by Jayce, Aven
“No,” I whisper.
“No what?” he asks, aware that I’m finished eating and pushing the rest of his salad to the side.
“No bears,” I smile.
“Come with me,” he says. “I want to show you what’s special about this place.”
Dan has a spell on me. It’s only been two dates and I’m already calmer than I’ve ever been with any other guy. No sweaty armpits tonight... and he didn’t kill me, not yet anyway. That’s a plus.
We walk along a short path, tripping over rocks in the darkness, and at the end is the cliff he was referring to, a straight drop of about thirty feet. But the cliff’s not why we’re here.
CHAPTER SIX
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
The university is the central hub with lights from the dorms, apartments, subdivisions, and shopping centers radiating around the outside.
“I’ve come here about once a week over the past year.”
“Alone?”
“Until now,” he nods. “Do you see it yet?”
I look over the town in search of something special, but see nothing, only sparkling orbs. Maybe that’s it. They’re enough, right? That’s what he wants me to see, all the pretty lights?
“Over there,” he points to the center of campus. My building. Old Main.
From this height, I can see the top of the flat roof and the small tower that holds the flag in the very center. It houses a tiny glowing light, the heart to all who live here. But on that roof is a glowing secret, something only seen from a great height. One letter on each side of the flag tower, an F to the left and a U on the right. A giant glowing FU.
“No shit,” I laugh. “Did you do that?”
“No,” he takes my hand. “It was probably a fraternity prank, or initiation, or maybe a pissed off student.”
“Or a disgruntled faculty member. There’ve been plenty of those and most were in that building. But you know, it could be one of those rare occurrences where part of the P burned out in just the right place.”
“Don’t try to figure out the why or the how, just enjoy it for how it is at this moment,” he says, leading me back to the car.
What the fuck? He just passed on a perfectly good opportunity to kiss me under the stars in a beautiful spot. Hello?
“You’ve been stuck in my head all day, Div.”
Kiss me.
“I didn’t get much work done because of you.”
Turn and kiss me.
“I have reviews to write tonight before a new list of products and company sites appears in my box tomorrow. I’m sorry that I can’t spend more time with you this evening.”
Kiss me! Kiss me!
“I just needed a couple of hours with you. Seeing your beautiful face in person should pacify me for the rest of the evening.”
KISS ME!
He opens the passenger door and I look at him with my eyes bugging out of my head. I’m sending telepathic thoughts to his brain and his dick, with no luck, so I give up and climb inside. Damn.
Good job, Div. Why the fuck didn’t YOU kiss him? Dumbass.
The Cherokee slides on the dirt and gravel, the wheels spinning and skidding, dust forming giant storm clouds, and me holding onto the ‘shit handle’ for dear life. You know, the handle above the passenger side door. The one people hold onto in tight turns or on high-speed chases when they yell oh shit!
He parks in front of his place and as promised, I’m allowed to pick one of the two bags of books to take home. Yippee! I feel like I just stepped off the bus from grammar school and my mother agrees I can have a snack before dinner. One cookie, Divine. Just one.
I miss her. I don’t want to think about her right now. Not on this date.
Dan surrenders the books as we reach my front stoop, and then he places both hands in his front pockets and starts to whistle a tune that reminds me of the theme song to the Andy Griffith show. Classic, old school, happy-go-lucky, all-American, whistling.
“Well, good night, Div,” he says, with no indication of stepping forward, or an inkling of a kiss, or even another date. Instead, he takes a step back then turns and moves toward his place. What’s going on? I’m lagging here... his thoughts, his actions; I always know what’s coming in a relationship, but not tonight.
“Wait, hold on,” I call after him. “Nothing happened.”
We meet on the sidewalk, directly between our two homes.
I put my palms up in a what gives gesture. “I don’t get it. Nothing’s happening. Isn’t something supposed to go down?”
