“Yeah, same,” I return.
And then he’s gone.
I move slowly to sit down in the seat that he used to put on his shoes, and I begin to fan myself.
“My, that was a pleasant surprise,” I say to the open space of my kitchen.
I scheduled my next three weeks of appointments almost as soon as Darrel left the space of my home, and I regained my composure. I space out the visits between my appointments with Mrs. Maxwell and with Darrel equally over the next few weeks.
Mrs. Maxwell came over three days later, and I switched up the standard routine of cuddling with her in my bedroom, to having her hold me in a sitting position on the couch. Her arms would wrap around me in a bear hug, and I would lean into her for the first half, and then I would lay my head on her lap while she ran her hands through my hair. We talked, and I told her that I had a small crush on someone new. Like a doting grandmother, she listened and offered up wisdom. Three days later, Darrel came over and it would his turn to cuddle me. We took the same places we did in my bedroom that we did for our first session. We talked about the most random, yet perfect, topics like the likelihood of zombies and what we would do if the world went to shit. We told childhood stories and we talked about our lives. When we moved positions, Darrel’s fingertips traced circles on my bare midriff, and I did what I could to not grind my ass against him.
Before long, our time was up, and I was smiling like a loon at him as he left.
The next few weeks continued on with the same. I would go to work; I would come home. I would have a cuddle session and then feel relaxed. Rinse and repeat. Darrel and I grew into a comfortable friendship that sometimes seemed to be a little more, but that could have likely been my subconscious hoping that. He never led on that our sessions were anything more than talking and what I was paying his agency for. He never made a move on me, but I can tell that he’s attracted to me. And I’m pretty sure he may be aware that I’m attracted to him.
I am getting the exact amount of touch that I need. I have the motherly comfort that I keep in the living room, and then I have the masculine, borderline romantic, touch in the bedroom.
I just want just a little more in that department than I was expecting with this new arrangement.
And I want that with my new cuddle partner.
Four
“I don’t know, I just don’t have the time anymore to do anything. I thought that having a kid and shit would be fine. I could work, and the little one could just hang out in the corner in one of them pack and play things,” Rhiannon says, flipping her hair as she checks her lipstick in the mirror in front of her.
“You know that you can’t technically bring a baby into a bar, right?” I try to not roll my eyes at my friend and co-worker’s choices.
“In the cities, it’s totally okay to do. People even bring in their pets. Luke and I spent the weekend in Hollybrooke, a month after Piper was born, and we brought her into some brewery. It was almost like I had automatic babysitters, everyone wanted to hold her.”
“Rhi, I’m pretty sure that you could easily get automatic babysitters for when you have to work your shifts,” I offer her. “Guaranteed, my ma would do it.”
“So, you really think that if I propped a pack and play in that corner over there, that Noah and Miles would freak?” she asks.
“Yes. You said you talked to them about it already, though. What did they say?” I ask her as I fill up a glass of water and put in in front of her.
“Well, I may have just kind of mentioned it. I didn’t really say anything specific. Noah made it pretty clear that it was like neglect or something, and then I kind of zipped my lips. I was gonna have Luke ask, but when I brought it up to him, he kinda just laughed at me and said I was funny.”
“I mean, it kind of is. I think every employee handbook says something along those lines, that kids should not go to work with you,”
“We don’t have an employee handbook,” she deadpans.
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure there are insurance liabilities and stuff that state specific rules, you know. Like how you can’t bring a baby to work and completely ignore it while you work, and people around her would be getting drunk.”
“Oh, well that’s a very good rule.” She nods. “It’s kinda like, ‘hey, you’re so impressionable and immature, you shouldn’t be slamming back that shot of tequila,’ but then realizing that it’s tequila, and who really slams shots of that anymore?”
I try to keep a straight face, but giggles escape, and I have to cover my mouth so I don’t laugh so loud that we draw eyes over to our corner of the bar.
“Oh shit, look at that hot guy, he looks like he could break me in half with just his stare,” Rhiannon says, her voice taking a serious tone as her eyes follow a familiar face that just walked in the door. “Look at him, superhero stance, eyes scanning the room, so serious, oh wait…what’s happening?” she asks as his eyes zero in on our direction, and he begins to stride over to us.
My mouth goes dry, and I’m doing what I can to keep my mouth closed so it doesn’t unhinge and drag on the bar floor.
One, because it’s dirty. Two, because that’s unladylike, and three, because it’s Darrel, my cuddler!
“Why is he coming over here and looking at you like he wants to devour you?” Rhiannon whisper-shouts at me, her eyes never wavering from him.
“Hey Deb,” he says, his voice so smooth and deep.
“Hey Darrel.”
“Okay, who are you, and how do you guys know one another?” Rhiannon looks between the both of us, while motioning.
“Darrel is my… he’s my…my… cuddle buddy,” I say quietly.
“Aw, that’s sweet. Wait, your what?” Rhiannon swings her head between us.
Rhiannon wouldn’t let up on the circumstances of who Darrel was to me, as Darrel just stood there smiling. I had to make a promise to call her later, in order to get her to give us some privacy.
