by Strong, Mimi
I couldn't shake my doubts, though. He liked me, but was he still in love with his ex? The woman who I thought looked, based on the one photo I'd seen, a lot like me?
I introduced him simply as Trevor, and not as my boyfriend. My plan was to keep it casual, or at least appear to be casual—not seeing other people, but not rushing into anything, either. I watched as my friends gazed up at Trevor in awe. He really was magnificent in that black shirt that matched his shiny black hair.
My coworker Chad ran up to me and whispered in my ear, “This one's a keeper.”
I looked over at Chad's date, who looked like a fitness model in gold shorts.
“So he's Rocky, but what are you?” I looked up and down Chad's costume. He wore a baggy gray sweatshirt, which was quite a change from his usual fashion-forward attire, so I knew it was a costume.
He adjusted the red kerchief around his forehead. “I'm Rocky, too.” He feigned a few boxing moves.
Trevor drew me closer to him. “I get it. Rocky and Rocky,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, I'm Trevor MacIntyre.”
I watched the faces of both Rockys as they shook Trevor's hand. Seeing him through their eyes made him even more handsome. I'd noticed he was attractive, right when we first met, but he seemed to be getting more and more sexy as I got to know him. He'd had a beard on our first date, hiding away a smidge of that gorgeous face.
The crowd hushed, and everyone began moving through the lobby to find seats. The Rockys insisted we sit with them, and we found a nice seat, near the middle.
Once the lights went out, Trevor put his hand on my lap. So close to my panties, his hand was like a beacon of heat, promising more to come later.
I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You're a virgin, right?”
He gave me a confused look.
The costumed actors took their places in front of the movie screen.
He pointed to the actors and said, quietly, “What's going on? Is this a play? I thought it was a movie?”
I leaned in again and whispered, “This is your first time, so I'm not going to tell you what to expect. You'll enjoy it more this way.”
He twisted in his seat, looking around at everyone, with their newspapers and water pistols and bags full of props.
He kissed me on the cheek, squeezed my thigh, and settled into his seat with a shrug.
All was going well until the wedding scene, right at the beginning of the film, when the audience threw rice in the air. Someone in front of us chucked a good handful into Trevor's mouth, just at the instant he turned to ask me what was happening.
He laughed it off, but I could see him spitting out rice for quite some time.
After a bit, though, he was getting into the swing of things, even learning what to shout out at the screen. He had a big grin on his face as he yelled “Asshole!” after the narrator said Brad Majors' name.
When the Time Warp came on and everyone got to their feet to dance, he was up before I was, and when the song ended, he pulled me down on top of his lap playfully. We made out until the people behind us started to grumble.
The performers were fantastic, and it was one of the finest performances I'd ever seen. Everyone in the audience snapped their rubber gloves in perfect timing, creating the most incredible sound. Even the toilet paper roll tossing, which I'm not usually a fan of, was beautiful to the point of being damn near romantic.
Trevor and I kissed as rolls of bathroom tissue criss-crossed high over our heads like fireworks.
After the movie, Chad and his date invited us to the after-party, at a nearby loft.
We were standing in the lobby, where the lights were dim enough to keep everyone looking sexy and scary in the good way. A couple of drag queens on platform shoes walked past us, their latex and plastic clothing squeaking like pool toys.
Trevor was waffling about whether or not he wanted to go to the party, and Chad said, “Exactly how old are you? Naomi never said.”
I gave him a dirty look. Of course I'd never said, since I didn't know, but now I was curious.
Trevor's eyes darted from Chad to me, then back again. “Thirty-two.”
Chad whistled. “That's nearly a decade older than our girl Naomi.”
I slipped one arm behind Trevor's back and wrapped the other protectively around his front. “It's just a few years,” I said, giving Chad the shut-up-now look.
Trevor gazed down at me. “Let's go to the party. It'll be fun.”
I squeezed him in a hug. “Just for a few minutes. Then I want you all to myself.”
It was the type of party that makes you feel old and square, no matter how old you actually are, or how hip you think you look. People were talking about taking drugs I've never even heard of, much less tried.
I thought I'd know more people, but none of my friends except Chad were there, though he was the life of the party, flitting around and talking to everyone, including three really old guys with long, gray beards. The beards didn't seem to be Halloween costumers, so I wondered if they were in a band, or hired as entertainment.
One woman was playing a cello in the corner. Just the one woman—no band or anything, and she was competing to be heard over the loud dubstep music on the sterero.
Trevor leaned down and shouted near my ear, “What do you think they're paying her?”
She kept playing, utterly focused on her sheet music.
I yelled back, “Whatever it is, it's not enough!”
“Wanna dance?” He swung his arms from side to side, pretending to snap his fingers in a jaunty fashion.
“Not really.”
He nodded for me to come join him.
Nobody else was dancing, but he found an empty space near the middle of the room and began to put on a show. At first, he pretended he was terrible at dancing, just joking, but then he brought out the moves. He did some fancy footwork and fast turns, surprisingly agile and flexible for a tall guy.
People stepped back to watch and give him space. He waved me over to him, so I danced up toward him, and he wrapped his arms around me.
