by Cj Paul
10:17am
Claire Nichole Eden
have you slept at all?
10:18am
Alexander Armstrong
I slept for about an hour...maybe 2
Have you slept?
10:19am
Claire Nichole Eden
Maybe a wink or 2...... maybe
10:20am
Alexander Armstrong
Sleep is overrated
10:20am
Claire Nichole Eden
Hahahhahahah speak for yourself! I love sleep
10:30am
Alexander Armstrong
So you really haven't slept at all? There's nothing quite like the perfect sleep that comes when lovers rock the world, and lie together exhausted, naked and wet
10:31am
Claire Nichole Eden
I feel I won't truly rest until I have that....... with you
10:32am
Alexander Armstrong
I wish you WOULD get some sleep though. I do want to exhaust you, but not by making you sleepless.
10:33am
Claire Nichole Eden
Ohhhhhhhhhhh you got me with that one
Thank you
10:33am
Alexander Armstrong
I reread your words from our last conversation a dozen times last night. Just...blown away
10:33am
Claire Nichole Eden
How are you blown away......... I want to know everything you are going through
I was totally falling asleep during our final chats last night
I probably made no sense
10:34am
Alexander Armstrong
By all of what you said!
And when you asked me to think of your lips, you made perfect sense.
10:35am
Claire Nichole Eden
So are you saying that the idea of your cock and my lips made perfect sense to you? Heehee
10:36am
Alexander Armstrong
LOL! Uh...well, yes!
10:36am
Claire Nichole Eden
I was singing your praises to a friend today
She wants me to go see you immediately! hahahahah
10:37am
Alexander Armstrong
Really? I'd love to hear you sing! In the shower. While I soap your body.
I LIKE your friend!
10:38am
Claire Nichole Eden
You do NOT want to hear me sing heehee
10:38am
Alexander Armstrong
Oh, but I DO!
10:38am
Claire Nichole Eden
Wouldn't you rather hear me purr?
10:39am
Alexander Armstrong
I'll hear plenty of purring, and moaning, and pleading, and screaming. But singing?
10:40am
Claire Nichole Eden
Oh you think there will be pleading, do you
10:41am
Alexander Armstrong
I was talking about me. LOL
10:42am
Claire Nichole Eden
AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA
10:42am
Alexander Armstrong
You're quite a woman, you know.
Quite THE woman, as in 'woman par excellence'
A woman whose flesh In intend to explore with ravaging intent
10:43am
Claire Nichole Eden
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
the things you say
10:44am
Alexander Armstrong
And that goes just as well for you! Even just: mmmmm...
10:45am
Claire Nichole Eden
Oh i only rate 5 M's huh
10:45am
Alexander Armstrong
I would have typed more mmmms but I was eager to hear your words and didn't want to delay your reply with extra strokes of my keys.
Perhaps we should.....
10:47am
Claire Nichole Eden
Yes, let’s
And with that, he calls me on the phone.
Chapter Twenty “How fickle is woman?” ~Rhett Butler
In my tween and teen years, I lived for talking on the phone. But over time, my love affair with the telephone grew strained and I began flirting with other telecommunication devices. I’ve dallied with email, instant messaging, texting, and of course, social networking. But now, just like a girl in a 1950’s movie, wearing orange juice cans in her hair as curlers, and sitting glued to the family’s rotary telephone on a Saturday night, I keep my phone in view and within reach at all times.
Since the night I received word about Danielle, I notice I’ve been getting calls from anonymous numbers that don’t leave messages. I’m not sure if this is a new thing, another of Murphy’s laws and jokes, or has my number somehow been added to a telemarketing list? Perhaps my recent phone obsession is making me more aware. Regardless, it’s always a letdown when a call comes in that’s not from Alex.
I have not yet come to grips with what I think of this man. I became instantly Alex-centric following our first personal messages. And yet, I am not all butterflies and knots in my stomach as I am used to being when it comes to men I find attractive. And based on the level of my attraction to Alex, I should be tied up in knots so tight no sailor could untangle them. Ack, the idea of being tied up instantly flashes through my mind and once again I am aroused, or rather more aroused. I’ve been in heat for days now.
