Heat Wave - Part 2 - Erotika Short Stories for Women (Adult Short Stories for Women Series)

by Flemming, E. M.

  Heat Wave – Part 2

  An Adult Short Story

  by

  E. M. Flemming

  Copyright © 2013 E.M. Flemming

  All rights are reserved.

  You may not distribute this book in any way. No part of this publication may be reproduced, retransmitted, or downloaded, in any form, or by any means, without the express written permission of the author. The distribution of this book via the Internet, or via any other means, without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, places, events, or other locales, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank You

  Part III

  1

  I didn’t answer the text messages, nor did I bother returning the phone calls from Amy. That was for Robert Dorning to deal with. That was his problem now, not mine. At least, that’s how I looked at it. But, I was still torn about how I felt. I was torn about whether or not I should feel a twinge of regret or remorse. I didn’t at that very moment. And as I exited the swanky hotel and hit the streets of Fifth Avenue again, I was happy the evening temperatures gave some sort of relief from the sweltering summer heat wave that was in full swing.

  Robert Dorning.

  I don’t know, but the name just didn’t have the same ring to it anymore. I guess, since I had envisioned sleeping with my best friend’s husband for so long, and lusted for the hot embrace of his very well-built physique ever since I could remember, that once the deed was done, it wasn’t as exciting anymore. The thought didn’t thrill me that much now. In fact, now I was just slightly concerned about the fallout. I think that’s because I wasn’t quite sure how he was going to handle the situation. Was he going to tell his wife what happened? If so, that would probably mean the end of any semblance of our friendship with one another.

  As a taxi was hailed for me out in front of the hotel, I wondered for a moment, how it was all going to play out. Was it going to be some big dramatic situation? Was Amy going to start an all out war? Or, was she going to forgive me, and blame it all on her husband? Besides, it’s usually the guy’s fault in situations like this, isn’t it? I know I egged it on, but I certainly didn’t plan that presidential suite myself. I didn’t pre-arrange all those bottles of wine, to ensure we got good and liquored up. Sure, I played into the situation, just like any other female would who’s hot for a tall, dark, handsome, and very rich guy.

  I wasn’t sure at all how it was going to play out, but for now, I know I needed to get some of this off my chest, and there was no better way I could think of to do that, than to write about it. I certainly wasn’t about to get on the phone with Amy and spill the beans, nor was I too tired to head home and go to sleep. I literally had just woken up, so I was full of energy. No, I needed some sort of creative outlet, and I couldn’t think of any better way to do that than to fire up the trusty laptop, and pound out some of my frustration on that keyboard.

  Writing is the way I know how to cope with things, and in a sordid life like mine, you have to be able to deal with the emotions. If I didn’t write, I wouldn’t be able to cope, and I would probably just live in the past. I would live in regret, and fear. Sure, I’m human, and I have emotions and anxieties, but I don’t dwell on them. Some people hate me for being the way that I am, but the naysayers don’t bother me all that much. I know that the ones who attack me the fiercest, are the ones with the biggest skeletons in their own closets.

  But, regardless of what happens, you might be thinking that I asked for this situation. You might think that I brought all of this on myself. Well, maybe I did. But regardless of who actually caused it, you need two to tango. And, we all tend to put ourselves into situations like this from time to time. I don’t know about you, but things tend to get a bit boring for me when there’s no drama in my life. So, somehow, some way, I’m able to find the drama, no matter where I turn. Or, maybe it’s that the drama finds me? Well, regardless, it just seems to happen. But I’m not sure if I would trade it for the world. Really.

  My mind raced with those thoughts, and the thoughts of the afternoon’s events as I hopped into the taxi. But, even though it was dark out, the hot summer heat was still somewhat uncomfortable. This time around, however, I was glad the cabby had some sort of air conditioning.

  “Where to Miss?” he asked.

  “Park and 81st please,” I said. I was looking forward to getting back to my place and unwinding, having a hot bath, then sitting down in front of the computer with a cup of coffee. Yes, it was nighttime, but I lived off coffee. I could drink coffee at any point in the day or night, and be okay. When I was ready for bed, I could just sleep. The coffee wouldn’t keep me from sleeping. I’m not sure why that is, but I’ve always been that way. Everyone that I’ve ever come across thinks it’s strange, but that’s just the way that I am.

  “Are you here on vacation?” the driver asked. I guess I was leaving a hotel room at night, and I did look like I was going out somewhere on the town, but, unfortunately, I was just heading home.

  “No, I live here. I was just visiting with a friend who’s in town. He’s staying at the hotel.” Well, that was a big lie.

  “A friend?”

  “Yes, a friend,” I said. The cab driver looked at me suspiciously. Was he trying to read my mind, or just undress me like every other cab driver in the city? I could see him casting some clever misconceptions in his mind about who I was or what I did for a living.

  “Which building?”

