His Virgin Bride

by Kara Hart

  “Walker,” I whisper. He smiles, and places his palm against my cheek. I close my eyes and my mouth falls open. His lips crush against mine. His tongue finally enters my mouth, circling around my own. He tastes fresh, like evergreen. He smells like old cologne. Fuck, he’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

  He unzips his pants. His cock comes darting out, hard as a fucking rock. He doesn’t even take his pants off. He’s breathing quickly. He wants me too bad. There’s no time to spare. “Fuck me,” I whisper, spreading my legs.

  My nightgown is off, thrown in the corner of the room. I feel him thrust into me, almost without warning. His hand moves up my stomach. He feels my soft skin and I can feel him grow harder inside of me. His pulse quickens. His hands then move to my ribs. He holds on with one hand. The other keeps going upward. It rests across my neck, serving as a reminder who’s boss.

  This is my fantasy. This is the experience I’ve always desired. Power. Control. He’s the man to give me that, right? Somehow, I’m back in my driveway. It’s late and I’m wondering if Darrin is already in bed. The car lights are off, as well as the house lights inside, but I’m still running the car in the driveway.

  I have my hands in between my legs, gripped firmly by my thighs. One finger is rubbing my clit, while I’m sliding in three fingers. I spread myself open, thinking about him, this mysterious man I met in a car crash. It would be fate if we were to meet again.

  I cum harder than usual, getting the leather interior below me soaking wet. I don’t even bother to clean it with my dress. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, until I’m calm again. “Walker,” I keep repeating in my head.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m stepping out of the car. I walk over to the trashcan. I’m going to find his number again. However, when I lift the lid open, there’s nothing inside. “No, no, no,” I sigh to myself. “Fuck!”

  I’m quiet, so as to not wake Darrin. I don’t want another repeat of last night. Not again. But I’m frantic. I look all over the house, quietly. I look inside my purse, I look in my phone to see if I saved the number, but I can’t find it anywhere. The boyfriend experience is not something I’ll be able to enjoy. That fateful car crash and that kiss in the bathroom, was all the fun a woman like me is allowed to have.

  Maybe it’s fate telling me to get on with my marriage. A broken marriage isn’t something that’s unfixable, right? I don’t know anymore. I feel like I’m giving up.

  When I go to sleep, I’m on the couch in the living room. The stain is still there. That was a test on my part. I left it there to see what he’d do with it. It should have been obvious. No effort has been made on Darrin’s part. He simply got off work and went to bed, probably watching the game before he shut his eyes.

  I close my eyes and try to think of what I’ll do with my life. I think of what I’ll pack and where I’ll go. I can’t go to my parents. They won’t understand. They’ve been unhappily married for decades upon decades. I’ll have to figure it out on my own.

  For now, I can breathe easy. When I dream, I dream of him, Walker Hambell. The kind of man I’ve been too scared I’d find. The man I’ve been waiting for. The man who got away.

  Erica

  This is the third day I haven’t gone in to work. When I look at my phone, bright and early, I laugh. “We’ve been waiting on you for days, Erica. Don’t bother coming in. We’ll find a replacement,” my boss texts me.

  I knew it was heading that direction. That job was the best job I’ve ever had. I thought I’d die doing that job. Now, I don’t have anything. Oddly enough, I don’t feel bad about it. I feel absolutely young again. I feel free.

  I head to the bedroom to see if Darrin is still home. He’s nowhere to be found, but his work briefcase is still on the bed, as if it was an aside to his day. I begin the final ascent. I start packing my things, first going through all of the necessities. My clothes, any toiletries I need, some old keepsakes. The hard part will be differentiating things we bought together. Fuck it, he can have it all. I don’t care.

  When I’m finished, the house is much emptier. I take a look around me and start to feel nostalgic. This house was a dream when we first bought it. Darrin is right in a way. He did shell out a lot of money for this place, even though I begged him to let me pay when I got a chance. He always loved holding that over my head.

