Especially my first time—I won’t forget that, no matter what happens afterward.
“This is college! Sex means nothing here!” Madeleine threw her hands up. “This is when you make those mistakes and figure out who you are.”
I’d like to believe I already know who I am—and the person I am wouldn’t just crawl into bed some random guy—even if his touch did make me tingle.
“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” I shook my head back and forth. “Okay, I think I’m going to bed. The buzz from that margarita is starting to wear off.”
“I still can’t believe you got into that fucking bar and I lost my fake ID.” Madeleine exhaled sharply and picked up the television remote. “Billy better be able to make me a new one before next weekend…”
My thoughts were spinning when I got to my bedroom, but it wasn’t because I had a really strong drink. I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have gone differently if Walker had been charming like I expected. No guy had ever made me tingle like that just by touching my arm—I didn’t even feel that when I had my first kiss and I thought I was in love with that guy. Walker’s mesmerizing eyes—I could still see them when I closed mine. I could still feel the tingle, and the spot where he touched my arm seemed to radiate with a different kind of heat than the rest of my body. My body seemed to react to his—presence, even before I felt his touch. It was like he found the switch that turned my body on the moment he sat down next to me.
I’m never going to be able to sleep if I don’t do something about this problem…
My panties were wet when I slid them down my legs and kicked them off. My pussy was wet and practically burning with desire. I wanted to think about someone else, but I couldn’t picture anyone but Walker when my hand moved to clit. At least the fantasy was safe—it wouldn’t be a mistake I regretted when I woke up the next morning. I imagined Walker’s lips on my skin—his gorgeous physique pressed against me—those hips moving against a sheet like I had seen more than once when I was younger and watched a particularly dirty scene from Dangerous Thorns. Those scenes certainly pushed the limit of what was allowed on daytime television, but they were the ones that first introduced my impressionable young mind to the pleasures a man and woman could experience in the heat of passion.
Jamison Thorn was always in the best ones…
My finger moved in a circle around my clit until it formed a hard knot underneath my touch. I had no choice but to chase the fantasy. It was already unfolding in my head, and the pleasure was surging through my veins. I could make Walker as charming as I wanted to in that fantasy—except that was never what truly attracted me to him. I actually liked the dark edge that Jamison Thorn had. He was a dangerous man, and when he wanted a woman, he didn’t let her walk away. He pinned her to the wall and kept her there until she was begging for him to do what she already wanted—even if she was afraid to admit it. He could make any woman’s panties melt off her hips with those mesmerizing eyes and the touch of his hand.
Oh god. I’m gonna come!
I had to be quiet. Madeleine was in the living room, and our apartment had really thin walls. A pressure started to swell inside me as I hit the peak of pleasure. I was so close, but I wasn’t ready for the fantasy to end quite yet. I slid my finger down to the entrance of my pussy and started to push one inside me. I imagined that it was something a lot bigger than my finger—something that would shatter my hymen in an instant to chase the same desire coursing through my body. I couldn’t take it anymore. I could sometimes prolong my orgasm by playing with my pussy instead of my clit because the pleasure wasn’t as intense, but I just needed to come. I slid my finger back to my clit and started rubbing it faster than before. The pressure peaked again—and then it released.
Fuck me, Daddy—make me come!
More than one young actress had screamed a safe-for-television version of that when Jamison Thorn was on top of them. I gave in to the fantasy and it took on a life of its own. My pussy began to spasm as I climaxed, and it was the most intense orgasm of my life. It wasn’t just a release that lasted for a couple of seconds and faded. It peaked a couple of more times while I was locked in ultimate bliss. It made my head spin faster and my whole body jerked on the bed. I wanted to pull my finger away and just end it, but I couldn’t—I wanted every single second of that fantasy. It was so hard to stay quiet that I had to pull my pillow over my face and bite down on it. The euphoria finally passed, and I felt my clit start to get numb. My hand fell away, and instead of being exhausted, the first thing on my mind was how long it would take me to recover so I could do it again.
Why does he turn me on like that?
* * *
The next day
I had to get up early, shower, and change my sheets after the night I had. Even after I finally went to sleep, I woke up a couple of times with the burning desire resonating from me like I had been turned into an out-of-control nymphomaniac. It was messing with my head in ways that I didn’t understand. My arms and legs were still shaking when I got out of the shower. I went to the kitchen, popped a pod in the Keurig, and waited for it to quickly produce a cup of caffeine. I didn’t have a restful sleep at all, but I didn’t feel like I could go back to bed. I wasn’t even sure I could trust myself if I was alone in my room.
“Why are you up so fucking early.” Madeleine walked into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes. “It’s Saturday…”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well, but I’m not tired.”
More like exhausted…
“I didn’t get anywhere near enough.” She shook her head and blinked a couple of times.
“Have some coffee. That will wake you up.” I motioned to the Keurig.
“It’s too fucking early for coffee. I’m going back to bed.” Madeleine yawned and gave me a wave as she turned around to go back to her bedroom.