  “Right here, over on the right hand side please,” I said. We had pulled up to my building, and good old Ernie, the doorman, was outside to open the taxi door for me.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Beckett,” he said. He was always so friendly.

  I paid the fare, got out of the taxi, and caught his eyes checking me out once again. I guess I couldn’t blame him for being a man. Did you know that men think about sex once every seven seconds. Yes, that’s 8,000 times per day. Eight thousand. And I thought I was a freak. When I read that statistic, it all made much more sense to me. Men are obsessed with sex. Well, so am I, but they are much more obsessed with sex than I am.

  But sometimes, I don’t mind it. I don’t mind that a man undresses me, and wants to devour me, especially when those men are as handsome and rich as Robert Dorning.

  Oh, Robert Dorning.

  I guess the name did still have a certain charm to it. I guess I was still at odds with myself. I was trying to block him out, but part of me wanted to let him back in. And by “back in,” I mean, all the way in. Yes, it was some good go we had at it, and well worth it. But hopefully I’ll still feel that way once I’ve finished dealing with the fallout.

  I’m still unsure of how it’s all going to play out, but as I walked through the front doors, and across the marble and limestone lobby of my building, I thought about it all again. I thought about him touching me, sending shivers through my body. I thought about how my body quivered and ached for him. I thought about how much I shuddered when we both cli
maxed. And as the elevator doors closed, all I could think about again was Robert Dorning.

  2

  It was a good feeling being back in my apartment. There’s something so endearing about coming home, back to your own place after a night (or a day) out on the town. I don’t know about you, but home is my little sanctuary. As hectic as my mind – and libido – can be at times, I have the comfort of unwinding when I’m at home. It’s where I can relax, and work all at the same time. And walking in that evening, it felt good, really good to be home. I’m not used to drinking, and having those drinks early with Robert Dorning was a bit of a shock to my system. I had a really good friend who I watched die due to a struggle with alcoholism, so I promised myself I wouldn’t partake in any sort of excess drinking.

  As I looked at my laptop, I became excited to start tapping away at the keyboard. The romp with Robert Dorning really got my mind stirring, and I needed to vent. I needed to figure out just what was going on in my mind. Sometimes, I couldn’t understand it myself. The fact that I went ahead and slept with my best friend’s husband could be found deplorable to some people. But somehow, and some way, I was able to reason it in my own mind. I was able to justify having sex with a married man. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. But all of this certainly makes for a very interesting lifestyle. I think it goes without saying that the type of drama and excitement this kind of event creates, makes normal relationships look extremely dull. I think that’s where I’ve had such a hard time – with normal relationships.

  To me, it has to be exciting. I have to want to devour the man that I’m interested in; otherwise, it’s just plain old boring. I’ve been in relationships in the past, where things just got stale. You know how that goes, right? After a while, you just stop caring that much. You stop caring about your appearance in front of them, you stop caring about having sex, and you just stop caring altogether. That’s where my hang up lies. I’m so afraid to get into a serious relationship, that I think I just defer to having sex with people I know are not available.

  So, all of this got me thinking, and I really needed to get some of this off my chest. I knew I couldn’t talk to Amy, or any of my other close friends, for fear that word would spread. But there was one thing I could: write. I took to my laptop in a fury of words that came tumbling out of me like wildfire. My fingers were cruising at a mile-a-minute, and it felt good. It felt good to unleash my inner most deepest, and darkest desires, right there onto the screen. It was as if I was spilling my mind out in front of me, because the words were traveling as fast as I could think of them. It was liberating, in fact. It felt so good to be able to transfer all of that energy into some sort of creative outlet.

  Now, I write for a living, but even before I started doing so, I began to unleash my emotional tirade into words, and it was cathartic. If you haven’t tried it, you should sometimes. There is something so absolutely therapeutic about transferring those emotions and thoughts into words that nothing else seems to come close. Sure, I could go and speak to my shrink, and pay four hundred dollars an hour, but who needs that? I might be crazy, but at least I feel good about it. Know what I mean? I took my time and energy to translate what had happened between Robert Dorning and I at the hotel this morning, into a book that I was working on.

  Here’s the plot. The main character, just like myself, finds herself entangled in a situation with a married man, but with a twist. As my fingers were flying across the keyboard, I began to write out the worst possible scenario of what happened after the deed was done. Amy – or her equivalent character in the book – sets out to kill the main character (that would be me), by hiring a hit man. Dramatic? Yes, I know, but that’s how my mind works at times.

  And, as I was writing about all of this drama, and unleashing my fury of bent up sexual frustration and escapades, I got a text message from one of my many boy toys, asking me what I was up to.

  “Not much,” I replied.

  “What are you wearing?” he asked. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think this question is probably one of the lamest questions a guy can send a girl. What are you wearing? Well, let’s see, I’m at home, in my sweat pants, writing on my laptop? Of course, that’s not what I answered back. But sometimes, men just need to be strung along, and messed with. I don’t do it viciously, but I guess I get a bit of a thrill out of it. Especially when I know that a guy is trying to “game me,” as they would say. That’s when I really have the most fun with it. But, I wasn’t really in the mood to beat around the bush this time. I had had my fun earlier in the day. I had conquered my 200-pound gorilla, so to speak.

