Premature Eradication - Prequel
James Lewis
PREMATURE ERADICATION
By
James W. Lewis
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PUBLISHED BY:
Premature Eradication
Copyright © 2012 by James W. Lewis
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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PREMATURE ERADICATION
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This e-book is dedicated to every woman scorned and may have had murder … I mean … not-so-happy thoughts toward a man…
Dear Readers,
I originally wrote this book in 2001. Since then, I’ve grown as a writer and continue to challenge my skills. That includes diving into different genres, as I did with this book. I admit, it is definitely one of the strangest stories I have ever written, but I like strange.
Thank you for taking a chance! Reader response will determine if I do a Part II, so I hope you enjoy!
Sincerely,
James W. Lewis
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Here we go. He’s alive!
After only five minutes, another green pill had traveled the necessary “pipeline” and was taking effect. Robert pulled back the sheets and smiled at the “King.” Upright and titanium strong, it aimed at the small of Tosha’s back slightly above the round of her glutes.
Time to take another dip inside. Hope she’s ready to go at it again.
The Home and Gardening Channel held Tosha’s focus way more than the erectile phenomenon occurring behind her, despite Robert’s lip-taps around her neck and shoulders. She didn’t budge or say a word, until Robert slid his hand under her arm and massaged her breasts. She twitched.
Finally, a favorable reaction. Works every time.
Tosha turned off the TV and placed the remote control on the night stand. Smiling, Robert circled a finger around Tosha’s nipple—the “areola windmill,” he called it. He knew her hot spots well, but her breasts carried a high-powered voltage lane that all but guaranteed another game of “Slip and Slide” for the King.
While his hands and fingers played, Tosha hummed a soft melody. From behind, Robert mapped small pecks along her spine. She arched her back, easing her butt against the King, smacking his “crown” against her right cheek.
Disappearing under the sheets, Robert slid his hand down toward her butt and thighs until she parted her legs. He caressed fine hairs that felt more like silk, her skin soft and warm. Two fingers found their mark, but Robert frowned. Damn.
Apparently she wasn’t in the mood yet, even with the King leaking fluid on the sheets. Once again the pill had done its job for Robert, his hormones like mini time-bombs on the verge of detonating, but as usual, Tosha was taking too damn long. The King was hard enough to karate-chop concrete blocks. He needed to enter her—quick.
A little KY action would do the trick.
Grabbing the tube from under the bed, he gave Tosha and the King a healthy dose, then entered her, slow, dipping inside a private space where only he had access.
“Shit,” he whispered, the King now wrapped up like a blanket and immersed in man’s favorite deep-tissue massage. Robert grabbed her elbow. In less than two minutes later, tingles erupted from the pit of his gut. He tightened his grip, gritting his teeth. “Fuck!”
Then he exhaled.
Splash. All done.
Robert eased the King out of her. “Damn, baby,” he said, hauling in air while wiping saliva from his lips, “that was good. Lovin’ this pill! Woooo!” He pulled the covers, then turned his back on her. Serviced with a smile again. “Good night.”
Tosha smacked her tongue. “Damn it, Robert, why do you always do that? That’s why I didn’t want to give you any! You took the pill again and should’ve lasted longer! So selfish!”
“Sorry, baby,” he said, yawning, “your stuff is … just too good. It’s hard to last long. I’m sleepy already.”
“Bullshit!”
Flattery didn’t work. He rubbed her hip. She pushed his hand off, stood up and left the bed.
Robert felt no guilt. He got his.
Tosha stormed into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and slammed the door behind her. Smiling, he heard water running from the faucet. Tosha was probably wiping away the mess he had created between her legs with a damp cloth.
Minutes later, Tosha slid back into bed. The battle for comfort supremacy began. She shuffled and yanked sheets from Robert to her side, pulling them around her body. He yanked some sheets back, adjusting his fetal-like position. But before settling in, he lifted his head and noticed Tosha lying on her back, arms folded and staring hard at the ceiling. No use getting caught up in the hailstorm brewing inside her. Robert turned back, pressed his head to the pillow and closed his eyes, the King now limp and at peace.
No one could mistake Robert’s performance worthy of a medal. After five years of marriage, the “Itch” kicked in and they’d hit a dry spell, sometimes going a full month without the “good-good.” Then Tosha turned him on to a new green pill called Erectz and the King had come alive once again. Except for a sleep-walking episode where he nodded off in bed but ended up in the bathtub with no idea how he got there, Robert decided Erectz worked like a charm. He figured that one minor side effect was worth it. Sometimes his royal Highness would make its regal presence known three times in one night.
But then the hit-it-and-quit-its began, lasting no more than a few minutes and sometimes seconds, leaving Robert deep in Sandman’s world but with Tosha pissed because she hadn’t found a way to get there with Robert. On the few occasions when he tried to go all out to please her, it still became a sprint instead of the marathon Tosha wanted. “Tongue-fu” didn’t play into the equation because Robert didn’t go downtown. Not his cup of Kool-Aid.
Still, Tosha would let it go with few complaints, wiping the “slate” clean, it seemed. Her decision not to explode on him surprised Robert sometimes, but he didn’t push it. Really, what man could stay awake after several O’s, anyway?
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