  In the bedroom is his briefcase, still on the bed. Every time I turn to grab something, I see it. I don’t know what it is, but something tempts me to open it. I’m not famous for invading anyone’s privacy, but Darrin’s been my husband for years now. It’s not like him to miss a day of work. In fact, I’m almost positive he’s never taken a day off in his life.

  So I open the damn briefcase. Of course it’s wrong of me, but it’s a compulsion I jump headfirst into. I click the numbers in place, I press the metal down, and it opens with a slight spring. I half expect to see solid gold inside, but instead see something akin to that in the male world.

  Inside are women’s panties. Not just one. Not just two. But three pairs. Tucked away in the center of one pair is a note with a kiss mark pressed against the paper. “That bastard,” I whisper.

  I grab the note and read it with ferocity. “Last night was the best night of my life. I love it when you tie me up, daddy,” it reads. “Love, Natasha.”

  “Natasha!” I blurt out. “Is he fucking kidding me? He’s fucking his secretary?”

  After all these years, after all we’ve been through, he ends up being an old, washed up story. Constantly dissatisfied with his life, he’s the guy who forces himself to crash and burn at every corner of his life. Needless to say, I’m livid.

  I dig through his files, I look through every pocket in his stupid briefcase. I find exactly what I’m looking for. Underneath the reports, folded clandestinely, there is Walker’s card. The Boyfriend Experience.

  “So, you found it,” I laugh.

  He should have gone to greater lengths to destroy this thing. As I hold it in front of me, my legs tremble. I imagine his deep accent and the way his hands felt around my waist. I remember how choked up he made me and how fast my heart was beating. It was so wrong of him to follow me in the women’s bathroom like that. But when he locked the door, I couldn’t help but want him to take me right then and there.

  I call him. I just have to do it. I’m full of urges today and I feel like a naughty girl. The phone rings at least five times until I hear his breath in the receiver. “Walker,” he says.

  I don’t say anything. I’m too fucking choked up. What does a married woman say to a man like that? No, this just isn’t right. This isn’t how I want it to go. “Hello?” he asks, confused. My breath comes out sharp and quick.

  “Is that you?” he asks.

  I hang up the phone and throw it across the room. It lands flat on its face and I watch as it starts vibrating again. He’s calling me back. “Oh, god!” I yell.

  I hear footsteps in the house. “What is it?” Darrin is standing in front of the doorway. His eyes dart from me to my phone, back and forth in quick bursts.

  “What are you doing home?” I blurt out. But before he even has time to respond, I look back at the panties that are now strewn across the bed. “Natasha? Your secretary? Come on, Darrin.”

  “I was going to tell you,” he sighs, turning dark red.

  “Tell me what? That this is the fourth time you’ve done this? Get a grip. You’re losing it,” I say. “Seriously, you’re so far from the man I fell in love with.”

  “And the boyfriend experience man? What’s his name? Walker?” He walks forward. “What about him? Is that who you went out with the other night?”

  “I went to Jackie Faadon’s birthday party with Renata, you jerk. That’s the guy who crashed into your fucking bumper,” I say, collecting my things.

  “Don’t you dare leave right now,” he says, blocking my only path outside.

  “Darrin, get out of my way. Now,” I say, breathing heavy, but remaining as calm as I ca
n.

  “There’s something else I should tell you,” he says the words quickly, before I can run away from him.

  “Oh yeah? What in the world could it possibly be?” I ask him. I’m beyond frustrated at this point. All I want to do is find a motel somewhere and sleep the day away.

  “I’m leaving you,” he says with an air of confidence that makes me nauseous. “Me and Natasha… we’re running away together. I’m selling the house. Now, don’t cry. This is the natural progression of things, isn’t it? We’ll split everything 50/50.”

  I’m so stunned that I actually start laughing. I laugh so hard that I have to fall to the floor to stop myself.

  “What’s so damn funny?” he asks me. “Are you that heartless? Don’t you care about me at all?”

  “No! I don’t. Not anymore,” I say. “Honestly, I can’t believe any of this is real. I have to leave.”

  So, he won his little game. He knew it was over, so he made a rash decision. He decided to run off with the secretary. Now, they’ll buy a house together. They’ll feel so good about their “love” that they’ll have a baby or two. Barf. The whole thing makes me sick.