  “Sorry, about to get to bed. It’s been a long day,” I said back. And I know this really gets to them. Sometimes you have to play a bit of push and pull. You can’t let them know you’ll bend over backwards, or jump through hoops for them. It’s a mind game. Yeah, I know it’s silly at times, but it is what it is.

  “But it’s so early. I was hoping for a night cap,” he said.

  Translation: I just want to fuck. Yeah, I know, it’s crude, but sometimes that’s just the way it is. But at least he didn’t come right out and say it. This guy that’s texting me – Nicholas is his name – is pretty amazing in bed. And normally, when a guy like that wants to get together, I’m fair game. I may not cave in right away, but I string them along until eventually I say yes. Of course, I was going to say yes the entire time, but you can’t make them think that. If you let them think that, then they have the upper hand. Never give them the upper hand. Always remember that you hold the power, not them.

  “Long day. Sorry,” I replied. Now, I know this is really starting to annoy him, and as much as I didn’t want to play this game tonight, I find myself being sucked right back into it again.

  “Seriously?”

  Now he was starting to get upset. “Yeah, seriously. TTYL. XOXO,” was my last response. Now, like I said, this will drive a guy wild. As soon as you start rejecting them, they want you that much more. It’s really quite weird to be honest with you. I never really understood it, until I went for my degree in Behavioral Psychology, then it all started to make sense to me.

  You see, the reason why men want you more when you reject them boils down to basic instinct. We all want what we can’t have. Why do you think there are so many affairs out there? But this isn’t just a phenomenon that occurs between men and women, it’s everywhere you turn. It’s our basic and natural instinct to want what is most difficult to obtain. This stems from our hunter-gatherer historical roots, which dates back to the dawn of time. Before modern technology, humans were either hunters, or they were gatherers. Meaning they either hunted animals and fish, or they gathered food from trees and plants. But they all knew certain animals were extremely hard to get, for example, and that’s what that they all sought after. They didn’t care about the easy animals as much; they wanted the ones that were harder to catch. They wanted the harder ones because they knew it was difficult; it was a challenge, so they sought after it, harder and harder. So, if you want a guy to lust after you, then you have to be hard to get sometimes. You can’t always let them have what they want, then they would just take advantage of you.

  When my phone went off again, I thought it was Nicholas. “When will this guy learn?” I thought to myself. But it wasn’t him. It was Robert Dorning.

  “Hey,” he said in the text.

  I waited a few minutes before responding back. “Hey,” I said back.

  “Been thinking about you,” he wrote.

  “Oh?” I replied back.

  “Yeah. Can we get together tomorrow?” My legs quivered a bit. I was at odds with myself on what to do. Do I rush back into a situation that I know is going to just get me into more hot water? Or, was I supposed to wait and see what happened with the fallout?

  “Don’t have time tomorrow,” I said, and then smiled to myself.

  “How about the next day? On Wednesday?”

  “Sure. Maybe. Text me in the morning that day, and I
’ll let you know for certain,” I said back. Was I playing hard to get? Sure, a little bit. But this was also Robert Dorning. My body shuddered a bit just thinking about him. It had only been a few hours since I had last seen him, and I was already thinking about him again. So much for trying to just blow him off. I guess that probably wasn’t going to work out in my favor.

  The thoughts were swirling around in my mind, so I got back to my writing. But it was very hard to concentrate. It was hard to concentrate because every time I started writing about the situation that I was translating into one of my books, I thought about Robert’s hard body pressed up against me. I thought about how hard he was thrusting inside of me, and how incredible that felt. I thought about how I clawed up against his back, and pulled him closer to me – deeper into me.

  All I could think about was how I let him pound himself into me, pull my hair, and have his way with me. I remember him standing there in front of me, pulling him closer, and swallowing him into my mouth. I get dripping wet just thinking about it. Just thinking about it now sends me into a tailspin.

  Robert Dorning. Okay, I guess I’m not over him just yet. Maybe I could take him out for one more spin around the block. It couldn’t hurt, right?

  3

  I left my apartment Wednesday morning just shortly before noon. I rode the elevator down 43 stories, and emerged back onto the white marble and limestone lobby of my building. The air conditioner was on full blast in the building, and it was shielded from the elements.

  “Morning Ms. Beckett,” said John, at the front desk, as I emerged from the elevator.

  “Good morning,” I said. I flashed a great big smile. It was most certainly going to be a good morning. I was headed mid-town to meet Robert Dorning again. My legs quivered thinking about him, while I walked through the lobby of my building. I could see John, at the front desk, checking me out, as he always did. He was discreet about it most of the time, but I could tell he wanted to just rip my clothes off.