“What? Like a good old-fashioned orgy?” he laughs. “You want me to kidnap you or smack you around a few times? I suppose we could go inside and fuck, but that would seem too planned since we’re standing here talking about it. And I mentioned I’m not a wounded man, not in need of saving. They seem to be everywhere these days. So, you’re right, nothing happened. So what?”
“Yeah, but a kiss? A kiss is something, not nothing.”
He grins and holds the side of my neck in his hand while his thumb brushes along my cheek. I close my eyes, nestling into his soft skin while we both exhale.
“Div,” he whispers with a finger on my lips. “From what I can tell, you’re not the type of woman who wants our first kiss to be at the top of a hill that overlooks the city, or on your front stoop, or even on this sidewalk under the stars. Those moments, this moment, they all seem too predictable, too simple, too 1980s John Hughes teen romance. Those are the kisses you get from a high school lover when you’re a virgin.”
He’s wrong. Men are so fucking stupid.
“Fine,” I say and do a quick U-turn to my place. “But I’ll have you know I shaved today!” I call back as I approach my steps. “And I’m not talking about my legs. My vag is smooth as a baby’s bottom and if you wait too long it’s gonna turn into a porcupine!” I shut my door and laugh then open it to see he’s still standing in the same spot. “Oh, and Dan. Thank you. I really did have a nice time.”
Shut the door. Lock the door. Smile behind the door. Phew. That was fun. I wonder if that was Violet speaking or me? It felt like me, but sometimes it’s hard to tell.
Dan’s gonna jerk off tonight; I just know it. I bet his pants will be down in less than five minutes after he gets inside, and I want to watch. I want to sneak over and look in the window, but I’m going to be nice and give him a little privacy this evening.
I race upstairs, slide out of my ultra-slim-too-tight-non-breathable-skinny-mini jeans, grab my laptop from my desk, and head down to the kitchen. A glass of wine, no pants, my laptop, and the Dick Sluts are all I need. Forget getting laid for now, I’ve got some marketing to do. I’ll fantasize about Dan later.
One of my fans posted on the Sluts asking if anyone’s read Violet Cuddlecock’s new book. Twenty people reply saying how wonderful it is, that is was one of their favorite books of the year, and that it’s a must read.
My street team. Thank the dear Lord for my street team. A few random women post that they own it, but haven’t read it yet, and another woman says she hated it.
Comments like that seem so unnecessary.
I create a post with a photo attached of a naked guy in bed with a sheet over just his erect dick and a quote from my book running across his abs.
I’m gonna drag you by your neck into this bed and fuck you until you can no longer stand, my tight vagina princess. Then we’re going to fuck some more so tomorrow you can tell all of your high school friends that I’m King Peen. At eighteen, you’re Grade A Prime. ~Daven Wilderness
Ha, that’s a good one.
The Sluts comment that it sounds awesome. They can tell from those two sentences that they’re going to love it. I smile and sip my wine, hoping that’s true.
Shit! I forgot to look at the books Dan bought. And I have my own to dive into as well. Fuck the online fictional dick, I’m getting some handheld crisp white paperback dick tonight.
The two bags are still out front. I must’ve walked rig
ht past them when I was shouting to Dan and the rest of the neighborhood about my shaved vag.
I take my wine and the books upstairs, as ecstatic as a mother holding her newborn for the first time. Bad analogy? Fuck off. You don’t know what it’s like to have a love for books. I dropped everything I was doing for these books.
A bag of books. My babies.
I dump the entire pile of retro pulp western porn on my bed and jump in. Literally. I fall on top of them and roll around.
I never said I wasn’t crazy.
I’m not very bright, either. Damn these things hurt when they dig into your back. I stare at the ceiling, wondering how to get up without a book disappearing in my butt crack. Oh, what have I done?
Oh! What have I done!
I sit up in a flash as someone knocks on the glass door to my bedroom. I’m pant-less, on a pile of books, and someone, no not someone; it’s Dan, has climbed up my back stairs to my deck and is banging at my door. I can’t believe he’s looking at me. Voyeur!