The instant we touched, the beat changed, and the DJ in the opposite corner changed up the song, to something melodic. The sound actually blended with the cello, the two sounds clashing yet mixing.
Trevor held me close and swayed. I lay my cheek against his shoulder and enjoyed it.
“Typical DJ,” Trevor said, his voice now easier to hear over the softer song. “I'm trying to show off for a cute girl and he tricks me into dancing a slow song.”
“I don't mind.”
He grinned down at me. “Me neither.”
We kept dancing, swaying together, and I noticed something was happening in the front of Trevor's pants. It was happening in my panties as well—or at least the female equivalent—but Trevor's was hard to miss.
His firming length pressed against my stomach.
I looked up at him. “Slow dancing does it for you, huh?”
His hands tightened around my waist. “Just with you, Naomi.”
“We should get out of here.” I looked around at the people, some of whom looked to be high school age, just young girls with cat ears on headbands. “This party's making me feel old.”
Trevor laughed, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “I thought it was just me.”
He twirled me around and pressed his erection into my back, then guided me toward the door. It reminded me of our first date, when I'd massaged his crotch with my foot underneath the table, then had to be his modesty shield on the way out.
Once outside the loft, we were in a hallway, but it wasn't the same way we came in, so we weren't sure how to get out. After deciding we didn't want to go back into the party, we tried a stairwell door.
The stairwell was cool and smelled of concrete. Through an open window, we could hear the crackle-crackle-pop of Halloween fireworks outside.
All alone now, we stopped on the stairwell and Trevor pulled me in for a kiss.
As his lips pr
essed down on mine hungrily, I felt his hands grip my waist, and he lifted me up one step, while staying on his.
I opened my eyes, surprised to find us eye to eye, thanks to the step. His amber eyes, flecked with black and gold, captivated me, taking away all my words and thoughts.
Kissing him again, enjoying the new angle, my hands ran over his body, up and down his strong back, and then down his front. Through the fabric of his pants, I stroked his now-firm erection, giving it a good squeeze. He was as hard as he'd ever been, and I wanted him inside me.
I took a small step out with one foot, and he slipped one hand up under my skirt. He deftly found the slit opening in my panties and pushed his finger through, gliding his finger up and down along my wet folds.
I gasped against his mouth and fumbled with his belt buckle. I left the belt done up, pulled down the zipper, and reached in through the opening for his cock. It was so hot in my hand, so naked and velvet soft on the surface.
He pushed my hand away and pulled me to him, plunging inside me. I was gasping again, panting, which gave way to moaning.
He thrust upward urgently, driving himself into me. I heard a tapping sound, shoes on the stairs, but they were my shoes, tapping down and landing on the steps between thrusts.
My clit was aching, locked behind the fabric of the panties in that position. I reached between us to adjust the cloth, and as I swept my fingers across my clit, everything around me got dimmer, and there was only the two of us, me and Trevor.
He was panting now as well, sucking on my earlobe and saying, “I'm going to come.”
“Oh, yes, baby,” I said.
His cock was stiff, moving easily through my wet pussy, so eager for him.
“Damn.”
I sucked on his neck and dug the fingertips of one hand into his firm buttocks as he drove into me rhythmically, lifting me up and setting me down. My shoes, tap-tapping the concrete steps.
With my finger on my clit, I felt myself starting to come. I relaxed into it, letting the sensation wash up and over me.
Tap tap.
He picked me up easily, and I wrapped my legs around him. He turned to the side and pressed my back against the concrete wall.
With my legs around him, he pumped into me. Through my fluttering eyelids, I saw this beautiful man, his brow furrowed with concentration. His expression changed, the lines sliding away.
His cock was so hot, and he lost his rhythm as he let go, pulsing into me as he came.
I cried out for him to not stop, and he kept going as I also came. This orgasm was low and deep, like a bass line, and it went on forever.
When we both stopped shuddering, he pulled me away from the wall. I dropped down one leg and then the other, my feet landing on the step above his.
Trevor pulled away from me, bent over, and a second later stood up again, his semi-firm cock tucked and zipped away in his pants already.
He raised up both arms and said, “Ta da!”
This, as you might expect, gave me the giggles so bad, I had to sit down on the step to compose myself.
Part 2: Meeting the Ex
After our fun in the stairwell, we ran giggling all the way to Trevor's truck.
Trevor started the truck and noted the time on the display. “It's past three! I can't remember the last time I was up past three.”
“I kept you up about that late … the last time I came over to your house.”
“Right.” He reached between us and turned up the music on the truck's stereo.
So, that was it? End of conversation? No discussion of what was happening between us?
I clicked the stereo off. “Why were you drinking that night?”
He countered me with, “Why did you come over?”
“Because I wanted to see you.”
He drove in silence for a moment, then said, “Same.”
“You were drinking because you wanted to see me?”
“Pretty much.”
“I don't get it. Were you drinking because you were, like, sad? Or because you wanted to get up the nerve to call me?”
We slowed down to let some very drunk pumpkins cross the street in front of us.
Trevor said, “Your house or mine?”