Alex is unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered – to me he is literally perfect. I don’t mean perfect as in without quirks, but perfect as far as what I enjoy. And I enjoy quirks plenty. I still have a hard time believing he’s real, that he actually does exist. But if he does, clearly he was created just for me. Never has one man possessed the unique combination of seemingly disparate qualities I love and crave. He is sexy to me in so many ways. To be sure, Alex has a brilliant mind. He also has a wicked sense of humor and a joie de vivre I’ve only come across a couple of times in life. He has the rock star look that I lust after – my very own Chris Cornell of sorts. He is kind, compassionate, deep, poetic, passionate, honest. At least I think he’s honest. I thought the same of David and Bret.
What if he turns out to be an 88 year-old married man or, worse yet, an underage kid? Come to think of it, I’ve only seen the one photo of him and people create fake profiles all the time. Then again, he hasn’t seen me at all and still wants me – yet another way he’s extraordinary, whoever he is. Ugh, this is too much for my pea brain to handle. I can’t go around doubting everyone for no reason. What to do?
I fear the only way to know for certain would be to videochat. And that is light years beyond my comfort zone. I consult the menagerie and it’s agreed that I will give him the benefit of the doubt and trust what Shakespeare says, “truth will out.” With both David and Bret, the truth definitely did all come out.
Despite my inordinate fear of videochatting, oddly, I relish the feeling that he is watching over me. I increasingly feel it, that presence, especially when I awake in the middle of the night. Normally, I would find that kind of thing frightening – creepy, at least. Instead, it feels comforting and erotic and I often find myself moaning my enjoyment as my hands explore my body. I always fall back to sleep with thoughts of Alex, and a smile.
I’ve been so consumed with Alex that I haven’t even taken the time to tell April what’s going on. And really, what am I supposed to say? I’m having raunchy cyber sex with a guy I just started talking to who lives across the country? She’d think I’d gone nuts. How very strange to have a new lifestyle overnight, with new people in it of whom your own best friend knows nothing.
I’m barely able to keep it together conducting the business of the day. I’m still distracted, doing things like putting bug repellent on my face instead of moisturizer and looking for my reading glasses when they�
�re already on my head. This is not at all good since I now need them constantly in order to read and reread Alex’s written naughtiness. That’s the best part of our typed communication – the luxury of reading his messages over and over again...and orgasming over and over again.
My ditziness has gone beyond the level of being cute. I absent-mindedly scoop up Jasper along with the dirty laundry, and toss him into the washing machine. I douse him with detergent and am just about to close the lid when he makes his presence known. My challenges with laundry are becoming annoying. More than once, I have managed to misplace a favored thong or pair of culottes, and I am convinced they have run off with the legendary socks turned dryer-escapees.
* * *
While I am cursing my rampant preoccupation, the phone rings and I grab for it as if it were a lifeline. “Number Unavailable.” I frown, convinced it is a sales call or a computer-generated ‘don’t hang up till you hear this great offer’ message. My disinterest in talking to a telemarketer is topped only by my curiosity and desire to put an end to the hang-ups. I answer curtly.
“Yes?”
“Interesting way to answer the phone. And I believe you meant to say ‘Yes, Sir.’ Now, please turn off your computer, lock yourself in your bedroom and do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
“Yes...Sir.”
“Good.”
While I make my way to the bedroom, Alex continues, “I may have told you this before, but what makes you so irresistibly sexy is that you’re a real woman. Or better, you’re Womanhood itself. You’re brilliant, independent, free-spirited, tough, creative, sweet and adventurous. I told you the first time we spoke privately that I knew you were formidable. And that, Love, is fucking hot. Now: take off your blouse.”
I tremble as excitement shoots through me, my fingers doing their best to accomplish Alex’s bidding. “I’m sorry this is taking so long. My hands won’t stop shaking.”
“Not to worry, Love. Take your time. I’m a patient man, patient with just about everything and everyone. I can wait a while, till the time is right, to meet you in the pure immediacy of flesh. But what I have no patience for, is tolerating even one more moment to pass without me lavishing you with pleasure. Take off your bra.”
I gurgle involuntarily as I remove my straps and undo the clasp. Alex chuckles at my sound effects.
“Now, I want you to feel my hands on you, not the silky caress of a woman, but the strong, ravaging grip of a man. Take your breast in hand without apology, with lusty conviction. Feel the animal greed of me wanting nothing less than to devour every honey morsel of you. Fear the wanton abandon of my lust, my reckless desire to pleasure you beyond reason and sense. Trace circles around your nipple with the featheriest touch, so that you can feel the tightening of your skin beneath your fingertips, and the slight rise of goosebumps. Now roll your nipple between your thumb and forefinger and pinch and tug until I can hear you gasp.”