  I push past him, carrying my two suitcases. “Let me help you with those,” he says, feigning hospitality.

  “Don’t touch me, you perv,” I hiss at him, already halfway into the hall. Of course, right when I reach the step down to the front entranceway, I trip, nearly landing face first against the marble tile.

  He helps me up, asking if I’m okay.

  “I’m fine,” I say, feeling the tears attempt to flood down from my eyes. I hold my breath. My damn shin hurts so bad. My elbows are all scuffed up. Worst of all, I feel so stupid and embarrassed. I am not okay. I’m anything but okay. My husband has cheated on me with four different women. He’s called me a bitch. He’s thrown things at me. And now, as I try to leave with some ounce of grace, he watches as I trip. It’s the worst way to go out and I’m honestly hating myself for it right now.

  “Wait!” he yells at me, once I’m back on my feet. “You forgot this.”

  Great. What does he have for me now? In his hand is Walker’s card. I don’t need it. His phone number is on already locked in my phone. I give a harsh groan and don’t even respond. I get into the car and pull out. The bumper, which I had tried to tape together the other day, comes undone. It falls against the cement and scrapes loudly as I pull out.

  I swear, when I leave, he’s smiling to himself. I look like a fool, while he looks like he could take on the world. It’s not always about appearances, but I have no shred of dignity left.

  I’m left with the knowing that I’ll always have myself to rely on. It’s not the most comforting of realizations, although there’s something to it. I’m also left with one voicemail. I turn on my bluetooth and drive toward a motel in the near distance.

  “I haven’t any clue whether or not this is you,” he says. “But if this is the woman I’m thinking of, call me.”

  Walker

  I lift the barbell over my chest. Ten. I press it back down, feeling my muscles bulge against the weight. Up again. Eleven. Pounding that barbell. Twelve. Up and down, the sweat runs down my body. I feel powerful. Thirteen. Strength ripples throughout my chest and arms. Fourteen.

  I finish my workout and grab a sports drink from the fridge. I practice my American accent at noon, reading back the words from the CD I bought, while eating the finest eggs in town, hand delivered by the chef himself. I pay extra for that kind of service.

  At 2 PM, I have basketball practice at the courts and at 3:30, I do some more pushups to tide me over. I eat a steak over at Monty’s and I’m feeling on top of the fucking world. Still, when I look at my phone, there’s no sign of her. She refuses to return my calls.

  I know it was her. I just know it.

  I grab a bloody mary, to loosen myself up a little. It’s been a full and productive day. Time to take it up a notch. A woman sitting with an older man at the bar keeps looking back at me. By the third time, I have to smile. Hell, if whatever-her-name won’t call me back, I’ll have to keep my options open, right?

  I give her a wink and she smiles back, biting her lower lip. She’s some skimpy blonde woman, not typically my type, but I tend to make exceptions. Her man eventually heads to the bathroom and of course, she walks over to say hello. Her ass is almost on my lap, she’s sitting so close.

  “I hate to ask,” she says, “But are you Walker Hambell? The boyfriend experience guy?”

  Shit. One of those. I frown and take a sip of my drink, wondering how I’m going to answer this. “Never heard of him,” I say.

  “Are you sure? My friend loves you,” she says. “She won’t stop talking about a date you two went on.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” I laugh. “Sorry.”

  I glance over at the bathroom hall and her boyfriend is leaning against the corner, just staring at us. My heart starts to race faster than normal. “Look over here, sweetie,” she says, placing her hand on my cheek.

  I quickly reach into my pocket and put a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Hey, where are you going?” she asks.

  I move out of the booth I’m sitting in, headed for the door. “Where you off too, so soon?” the man asks. His voice is grim and tinged with a north London accent.

  I ignore him and walk out to my Bentley. I get in, start the engine, and peel out of the parking. The man slowly walks out of the steakhouse, watching as I drive away.

  “Fuck!” I scream, pounding my steering wheel. Hawk. He’s found me.