Whited sepulcher.
Not now Violet.
I’ve always wanted to use that term, thanks for giving me the opportunity, Div. It means hypocri...
I know what it means. Shut up.
In a panic I place a book over my crotch and stare back at him, not sure what to do next. This is awkward. Yes, I wanted him to see my immaculate shave job, but not in this bright light. Candle light, maybe, but not like this.
“Dan! Turn around so I can put on my pants!”
His voice comes through the glass in a muffled wave. “I like you without pants. Open the door.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I look at the floor, then at the light switch, and then back to him. I’m in a thong, not my grandma period panties or even my low-cut briefs, nope, a thong, and I can’t reach my pants. I wanted action tonight, but this... he’s... ug, it’s just too bright. I can’t flash my body under hundred watt bulbs; it’s like stripping in the bright afternoon sun on the beach. He’ll see every blemish and scar. I wish I could reach that damn light.
Wait. Where’d he go? “Dan?”
That was rude. I pull on my jeans and open the door, but he’s gone. No actually, he’s not. My doorbell rings. He went downstairs. Damn him.
I run down and look through my peephole. Oh yes. Dark hair and maple-brown eyes that glow under my porch light.
“What are you doing?”
He places his arm against the door just above his head and leans forward. In a hushed voice he whispers, “Let me be with you tonight.”
I touch the door, wishing he could come inside, wanting the wood under my fingers to be his flesh.
“Why did you sneak upstairs?” I ask.
“To watch you undress.”
His eyes close as if he’s envisioning my naked figure. He’s taking off my clothes in his mind. I just know it.
“I haven’t admired a woman’s body in almost a year.” His finger circles the peephole triggering chills that run down my spine. I feel it. I can feel that finger circling my clit.
“Div,” he whispers. “Let me in. I want to be deep, deep, inside.” His voice is so gentle, so sensual and erotic. “Do it now. Reach down.”
He wants in. Not in my home, but in my heart... and other places.
“When we ate dinner earlier and you were inches away from me, I smelled carnations and chocolate on your body like it was Valentine’s Day. I imagined going down on you; pushing my tongue inside while my nose massaged your clit. Is that scent that radiates off of you everywhere, even there?” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll be working my way down your neck, around your tits, circling your stomach, and then my tongue will disappear, hidden within you... touch yourself for me.”
I close my eyes and sigh, reaching down. I have no problem with that.
His head rests on the door as he continues in an arousing tone. Words of pleasure slither inside, expand in my chest, and snake down to my fingers, which are circling the front of my jeans.
“That’s right. I know you want me. You need my dick inside of you as much as it begs to be there, and once your soft, wet hole is snug around it, I won’t be pulling out for hours. I’ll just lie over you, not moving, not letting you come, just filling you with my flesh.”
I unbutton my jeans and set my fingers in motion, in disbelief that my body has awakened. I’m alive. There’s wetness on my fingers I haven’t felt in years.
“Touch yourself, Div. Give yourself to me... be one with me.”
Shit, he’s good. I might be able to... yes... it just might happen without porn, just from his words. This is so different and exactly what I’ve been searching for.
“Once my hands are on your tits and you experience my dick between your legs, you’ll beg for it every night. Now look at me.”
I can’t. It’s hard to open my eyes when I’m about to... oh my God...ouh.
My fingers rest deep between my inner lips with my palm over my clit as I exhale and let out a mousey squeak.
“Perfect,” he whispers. “I believe that’s the sound of a beautiful woman lost in the throes of fleeting pleasure.” He takes deep breaths, with just the door separating our bodies. “As you feel that delight wane under your fingers, slowly disappearing, fading, your pulse decreasing to a normal beat... don’t be disappointed. It will come again. This is only the beginning.”
I open my eyes to see his hand in the exact position as mine on the opposite side of the door, as if he can sense my touch.
