Pre-cum and Pussy Juice are a lot Stronger Bond than Super Glue

It happened because Mina was clumsy: always falling, always bumping into things, always dropping things. Sometimes she told people she had a rare genetic abnormality. She thought it made her sound exotic, or at least a little funky, and Sam knew she got a kick out of watching people whisper behind their hands.

“Poor girl,” they’d say.

“She can’t help herself.”

“Born that way.”

“It must be awful.”

“Is it terminal?”

But the truth was, Mina was just a klutz. She never quite grew out of her gangly adolescent years. At twenty-four, she was still all arms and legs. If she stood perfectly still, she might be mistaken for a model, with her gorgeous green eyes and slim nose. But as soon as she took one step, her lack of grace would shatter the image.

As a child, she’d been a frequent visitor to the emergency room. Children’s Services had even been called twice to investigate. After that they attached a caveat to her permanent chart, all capital letters: MINA IS ACCIDENT PRONE, like a warning on gas tanks for UNLEADED GAS ONLY, or the red flags on medical records alerting allergies.

But Sam had fallen in love with Mina in spite of her clumsiness, or maybe even a little because of it. His first date had ended with Mina needing six stitches in her thumb from a carving knife mishap at the restaurant. His friends had called him crazy when he asked her for a second date. And when Sam announced he was marrying Mina, his friends were certain he was borderline psychotic.

Only this time it wasn’t Mina that had been injured or cut or broken – it was one of Sam’s golf clubs. Well, one of Sam’s father’s golf clubs.

“Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have touched it.”

Sam Friedman wasn’t all that sentimental. He didn’t think about special occasions, couldn’t remember the last birthday card he sent, and never took the time to organize photographs in an album. But he’d held on to those golf clubs because of childhood memories: golfing with his dad.

Those days were hot; the sticky humid days of southern summers, and Sam’s short legs tired quickly. But what Sam most remembered was watching his dad in his golf ritual. His dad would rub the golf ball between his hands, push the tee into the ground with his middle finger, kiss the ball, put it on the tee, and then exhale grandly as he stood up. Then he would wiggle his hips and jiggle the club, like he was scratching an itch, and finally he would whack the ball. The hard clack of wood hitting the golf ball would echo in the air. Sam would watch his dad watch the ball, his dad momentarily frozen in time.

“Did you hear that, Dad? It must be a woodpecker club.” Sam had said when he was eight.

Sam’s father smiled. “No, Sammy, it’s persimmon wood. Hard and smooth,” he’d said as he followed the flight of the ball sailing down the fairway. “You’ll never hear another sound like it.”

Sam never had. The only sound that came close was the crack he’d heard that left a splintered club dangling from Mina’s hand.

“What the hell happened, Mina?”

“I’m not sure. I dropped it, and when I picked it up, the ball of wood on the end got caught under the couch.” Mina’s eyes filled with big, watery tears. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam wanted to be angry, could even feel anger knotting in his stomach, but one look at Mina’s crumbling face and the knot unraveled.

“It’s not a disaster,” he said. “It’s just a golf club.” Though as he said the words, Sam lifted the separate pieces of the club, like a parent lifting a broken child, and laid them carefully on the table.

“Want me to get some glue? Maybe we can put it back together.”

Sam looked at the shattered wood and knew it was impossibly destroyed, but nodded to Mina anyway. She needed to believe it could be fixed. He watched her hurry from the room, barely missing a lampshade with her elbow. At least Mina wouldn’t need stitches this time. That was something.

She rushed back into the room, stubbing her toe on the leg of the coffee table. When she was in a hurry or flustered, her clumsiness only grew worse. If they were having company, Mina might burn her hand while cooking. If she was late, she might rush through the house, leaving a trail of fallen pictures from the walls.

But there were special times when Mina was never clumsy. And only Sam had seen that side of her. It was when they were making love.

“Here, I could only find Elmer’s. I don’t think we have any Super Glue.”

“Put the glue down, Mina, and come here!” Sam watched as Mina’s eyes widened in fright. He hadn’t meant to sound gruff, but his disappointment in losing the club must have bubbled to the surface. He took a step towards Mina.

“I-I... ” Mina backed away. She had quit pausing from the little bumps a long time ago – they were second nature to her. But when she bumped the edge of the recliner, she fell into its seat. Sam grabbed her arms and hauled her up, dragging her body close to his.