I wanted to continue the conversation, and the drive out to his robot-house in the suburbs was much longer than the drive to mine. “Your house,” I said. “Provided you don't try to rush me out in the morning again.”
“Not before coffee,” he said, grinning. “Apparently that's inhumane. Don't worry, I've been scolded and I learned my lesson.”
I could tell he was teasing, but I still didn't like the implication I'd scolded him. That sounded like something a wife would do.
My voice sounded cold and hard as I asked, “Is your wife still staying at your house?”
“My ex?”
“Your wife. The one you're only separated from, but until you're legally divorced, she doesn't get the title of ex-wife. Not unless you're trying to slip one past other people.”
He frowned. Now it was his turn to be unimpressed by implications.
“She's way off in the guest suite, at the back of the house. She won't even hear us come in, let alone mind.”
“Maybe I mind. Maybe you should take me home to my house, after all.”
I could hear him breathing.
He said, “Come home with me. I want to sleep beside you.”
Who could resist such sweetness?
“Okay,” I said.
Traffic was light, as it was so late, and we were already moving rapidly away from downtown.
I sensed Trevor twitching to turn the stereo on, so I quickly asked, “How did you guys meet? How were you married?”
“The first part is a funny story. As for how long ago, a year and a half.”
“You weren't married long.”
“I know,” he said. “Now, as for how we met. Let's see. Roxie was working as an office manager, at the office of a place that does commercial lending. I'd come in there all the time for meetings, and she always had a bright smile for me ...”
I frowned in the dark. As Trevor kept talking, telling me about the ridiculously high heels she wore, and how she snapped a heel while she was walking him to the board room for a meeting, I thought about taking off my crotchless panties and shoving them in his mouth to shut him up.
Seriously? He was going to tell me a long anecdote about their meet-cute?
For a guy who claimed he didn't like to talk, he sure didn't mind spinning the tale of his first date with his wife.
I wanted to pop open my door and roll out onto the highway, just so I didn't have to hear another word.
Instead of stopping him, I sang Rocky songs in my head and waited for it to stop. According to the very detailed story, he ordered for her at the restaurant, but she was allergic to seafood. And then there was something else about her car not starting. And how her parents weren't that keen on him at first, but now they're the greatest of friends, and he has plans to go skiing with her brother. And on and on.
Just as I was about to go for it and pop open the door as we rounded a corner, he finished up by saying, “And that's the whole story.”
As much as I'd tried to block out some of the details, unfortunately for me, I'm a very good listener, and I had a sharp, high-definition image in my head of Roxie and Trevor's early dates. I kept seeing his eyes on her, his hands running up and down her body, catching her as her heel broke, carrying her over the threshold on their wedding night.
By the time we drove into the crescent-shaped driveway in front of his house, the automated landscaping lights flicking on to welcome us, I felt like throwing up.
Trevor came around my side to open the door, and said, “Whatcha thinkin' there, Naomi?”
I stepped out, a little shaky on my feet. “I'm thinking about … that amazing Jacuzzi tub you have.”
He yawned and opened the house door. “I'm going to hit the hay, but you have a bath to your heart's content.”
We both slipped off our shoes and he tossed his keys on the little table. We walked up the wide, curving staircase to the upper floor, where the master bedroom was.
It was only my third time at his house, and as I filled the tub with water while we both got ready to sleep, I was surprised by how comfortable I felt there. However, just as I got relaxed in the tub, I remembered the other woman who was also under the same roof. I hadn't toured the whole house, wasn't even sure where this guest suite was, but as soon as I imagined her, I tensed up and my pulse raced.
I could see Trevor lifting her bridal veil, could see him leaning in to kiss her to seal their vows. And then, cutting the wedding cake and mashing it into each other's mouths. Surely they had enacted those rituals for the photographer.
Trevor had been married. He'd had a wife, and now, instead of her, I was here. In what had been her bedroom. Bathing in the tub she'd probably picked out. About to crawl into bed next to her husband.
My mind strayed to a very dark place, and I imagined waking in the middle of the night to find her standing over the bed, a big knife poised to stab into me.
That part was crazy, and I knew it, but I still deeply regretted coming to Trevor's house.
I got dried off, then I crept over to the bedroom door and locked it from the inside. Satisfied with my smart thinking, I crawled into the king-sized poster bed next to a slumbering Trevor.
It was nearly five in the morning the last time I checked the clock before falling asleep.
In the morning, I reached for Trevor, but he was already up. The door was open, and I could hear him talking, probably on his cell phone in the kitchen.
Getting dressed was a challenge. I'd rinsed out my underwear the night before, so at least they were clean, but my short, leather mini-skirt and copper-hued bustier didn't seem like appropriate day wear. I went to Trevor's dresser and pulled open the drawer most likely to contain T-shirts, feeling guilty about snooping in his things.
I selected a plain, black T-shirt and paired it with my mini-skirt. The shirt was enormous, but I cinched the bottom in a knot, and it actually looked cute. I used my lace shawl from the night before and tied it around my waist, adding a little more coverage to the tops of my bare legs. I tucked the garter and stockings in my purse, put on some makeup, and came downstairs.