“Are we past the friendship stage, Div? Because I consider what just happened to be our first kiss, and one you’ll always remember. Not our lips touching, but our souls.”
Oh fuck. I think I’m gonna cry.
“It was something to me, not nothing.” He steps away from my door and at a distance I hear the words good night echo down the street.
I should’ve gone outside and slapped him for scaring the shit out of me in my bedroom, but I got caught up in the moment. His charm, Jesus, and his voice whispering through the door; immersing my entire body like he was right here, in this very room, touching me. My body was sexually aroused and responsive for the first time in months.
Mmm. Come back, Mr. Keller. I want to return the favor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’d rather lick dog shit than deal with this email.
Last night with Dan was beyond what I’d expect out of a second date. He’s magnificent and from what I can tell, he’s a scent-aholic too. But after he left, I was drowning in heavy eyes just five minutes into my new erotic western. I have a disease called male orgasm sleepitis, which makes me crash immediately after sex. It affects the majority of the male population, so I’m not too worried that it’s going to kill me or that I need a prescription. And from what I’ve read, women rarely are afflicted by this condition.
I started reading one of the westerns. No, not The Three Buck Naked and Depraved Horseman as planned. It must be in the bag Dan kept. I’ve settled for Cowgirl in the Pig Pen. After the first chapter, I’d give it two stars in the romance genre, but five stars in pulp.
And I haven’t opened Dan’s secret bag of books just yet either. For some odd reason I’m afraid to find out what’s inside. I think it’s because I’m so happy with the pile I purchased that his bag seems like homework or a quiz that could end in failure. What if they’re fishing books? Or worse, books on canoeing or camping? Those things go hand-in-hand with fishing, right? Snore. I’m not a nature girl and if I have to choose between... oh fuck it, I don’t want to have to choose. Clothes, food, or anything else, fine, but don’t tell me what to read.
I’m angry. I shouldn’t be this way, but the FU campus (that’s my new name for it) puts me in a foul mood. I should’ve stayed home and watched porn and read, wearing only my robe and a pair of socks, nothing else. Sounds cozy, but that wouldn’t solve the issue at hand, and it’s not the campus that’s the problem. It’s this email. This goddamn email from Margaret. What a fucking bitch.
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Div,
Hannah came to my office in tears last night because her boyfriend Luke is still missing. You wouldn’t happen to know where he might be, would you? I overheard students in my class talking about you and they said you didn’t like him.
I also would like to know what show is going in the gallery next, and the names of the incoming scholarship students. How much are we giving them this year?
Have you heard from the Dean at all?
Enjoy your day!
MC
This senile old hag needs to go away. I’m so tired of her. And what the fuck is that first paragraph about? If I wanted someone to disappear, it’d be her, not some random Big Boy look-alike named Luke (now I remember his name). And she asks me the same fucking questions week after week. No one believes me when I say she’s losing her mind and should no longer be teaching. My Chair, the Dean, the President... no one. The woman’s nutballs.
I start a nasty email back, then delete it, then write another, and delete that one too. Finally, I’m calm enough to send something.
Margaret,
You shouldn’t make false accusations about me. I haven’t seen Luke since he was in one of my classes a few semesters ago. And, what did you say to the students who were talking about me? Did you stop the conversation, or did you let it fester?
As mentioned back in October, as well as in January, and last month too, the spring show is the student exhibition. I hope your classes have been productive, making pillows, cookies, and knitting hats, and that you have a lot of work ready to fill the space. You can start bringing the craft projects into the gallery next week.
The scholarship is a thousand dollars for all students. It’s been set at that amount for years.
Why would I hear from the Dean?
Div
It will only be a couple of minutes before she responds. She’s fishing for information about the student petition and to see if I’m upset, but I play dumb, which will surely upset her. Why is this woman still here? Clearly, the only thing she’s good at is being a stand-in grandmother to a generation of helpless students. I bet she even wipes their noses.