Mina squealed. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her neck. Her breasts heaved with her heavy breathing. Sam nosed a familiar freckle on the curve of her breast that always peeked out from the vee of her blouse, and then licked up her neck, whispering in her ear.

“I think you deserve a spanking.”

Mina squealed again, only this time she had a smile on her face. “Please, Sam. No!”

Sam plopped down in the recliner and forced her over his lap. He yanked down her slacks and exposed Mina’s, soft, heart-shaped cheeks. Her skin was flawless except for a tiny scar where Mina, at age fifteen, had sat on a pair of scissors when hurrying to take her seat on the school bus. Eleven stitches that time.

Using the palm of his hand, Sam whacked Mina’s ass. And then quickly again. The echo sounded much sweeter than persimmon wood against Balata. Sam had never spanked Mina before. It was a surprising pleasure.

“Ouch!” she cried. “It really hurts!”

But Sam didn’t stop. He felt driven, like an ancient writer erasing writings on a palimpsest, he covered her scar with his own marks. Handprints welted up in dark, red blotches.

Mina didn’t struggle. She just moaned. Again and again.

“Oh, god, Sam.”

Sam only grunted before landing another slap. He was breathing hard. Saliva built up in his mouth. His hand stung. He looked closely at Mina’s ass and could see pale lines between the glowing pink. He thought maybe he’d spanked too hard, and he stopped. Mina still squirmed in his lap. His cock was hard. He caressed her ass, smoothing over his handprints and dipping his fingers between her crack. Dipping, then digging, deeper into the crevice. She was wet. Saturated. Sam slipped his fingers further in her pussy, making little sloshing sounds in her juice.

“Damn, Mina, you’re so wet.”

“I never knew how exciting being spanked could be.”

Sam brought his fingers to his mouth and slurped Mina’s essence from them. Like thick honey, Mina slid to the floor. Turning to her back, she shimmied the rest of the way out of her slacks and lay back. Her long legs spread with elegant ease. Her pussy hair was wet and clung to her folds, separating to show off her pink.

Like a ballet dancer, Mina lifted her blouse over her head and removed her bra. Slow, refined movements, until she lay completely naked, arms above her head.

“Punish me more, Sam,” she whispered.

Sam stood and removed his clothes, slowly, little by little, so he could watch his wife. She undulated on the floor, like a wave begging to be surfed. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

When he was naked he knelt between her legs. Pre-cum dripped on her belly. He ran his fingers through her sex, slithering through the moist bed, carrying her sap to the sticky drop on her belly, and then mixing them.

“We’re so good together, Mina.”

“Yes, together,” she moaned.

Sam guided his penis to her opening and slid in easily. Mina wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles, pulling Sam tighter. Hand-in-glove tight. When he started to shift, Mina shifted with him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, half-sitting. He put his arms around her the same. They rocked together. Man to woman. Husband to wife. Lover to love.

Their bodies began to sweat. Slipping. Sliding. His penis thrusting, her hips grinding. Mina gasped first, sucking in air, sucking in pleasure. Her muscles contracted. It was all Sam needed. He exploded inside of her. And still they rocked. Slow, limpid rocks. Back and forth.

It happened because they were lucky. Two months after Mina had destroyed the golf club, she hadn’t fallen or broken anything. She’d been the perfection of poise.

“I think it was the spanking that did it,” Sam said.

“Maybe, but I think it’s something else.” Mina radiated with happiness.

Until they stopped happening, Sam had never realized just how upsetting all the mishaps were to Mina. A beautiful change came over her. Her cheeks were rosy. Her eyes gleamed, and now they came up with other reasons for him to spank her, like punishing her for her using too much garlic in the spaghetti sauce. For some reason she’d started adding garlic to everything she cooked.

“Oh, yeah? What do you think it is, if it’s not the spankings?”

“Maybe the baby?”

“The baby?”

“Uh-huh. I’m pregnant.” Mina walked over to Sam, bypassing the China cabinet without even grazing it.

Sam reached out and rubbed his hand along her belly.

“A baby,” he said.

“A lucky charm baby,” added Mina.

“An indwelling amulet, protecting you from things on the outside, while you protect it on the inside?”

“I think so, yes!”

Sam didn’t think of his words as clairvoyant, or even imagine there was real truth to them. But something had changed, of that he was certain. It was like a fey curse had been lifted, and the only thing that was broken during Mina’s pregnancy was her water on November first at 6:32 in the morning, two hours before the birth of a beautiful baby boy.