I walked into the living room with my cup of coffee and turned on the television. I kept the volume low so that I wouldn’t disturb Madeleine. There was no reason for the chaos in my head to keep her from being able to sleep in on a Saturday like she planned. I thought about trying to watch something on Netflix, but I decided to flip through the channels first. There were a few movies that looked interesting—but what piqued my interest most was the Dangerous Thorns marathon running on Soaps 2, the channel that usually played the entire week of programming for people who didn’t DVR their favorite shows. I knew it would be a mistake to turn that channel on, but I did it anyway.
Blah, all they focus on now is Dean and Bianca. I never liked either of those characters…
There had been a shift across most soap operas in recent years. The characters that were once cornerstones of the shows were getting phased out for younger actors and actresses. It wasn’t the first time they tried to launch a youth movement, and if memory served me correctly, they quickly backtracked once they lost viewers. I didn’t pay close enough attention to that sort of thing, but my mother followed the soap opera gossip like it was a religion. It was a family tradition for her. She grew up watching soaps with my grandmother, and I think part of the reason she never married was because she compared every guy she met to the men on the screen. It might have also been why she ended up pregnant by some guy that cheated on her before I was born and left while I was in diapers.
If she met Walker Delaney in a bar, she would have probably started doing cartwheels—and I don’t even want to think about what she would have done if he was interested in her.
My eyes drifted down to the twenty dollar bill that was still laying on the coffee table. I reached over and picked it up. After the intense fantasy that consumed me the previous night, I was actually tempted to dial his number. I knew exactly what he wanted. That made it—simpler than it would have been if he asked me out on a date. It would certainly be a night that I never forgot—and maybe losing my virginity to the guy I had always fantasized about wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It might make things easier for me—I w
ouldn’t be constantly worried about dating guys at college who were only after one thing. Madeleine certainly believed that college was supposed to be four years of experimentation.
Why am I even thinking about this? It’s ludicrous.
I threw the twenty dollar bill back down on the coffee table, and then I heard Jamison Thorn’s voice coming from the television. I stared at him—getting lost in those mesmerizing eyes that were a lot more intense in real life than they were on the screen. He was just—so fucking hot. Seeing him brought the fantasy from the night before the forefront of my thoughts and I felt my pussy starting to get wet again. I literally didn’t know to stop it—well, turning off the television or changing the channel would be a good start, but I didn’t want to do that. I slid my hand into my pajama pants and started playing with my clit through my panties as I stared at Jamison Thorn.
I can’t do this again. I need to get him out of my head.
I pulled my hand out of my pajama pants and turned off the television. My pulse was racing, and my heart was beating hard in my chest—just from seeing him on the screen. I needed to burn off some of the sexual energy without making myself come again, so I decided to go for a run. I changed into my workout gear, grabbed my earbuds, and headed out the front door. I wouldn’t be able to disturb Madeleine if I was out of the apartment, and there was no way that I would be thinking about Walker Delaney once the runner’s high kicked in. I normally walked to campus and ran around the track when I wanted to put a few miles on the soles of my shoes, but I decided to just stay on the sidewalk. It was still early. There weren’t many people out, and the cool California breeze in the morning hours was refreshing.
I guess I can just punish my body with a few extra miles every time I think about Walker—I’ll either pass out from exhaustion or run until he’s out of my head.
* * *
A few hours later
“Ah, I wondered where you went.” Madeleine was sitting on the couch and looked over at me as soon as I walked through the door.
“Yeah, I decided to finish waking up with something besides coffee.” I leaned forward and put my hands on my knees. “I might have broken a few personal records out there today.”
“I don’t know why you don’t try out for the track team. You might as well have a shot at a scholarship if you’re going to spend so much time wearing out your tennis shoes.” Madeleine paused the movie she was watching on Netflix and chuckled under her breath.
“The people on the track team have been running for years—I just started when I got to college.” I shook my head back and forth. “Okay, I need a shower…”
My second today and this one is going to be ice cold.
I thought the run would make me stop thinking about Walker, but it didn’t work. I could hear his voice echoing in my ears, and it drowned out the music, even when I turned the volume up. My body was practically screaming out for him, and there didn’t seem to be any way to make it stop. I couldn’t get him out of my head, even after spending most of the night masturbating, and a run didn’t do anything but leave me wired. I didn’t even feel like I could take a nap when the adrenaline wore off. Whatever it was—I had it bad. I finished my shower, changed back into my pajamas, and joined Madeleine in the living room.
“You still aren’t tempted to call him?” Madeleine motioned to the twenty dollar bill on the coffee table.
“No.” I reached over and grabbed it. “I’m going to spend that the first chance that I get.”
“I bet you could sell it for more than twenty dollars.” She chuckled under her breath. “It has Walker Delaney’s signature and his digits. I’m sure someone would buy it—just so they can annoy him until he finally changes his number.”
“Maybe that’s what I should do…” I narrowed my eyes. “Nah, that would be cruel.”