  It’s time I face my demons. Back in England, I lived on the worst streets there are. IRA sentiments, young thugs looking for a fight, skinheads on every corner… and then there was me, a young wanker who refused take shit from anybody. I roamed those streets on my own. I took the beatings with pride. Each time I was bludgeoned, I got stronger.

  Hawk eventually got to me. He got to every young kid without a home. Not to say I didn’t have a home. I did. Well, somewhat. But it was a small flat with a lonely mother. She couldn’t give me what I needed. The only person that could was Hawk and he knew that.

  He took me in. First, he fed me. He gave me the best fucking steak dinner money could buy. “Can you imagine? Eating like this every day of your life?” he asked me. At the time, I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine eating more than a biscuit and hard-boiled egg for lunch, maybe with a slice of ham on the side.

  Soon, he’d give me cigarettes. He’d buy me a cider or two. Sometimes, he’d see me out with my friends and he’d ask, “You really want to hang around lowlifes like them? Why don’t you find better people? You’re destined for greatness.”

  Destined for greatness. Well, I liked the sound of that. Deep down, I did feel like I was destined for something bigger than my current standing. I knew I’d get out of England. I’d get away from those cobblestone streets, stained from years of boots and the blood, sweat, and tears from the city’s working class. I knew I wouldn’t end up in one of those factories, destined for a life of drinking in pubs and singing during football matches.

  I’d end up in America, like so many others. I’d head out west. I’d feel the sun for once in my life. “Give the people a service,” he’d tell me. “Something unique, but nothing drug related. You don’t want to go down that path, my boy.”

  It confused me at the time. What could I do that was unique? I was just a bloke from a poor town and poor mother. My father didn’t even know my bloody name. But women, they took a fancy to me. From the very start, it was the squeezing of my cheeks and the kisses on the tops of my head. “He’s so cute, this little one,” they’d squeal. I knew if they said something like that, I could get something out of them. It meant cookies before dinner. It meant a fiver so I could go to the market and get a little something for myself.

  Later in life, it meant loads of fucking cash. Hawk dealt in everything shady. He may have told me to stay away from drugs, but that didn’t mean he did. He was building a little
empire for himself and the police turned a blind eye once they got their cut every week. There was Adi, the young bloke from Pakistan. He was a drug runner and he was considered the best. There was Boris from Russia. He dealt in entertainment. Women from Czech. That sort of thing.

  There was me. I had charm. Somehow, I always looked and acted like I had class. Hawk didn’t know what to do with me. He’d tell me, “Someday, I’ll have you run this whole thing. You’re the only one I trust over here.”

  Eventually, it was obvious I needed to make some money. He sent me to the entertainment clubs with Boris and I saw what they did for money. I couldn’t fathom it. Sex? It was unsettling. Boris didn’t give two shits about it. He laughed at their plight.

  As he showed me around the club circuit, I realized the life of the freelancer. I read about the divorce rates in America. I knew about the sad housewife, the woman who lost her husband, and the females who just wanted someone to talk to. That paid twice the price of sex. It was the most unique thing I could think of and it didn’t take that much talent.

  Hawk loved the idea. He sent me to the richest country clubs in London. I collected cash from politician’s wives. Fucking Tories even. They confided in me. Soon enough, Hawk became the richest man in the city.

  I grew weary and left. I made for the west coast, just like I said I would. No one would find me there. I’d become my own boss and I’d build my own kingdom in the comfort of the sun.

  I should have known Hawk would be searching for me. I should have been more careful. Fuck, I shouldn’t have gone by my own name. How stupid am I? It won’t be long before they drag me back. Whatever happens after that is a mystery. Before I go, however, I have one wish. To find that woman and give her everything I have. I want to show her what it’s like to be touched, to be tasted, and to be savored. I want to show her what it’s like to fuck a real man.

  Erica

  Late at night, in this motel room, I’m thinking of the dirtiest things. Flesh on flesh, collars around the neck, hands grabbing thick waists, his lips kissing down my body… I’m the hottest I’ve ever been, now that I’m away from the terrible reality that was my life.