She’s a new mom. Piper, her daughter, is two months old, and I’m hoping that the little one tires her out before I can call her to tell her my embarrassing story about needing to hire perfect strangers to hold me affectionately.
It is time for me to take my lunch, so I order up a few burgers from Percy and take a seat in one of the back booths that I direct Darrel to.
I slide across the leather seat across from him and smile.
“So, what brings you to Mercy?” I ask him, leaning forward.
“Well, I have an appointment on my calendar for later tonight, so I came early. I had the afternoon free, so I figured I’d come to this place that one of my clients mentioned, you know, check it out and grab some food.” He shrugs.
“You realize that the appointment is set for six hours from now; what the heck are you going to do?”
“Hang out?” he offers.
“This is going to look like you’re here for me. Everyone is going to start talking, then I would need to explain who you are and….”
“Wait, is that a bad thing? So what, you made a new friend, and that friend just happens to have come by your work to eat and hang? Is that not allowed? Are new people not allowed here? Is this some special club?”
“Are you allowed to be inebriated for your sessions?” I ask him.
Why am I acting like a nagging bitch?
“Who said I was going to drink?” he asks with a shrug.
“Darrel, this is a bar,” I reply, looking around the space.
“And I’m pretty sure that this bar has soda or water,” he says slowly. “Listen, I will go. I thought it would be cool to come by here. I’m sorry, it looks like I overstepped.” He stands up, pulls his wallet from his back pocket, and throws a twenty on the table. He makes a beeline for the front door as I’m still sitting in the booth, completely shocked at the way I reacted toward him.
I drop my head in my hands and take several deep breaths.
“Um, Deb, are you okay?” Wyatt sets the burgers down in front of me. “You hungry
or something; you got two of these?”
Well ,shit, he left and didn’t even get his lunch. One of the reasons that he came here.
My phone in my apron vibrates, and I dip my hand in the pocket to grab it.
One new email message. I click on the icon and see it’s a message from the cuddle agency, Cuddle Puddles.
With slight hesitation, I click on the email and see that it’s a ‘we regret to inform you that your session is cancelled,’ kind of email. I take in a deep breath and move to get out of the booth. Being a jerk and ignoring Wyatt, I walk to the front door and out onto the street. I look both ways and don’t see Darrel’s car.
I pull up my contacts and dial the agency. The receptionist picks up on the third ring in a cheery disposition.
“Cuddle Puddles, how can I be of service to you?” she says.
“Yes, I just received a message that my session for this evening is cancelled, and I was wondering what happened?” I ask.
“Your name please?” she asks.
I provide to her the details that she needs to look up my information.
“Ah, yes. Your cuddle partner, Darrel, called in sick for today. He had regretfully called in, sounding horrible. I can schedule you another cuddle partner if you would like someone to still come out to you today?” she asks.
“No, thank you. I hope that Darrel feels better. If you speak to him, can you please send my well wishes?”
“Of course. Is there anything else that I can support you with?”
“No, thank you for your time,” I reply before hanging up.
I walk back inside the bar and go in search of Noah. I need to make this right, and the only way that I know how is face to face. I need to apologize for being a bitch, and I need to maybe give Darrel a reason why. Noah is stacking boxes in the storeroom when I find him.
“Hey, bossman, I need to take the rest of the day off. Killer headache, and I don’t want to be grumpy with any of the patrons. Is that okay?” I ask.
He looks at me and smiles. “Sure, I’ll have Wyatt cover for you. See you on your next shift,” he says, getting back to work.
“Thanks, Noah, appreciate it.”
“Get out of here now,” he says over his shoulder. “Or, I’ll force you back on the floor.”
I race out of the back of the bar and run into Wyatt.
His strong palms land on my arms as he bends to be eye to eye with me.
“You solid?” he asks.
“No, I’m heading home. Sorry for earlier,” I apologize.
“Your burgers are in the bag on the bar, and that fella that was in here with you, he went in the direction of your place,” he offers with a squeeze of assurance.
“Thanks Wy,” I say leaving with my burgers in the direction that Wyatt steered me towards with the hopes to tell my cuddle partner that I want more.
Five
When I find him, what would I even say to him? How would I begin to explain the way that I acted? Is there really a reason that I was bitchy?
I like him. That I will admit.
I am having issues with the clear divide that should be there when he’s at my apartment. I want to blur it, and I want him to want the same.
I’m absently walking up the driveway to my apartment and up the stairs when I see someone sitting on the top step.
“Darrel?” I say as he stands up.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I motion towards my apartment, and he moves aside to let me open the door. He walks over to the couch and sits. I put the burgers on the stove and my purse on the counter then join him.
“I’m sorry,” we say in unison.
“Why are you sorry?” I ask. “Wait, no. Let me talk first. You shouldn’t have to apologize; I was the one who was insensitive and a bitch. So, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so mean, and I should not have let my insecurities come into play. I like you, Darrel. And I don’t want to ruin whatever this is.”