“I still think you could do worse.” She lifted the remote and hit play.
I decided to try and study in my bedroom, but that was an effort in futility. The moment I was alone, the brief encounter with Walker started playing in my head. He was—stuck there, like some sort of sickness that I couldn’t shake—a sickness that I wasn’t sure I wanted to shake. I let the conflict resonate in my head for several hours while I stared at a blank piece of paper and barely flipped more than a couple of pages in my textbook. I was wasting time—hell, I didn’t even know how I was going to focus on Monday morning when I had to go to class if something didn’t give. Before I really knew what was happening, my phone was in one hand, and the twenty dollar bill was in the other—and I was dialing.
Oh god, I’m actually doing this.
My finger got to the last button and hesitated. A part of me was screaming for my finger to press the button, but there was a small voice in the back of my head trying to silence the scream with reason. I was nineteen-years-old—I was a virgin. Walker was twice my age and then some. He only wanted one thing from me, and it certainly wasn’t a night out on the town. He wanted me in his bed, with my toes pointed at the ceiling for the first time ever while he devoured my cherry like he did to all of the girls that were tempted on Dangerous Thorns. The voice of reason was losing the battle, even when I managed to clear my screen. I stared at my phone for a couple of seconds, then immediately started dialing again. When I got to the last number, I didn’t hesitate. I hit it and lifted the phone to my ear—it started to ring. I still wanted to end the call, but then I heard his voice…
Hang up. Just hang up.
4
Walker
There was rock bottom, and then there was my version of it, which made a downward spiral look like a vacation. I woke up on the floor of my kitchen with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a broken glass next to me, and a gash on my arm. Luckily, it wasn’t deep enough to actually bleed out, or else I might have died there. My death wouldn’t have been nearly as poetic as the one Jacob had written for my character on Dangerous Thorns. I picked myself up, cleaned up the mess, and then tended to my wound. I had a hangover that made my head feel like it was going to split in two—or maybe I hit that too when I decided to kiss the damn floor after I had so much alcohol in my system that I literally passed out standing up.
I’ve had worse moments than this, but I was twenty years younger…
The best solution for my hangover would have been the hair of the dog—I could just start drinking again. I resisted the temptation and went upstairs to take a shower. The water felt good on my head at least, so I stayed there for so long that my skin was almost scalded. I was losing my sanity—over a fucking character I played on a stupid daytime soap opera.
It was more than that though. I had movie deals when I was younger, but I always turned them down. I loved being Jamison Thorn, and I was incredibly protective of the role. I didn’t want to dilute the image of the character. It was rare for someone who had been on a soap opera as long as me to find success elsewhere. Killing Jamison Thorn was literally the end of my career. I might get a guest role on another soap, but they would never build one around me again—I was doomed by the typecast I embraced.
I feel good enough to lay down now. Maybe I can sleep some of this off…
Everything in my house reminded me of Jamison Thorn. I had several Daytime Emmy Awards, Soap Opera Digest Awards, framed magazine covers, a—rather regrettable Playgirl centerfold, and pictures with most of the notable celebrities in Hollywood. My bedroom had stacks of manuscripts that I rejected over the years, props that they let me keep when they weren’t needed any longer, and a closet full of clothes that defined the man people saw on their television screen. I wasn’t the type of guy to show up in a t-shirt and jeans to get changed for my scene. I looked like Jamison Thorn whether you passed me on the street or turned on your television. I lived and breathed that character—often to my detriment.
I wonder if I could have made one of my marriages work if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn.
My love life was one area that truly left me with more anguish than joy. I dated
a lot of Hollywood starlets before I found the one that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. A year later, I was signing divorce papers. My second marriage was a rebound from the first, and we were married before the ink was dry. That one was a complete disaster on so many levels, and the woman I married had more jealousy than I realized one person could have. We called it quits after four months.
I waited a while before I even considered taking another trip to the altar. I was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t happen again, but—then I met someone that made me believe it could work. She was patient and kind, but eventually, the lifestyle I lived became too much. I chose the show over her—because that’s what I always did when I had to make a decision like that. She wanted children and a normal life. I wanted to keep being Jamison Thorn. I didn’t know how to have both, because the role just fucking absorbed me.
Now I’m just a dirty old man—who can’t even pick up a girl in a bar.
I didn’t know if bringing Lauren home would have changed anything to derail the torment spinning inside me, but it would have been a temporary high—a lot better than the drunken stupor I found myself in. It wouldn’t have changed Jacob’s decision. It would have just been a way to reaffirm what I thought I knew—that Jamison Thorn didn’t need to be put out to pasture like a racehorse past his prime. The character deserved better than that, and I deserved better for spending twenty years of my life making Jamison Thorn a household name. I wished I could be proud of that work, but realizing it was going to all come to an end just made me sick to my stomach—all of the opportunities I wasted—my chance at actually finding someone who could love a man like me—it was a harsh reflection on what could have been.
Distinguished Daddy: Once Upon A Daddy Page 3