Teardrops are a collection of short, slightly sad stories (but remember, there are tears of joy and of love), that exist for a brief moment before they are wiped, and shed every Sunday. Or when they are ready, whichever comes last...

You can't be tempted in Heaven

by Antheros

The sounds of the party were quieter at the balcony; the waves crashing on the beach were louder. Anita was there. I smiled at her, saying something about the sea, and we stood in silence for a brief while.

``You know, don't you?'' she asked. It was hard to miss, it was even impossible to deny. It was pointless to play the dumb.

``That you love her?''

Anita nodded.

``I think I'm not the only one who knows.''

``Who else?''

I shrugged. ``Whoever pays attention to you when you think nobody is paying attention to you.''

``Don't you mind? You're her husband.''

I shrugged again. It was not difficult to understand why somebody would love Camille. It was impossible not to: gorgeous, nice, too smart to be too smart.

Camille is a goddess.

``What can I do?''

``You must be so sure of yourself,'' she said, bitterly.

No, I didn't want an argument. All I wanted was to watch the big waves crashing, come back to the party and then take Camille to our bedroom and fuck her brains out.

``Not really. I trust her.''

``Do you think it's wise?''

The night before I married her, my best friend asked me why I thought she was marrying me.

``Because I love her. And she loves me.''


He was drunk, I let it go. But everyone thinks the same. I'm not bad, I'm average. Not handsome, not ugly. Not too charming. Not too rich. But Camille is, like I said, a goddess, and people think you need to be a god to marry a goddess.

``I think it's wiser than being jealous all the time.''

``Did she ever cheat on you?''

I laughed. Camille tells me all the bad lines she gets, and the good ones too, usually lying naked on my lap, and we have a blast laughing of her sharp replies. Once this guy came to her, well-built, Hollywood-handsome. She turned to him, measured him up, and said: ``sorry, I only like real men.'' Then she pulled me to her and kissed me like her life depended on it. I never felt more powerful.

``Not that I know of.''

Then she said something I never thought she would.

``I'm willing to sleep with both of you. Together, separately, whatever you want, Dean.''

Anita was pretty--not prettier than Camille, of course. It was an offer most men wouldn't refuse. But I didn't think twice.

``Sorry, Anita.'' I had Camille. I loved her, and I didn't need anybody else. ``Why don't you ask her?''

``Fuck you. Fuck you, Dean.'' She practically spelled the words the second time.


I saw Camille again a few minutes later, back in the party. She was surrounded by people, guys who wanted her, girls who hated her for being that perfect, perhaps some other girl who wanted her. This would have made me jealous when I first started dating her, but I don't care anymore. She always opens a big smile when I arrive.

``Dean, honey, come here. Tell them I'm not lying.''


We walked back by the beach. The night was dark, but we didn't mind; I had my arm around her, and we were barefoot. She was talking about the party, and I listened.

``You're quieter than usual, Dean.''

``Did Anita talk to you today?''

``Oh. Is that it?''


``Have you seen us?'' Seen them? Doing what?

``Doing what?''


``No. Did you kiss her?''

``No! She kissed me.''

``Oh. That doesn't surprise me,'' I said.

``Don't you want to know if I kissed her back?''

``She talked to me today. When did she kiss you?''

``At the party.''

``I know, but at what time?''

``I don't know. Why?''

``She made me an offer. I wonder if it was before or after she kissed you.''

``What offer?'' Camille asked. We were already at the bungalow we had rented for two weeks. I opened the door for her.

``She wanted you. Do you know that she loves you?''


``I mean, real love.''

Camille looked down. ``I know.'' We went to the bedroom.

``What offer, Dean?''

``She'd do anything I wanted if she got to sleep with you. Or us.''

``Were you interested?''

``No. I told her. She must have seen I really wasn't, because she left very pissed.''

``How many women did you ever say `no' to, Dean?''

``Counting Anita? One.'' I don't look like Camille, I never had women coming to me and begging me to do whatever I wanted with them.

``I thought so.''

``What should I have done?''

``What exactly did you tell her?''

``I said I was not interested.''

``Just like that?''

``Yes, I guess so.''

``Did you said `but thanks for asking' too?''

``Come on, Camille.''

``Well, at least.'' She walked out of the bathroom, and I went in.

``What should I have said?''

``Be a little nicer. Say that we don't have an open relationship.''

I shut up, trying to pee. I brushed my teeth as quickly as I could, and walked out of the bathroom. Camille was lying over the bed, wearing nothing but panties, a busy hand inside them.

``What did you say to her?''

I sat on the bed and she pulled me back while she kissed me. She turned the light off, her ass facing me, while I pulled her panties down.

``That I don't like women,'' she said, as she sat over my lap.

``What did she do?''

``She kissed me.'' And Camille kissed me. My hand caressed her back, going down to her ass, which I grabbed.

``And you?''

``I let her.''

I started to play with her asshole.

``And then?''

``I told her girls didn't turn me on. Ah! Stop teasing, Dean...'' She moved and I was soon inside her, and she let a long moan out.

``She probably didn't take it too well.''

``She begged me. On her knees.''

``Your favorite.''

``My favorite is you.'' She was moving up and down, slowly, hugging me. I had a hand on her back, holding her, while the other still played with her ass. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and she moaned lightly between phrases, between words.

``What did you do?''

``I asked her to get up. To think a little. What would Dean think if he saw us like that, I asked her. She said she didn't care. She loved me.''

``You knew that before today, didn't you? Even I did.''

``Slow, slow... Like that... More, the whole finger...''

She was rubbing her clit against me, swaying her hips as only she does.

``Didn't you?''


``Is that an answer or a moan?''

``Both... Fuck... Faster...'' She came, with her wildly arousing moans, the smell of her hair, skin and sex filling my nostrils. I had to hold back not to fuck her like a ragged doll. She kissed me when she got her breath back.

``That was before she talked to me, wasn't it?''


``You knew she was going to talk to me.''

``It was so soon... I thought it would take her longer to gather the courage.''

``What did you say to her?''

``Aren't you going to come?''

``Slow down. Ugh. Camille, please...''

``You like it fast and rough, I know...''

``What... did... you... say... to her?''

`` `Only if Dean asks me','' she whispered in my ear, while making sure I got a sensory overload.

I lay on the bed, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

``You're so mean, Camille.''

``You could have said yes,'' she muttered.

``As if I would,'' I said. ``So mean,'' I added, petting her head.

14 Aug 2005
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