Uncaged - Sex Stories

Uncaged

... didn’t take much to make her and Jeff happy. Just each other and small events or items that kept the love alive. Lemon cake on his birthday. Bubble baths in the tiny tub. The notes he left on the fridge when he went out early. Heath let go of her hand and she found herself almost missing the human intimacy. She stole another glance at him. There was a lightweight rucksack resting on the floor beside his feet and he was dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt. His arm rested against hers, warm and strong. “How long are you going away for?” she asked. “I’m not sure,” he said. “If I like wherever I end up, I’ll stay longer.” Isla eyed him doubtfully. He seemed too laidback to be sitting beside her on a city bus-stop. He looked at her and smiled, his brown eyes warm and soft in the sunlight. He was good-looking in an easy way, and for the first time she realised what people meant when they talked about cheekbones. She felt almost intimidated by him, despite the fact he’d been nothing but respectful. For some obscure reason, she had to remind herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was merely waiting for a bus. “Are you going anywhere different for your anniversary?” he asked and she sensed he was attempting to make polite conversation. “I’m not sure yet,” Isla said. “Jeff usually surprises me.” “That’s kind of an oxymoron,” Heath said. “You can’t usually get surprised. Or else it’s not a surprise.” “I mean, where we go is a surprise,” Isla said, frowning. “Where do you ...

... usually go?” Heath asked. “To see a show. Opera, maybe a musical or the ballet.” Heath nodded sagely. “So if he presents you with any of the above it’s not really a surprise, is it? I mean, that’s where you’ve been going for the last five years, that’s where you’ll be going for the next fifty.” Isla stared at him. “What are you trying to say? It doesn’t matter if it’s not a surprise. It’s what we enjoy.” “But do you?” Heath asked and he glanced at her, his brown eyes locking onto hers. “Don’t you ever wish he’d do something different? Something crazy, like, I don’t know, skydiving? Wouldn’t that be more fun?” “No,” Isla said shortly. “It wouldn’t.” She looked away and focused her attention on the building opposite. She felt annoyed with herself but she wasn’t sure why. She concentrated on the thought of getting home, getting in the shower, the dress she’d wear, the shoes that went with it, the tiny, fancy purse she saved for special occasions. All of a sudden she felt stifled. Maybe she should take a different purse. But the others were too cheap, too everyday to go with the lace dress she’d planned on wearing. She breathed in the traffic fumes and tried to relax. The clothes didn’t matter. All that mattered was her and Jeff. They’d have a pleasant evening, same as every year. Same as every year. She chided herself for being bothered by the thought. Repetition was good. It left no room for mistakes or disappointments. “I like the opera,” she suddenly found herself saying, as if ...