticing darkness at the crotch of her jet-black pantyhose.

He became aware of wetness at the tip of his cock that was pressing against his own crotch, and silently congratulated himself for wearing black jeans so the stain wouldn’t show.

After the game, Frank maneuvered Chloe to their booth to retrieve her jacket. She was Frank’s date after all, and they had more of their own plans for the evening. As they said their goodbyes, Chloe pressed a warm kiss to Dan’s lips.

“Next time,” she said, “make Cathy come with you. Tie her up and carry her over your shoulder if you have too, ‘kay?”

It wasn’t even midnight and Dan didn’t want to go home. Instead he drove to the waterfront. He parked the car and walked to a bench that sat within a shadow wedged between the pools cast by two streetlights.

He was feeling a buzz from the drinks, and another buzz that lingered from Chloe’s kiss. He began to imagine her naked, saw himself hefting her breasts and stroking his thumbs over her responsive nipples. He wondered at her taste as he kissed her belly, lingering to rim her navel with his tongue.

A flash of light interrupted his reverie. He wasn’t sure he had truly seen it. Then another streak of light appeared in the sky at eye-level with the horizon. Now a cavalry charge of meteors shred the fabric of the night.

The meteor shower continued like a fireworks display as he watched in total rapture. Eventually, he had no idea how long, the celestial lightshow faded. He walked back to the car and drove home.

Sitting in the driveway it occurred to him he didn’t want to go in, but fatigue was overtaking him and a bed, even one with a silent, indifferent partner, was what he needed now.

He stumbled to the door and wearily fumbled for his keys. At last, he clicked the lock and stepped inside, turning to lock the door behind him.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Cathy’s voice startled him and he spun around to see her standing, arms folded across her chest. She held her five feet and three inches, clad in a miniscule, white satin slip of a nightie, in a pose that broadcast outrage. Her soft blonde tresses tumbled over her shoulders framing her small, delicate face. But, her eyes sparkled with pure fury.

His cock twitched in his pants and his chest swelled. His thoughts rang in his ear as if he’d shouted them aloud, ‘She’s beautiful.’

“Goddammit, say something!” she demanded.

“But, I told you. I went out with Frank and Chloe. We had a few drinks …”

“Frank – and Chloe? You never told me you were going out tonight to see Chloe.”

“Huh? Well, yeah, I did. This morning. You just weren’t paying attention – as usual.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You never told me you were spending the whole night out with Chloe.”

“And Frank”


“Anyway, I didn’t spend the whole night with them, just a few hours.”

“What? Jesus!” she cried. “It’s almost four o’clock in the morning. That’s more than a few hours you spent with Chloe.”

“And Frank,”

“Oh, fuck Frank!”

“But it’s true. Later I went down to the pier and watched shooting stars.”

She gave him an odd look, as if a cantaloupe had just fallen out of his ear.

“But, it’s true,” he implored her.

“Sure, I’ll bet Chloe had you seeing shooting stars.”

He couldn’t help himself. A broad grin streaked across his face.

“What’s so damned funny?” she said, lightly stamping her foot. “I was worried, I called the police to see if you were in an accident, and some wiseass said, ‘Don’t worry, honey, he’ll find his way home when he sleeps it off.'”

She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. “At least if you’re going to lie, tell me you got drunk and fell asleep in the car. Jesus, shooting stars,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re jealous,” he said, barely believing it himself.

“What? I am not. I was just worried. I was frantic,” she insisted. Her jaw set tight, but she couldn’t control the slightest tremble of her chin. “If I knew you were staying out all hours with Chloe …”

“You ARE jealous.” He almost sang the words like a Hallelujah.

Before she could answer he ran to her, scooped his arms under her ass and lifted her off the floor. She shrieked as he spun her.

“Jesus! You are drunk, you’re crazy!”

“You’re jealous!” he shouted in reply, and kissed her breasts and shoulders, letting her slide through his arms until she stood on her tiptoes. His kisses continued along the curve of her shoulder to her neck and over her ear and down again.

“Dan – Danny, stop it, umm, stop, I mean it, oh!”

“I love you, Baby,” he declared, and kissed her full and wetly on her lips. As they broke their kiss she fell backward on the couch.

Panting, she said, “Now stop this. I’m mad. I’m really mad at you and I’m not …”

“I know,” he confessed, falling to his knees before her splayed thighs. “I’m sorry, I should have called.”

Then, exultingly, he cried, “You were worried, and jealous. You’re so wonderful!”

“Danny? What were you drinking? Did you take drugs? What …”

“I’m sorry, honey. Look, I’m on my knees. I’ll make it up to you, see.”

He pushed his hands up along her inner thighs, lifting the hem of her night slip over her hips. He began to pay the same attention to her thighs that he had to her shoulders, kissing, sucking, nibbling, working his way closer to her pussy.”

“Danny,” she moaned. “This — I’m not — ohhh — I’m not going to — I’m so mad at — I — I — ahhh!”

He dove into her tight golden curls, slurping slowly at her nectar-coated lips. He French-kissed her pussy as she held fistfuls of his hair and guided his head against her. Her clit poked out of its hood and he tugged it gently with his lips as she steered his head to the places she wanted attention, grinding him ever more tightly into her.

She lifted her legs over his shoulders and squeezed his head between her thighs as he continued to devour her. He could barely breathe, and he didn’t care. He could feel her ass muscles tighten and her thighs close around him like a vise. She bucked like she was sliding ass-first over logs and a warm sheen of fluid coated his face.

Her shriek faded into a sigh. Her thighs relaxed and she released him. He took a deep hungry breath when he emerged, his face entirely slick with her syrup.

He laid her head back, her eyes partly closed and glazed. Then he stood and lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs. Halfway up he said, “Honey, no phone calls this weekend, okay?”

She lifted her head briefly off his shoulder. “Huh? Umm, okay.”

He laid her down on their bed and lifted her night slip over and off her. He undressed in seconds and molded himself alongside her. He would make up for lost time and squandered opportunities. He would take all night.

© 2001 By R.E. Buckley Not to be reproduced without permission of the author.

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