“I like you too,” he says quietly.
My mouth is dry at his admission. I shake my head, likely thinking too deep into it.
“Well, okay, I’m glad we’re cool. But again, I’m sorry. I have insecurities, and no one around here knows that I use a service for cuddling. I guess I’m a little ashamed.”
“Why would you feel ashamed?” he asks, his hand going to the back of the couch as he angles himself in my direction.
“I don’t want people questioning why I use the service. A town like this would think that I’m desperate or something. I don’t know. I just don’t want the town to start any gossip. ‘Why can’t poor little Debbie get a real man to hold her? Why does she have to pay for that?’”
“Don’t listen to gossip,” he says simply.
“I don’t think that it’s that easy, sorry.”
“What if, and I’m going to be brave here and go out on a limb, but what if you stopped paying the agency for my sessions?” he asks.
“Then I would need to fill the time in. Wait, are you not wanting me as a client anymore?” I reply in a panic.
“I don’t,” he says, his eyes on mine.
My bottom lip trembles, and the emotions that I felt earlier seem to come to front. I start to stand, but Darrel’s hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. He pulls me back down.
“Please, can you let me go?” I ask.
“Can you let me finish?” he asks.
“Okay,” I reply.
“What I mean when I say that I don’t want you as my client anymore, is that I want you in a different capacity in my life. I want something a little more. And I know that this is so fucking unprofessional of me, but I think that you feel the same way. Am I making a huge fool out of myself? Shit, I am, aren’t I?” His panicked eyes shift from looking at me to the ceiling. He mouths “shit” on repeat until I put my hand on his.
“I like you, Darrel,” I repeat.
“You don’t have to let me down gently.” He shakes his head.
“I like you, Darrel,” I say again.
“Okay,” he says slowly.
I lean toward him and tug his hand towards me. A moment later, our lips meet, then a split second later, our tongues. My hand reaches around him, and my fingers dig into his hair as I pull him closer to me. He closes the distance between our bodies and wraps his hand around my waist. I move to sit astride him, and his hand moves under my t-shirt, pressing me against him. My hips begin to move against him, in search of the impressive bulge that I’ve felt so often during our sessions.
His large hand cradles my jaw, and he angles his head opposite mine, deepening the kiss as I moan.
Darrel pulls my shirt over my head, briefly breaking the kiss and then diving back in for more. His fingers fumble for a second with my bra clasp before releasing my breasts from the confines of the silk fabric. Darrel pulls back from the kiss, breaking contact, and looks down between us.
He licks his lips and a slow smile forms as his hands reach and he cups me. He squeezes my breasts and bends at the neck to pull my nipple in his mouth. His head moves back, and he licks around my nipple then he pulls the pebbled peak back into his mouth. I arch into him, my fingers threading through his thick locks, and pull him to me as I let out a loud moan into the otherwise silent room.
Six
I’m not wearing a shirt.
I’m currently sitting on Darrel’s lap, and his hands are on my breasts. No, make that one breast is in his palm and the other breast is in his mouth.
I’m on the brink of combusting, but I move away from Darrel quickly.
“We need to slow down just a second here. One minute, I was apologizing for being a bitch, and now I’m half-naked and ready to cream my pants,” I say, standing and grabbing my shirt off the floor and covering myself with it. Darrel reaches for me and pulls me back to him.
“Creaming your pants?” He smirks.
“I mean, yeah.” I nod. “That’s what happens when you come in your pants.” I smile at him, hiding my embarrassment.
“Maybe we should talk about what we’re doing first,” I offer.
“What we’re doing,” he repeats. “What we’re doing is exploring one another, learning what the other likes in hopes to pleasure the other. What we’re doing is giving this, whatever this is, between us a try. And in between all of this, I am going to cuddle the fuck out of you. But what this is between us will be whatever you are comfortable with. I like you; I’m okay with blurring the lines and crossing them if you are.”
“I like the sounds of this,” I reply, kissing him gently. His arms return around me, and he pulls me against him, my chest against his. I can feel him swelling up below me, and it takes every ounce of determination to not move my hips for the friction. He pulls away this time.
“Okay, now if we continue like this, I’m going to be the one creaming in my pants, and I haven’t done that since I was in middle school. I don’t wish to repeat that again now.” He smirks.
“So, let’s take a step back. I brought home those burgers from the bar.” I pull my shirt over my head and turn towards the kitchen.
“I’m sorry that I just walked out. I should have been more adult about it and stuck around.”
“No, it’s my fault. I was out of line and more preoccupied with the gossip of this town versus what I wanted, what you wanted.” I turn to him as he comes to my side. His hand is on my hip, and he leans in to kiss the space just below my ear.
I hand him the bag and then reach to just in front of him to open the cabinet with the plates. I pull two down, hand him one, and smile.
“The getting to you know part is easy, since we kind of know one another already,” I state as he hands me a wrapped burger to put on the plate in front of me, and he does the same.
Your Neighborhood Cowgirl: The Neighborhood #6 Page 2