“Mmmmm. I love hearing you moan. It makes me wild. Put your phone on speaker. You’re going to need both hands.”
“Oh my god!”
He chuckles again, in a darker more deliberate way.
“Don’t take off your panties just yet. Grab the inside of your thigh, above the knee, and squeeze. Allow your hand to part your legs. Slide your palm up to the heated triangle of your lace thong and press. Fondle yourself as a man would, as I would. Press your finger against your clitoris through the fabric, tease and circle and feel yourself grow dewy under my touch. Know that I feel you, and that feeling you aroused inflames me, that I’m rock hard, that I shall have all of you. Slide the little patch of cloth aside and cradle yourself. Press your fingertips against the entrance to your desire, and probe, just a little, enough to suggest, to taunt, to whet your appetite for what’s to come.”
I gasp. I moan. I tremble all over again.
“Let your wet fingers find their way to your tongue. Imagine it is my tongue savoring your nectar, sucking, sampling, licking and tasting. Now, take off the rest of your clothes. Lay on your back. Put your hands on the mattress at your sides.”
I do so. “Okay,” I whimper.
“And come.”
Before he has finished saying the word, like a bolt of lightning through my being, one of the full-body orgasms I covet has ravaged my body. And he can hear it.
“God I love hearing you so wildly euphoric. Breathe, Sugar. I’m not nearly through with you. Slide a finger across your clit. Press down, move it from side to side, circle a little, tease the opening of your yoni and travel up, back across and around your clit. Feel your slippery fingers: my tongue devouring you. Pinch yourself between your fingers and tug: my lips gripping and pulling you toward ecstasy.”
“Toward?” I rasp incredulously, now loins-deep in ecstasy.
“Grab your breast roughly. If you knew how much I want you right now, any lesser woman would be afraid. But your legs part willingly for me. Plunge your fingers inside you. Lift your knees to your chest. Feel me inside, feel me hungry, insatiable, plundering with heat and muscle and strength. Feel me filling you, touching each sacred nerve, igniting and inflaming you. Feel me grow and swell and pulse. Feel me taking you, stretching your lush clenching loins, again and again, with rabid intensity and utter abandon. Feel me. Come for me.”
And then it happens. My yoni, my clit, my core all explode together in a rapturous triumvirate of orgasm.
“Nothing makes me happier than making you come, Cariña. You should know that I have every intention of making the rest of your life one continuous, mind-blowing orgasm. Of course, when you’re here, I won’t have to ask you to come, I’ll simply throw you over my shoulder and take you. And make you come.
“Fuck. Someone’s at the door. Sorry, Sugar, gotta run.”
“What? You’re leaving me? Like this?”
Just then, the phone rings again. Another ‘Number Unavailable.’ My still trembling hands at last locate the phone’s on-button. Smiling, I whisper naughtily, “Mmmm, back for more, lover...I mean, Sir?”
“Hey.”
“Hey...how are you, David?”
Chapter Twenty-OneHe knows me in a way no one ever has and always seems to sense when something is amiss. So, I really shouldn’t have been surprised to hear from David following Danielle’s death. It turns out some of the phone hang-ups have been from him. He felt something was going on with me the very night I got the call about Danielle, and didn’t want to just leave a message asking what was wrong.
Of the eight years my show was broadcast over the airwaves, Danielle served as producer for seven. When the station switched formats, and we were both instantly unemployed, we quipped that it was just as well because we were both getting the seven-year-itch and tiring of one another. We both knew we were lying, and would have stayed together till the death of the show did us part, which is pretty much what happened.
Danielle was a force of nature. Nearly six feet tall, she always wore heels and had a strut that could stop an angry mob in its tracks. Outweighing most buff men her height by about eighty pounds, she was all woman, with curves like the Autobahn. Her voluptuous figure and contagious laugh made her a favorite at the NorCal Renaissance Festival, where she volunteered each year. Aside from Faire, she never went anywhere without wearing a sassy amount of black eyeliner on her upper lids, and the reddest lipstick she could find at Sephora.
We were quite a pair. She, a classic extrovert, and I, an “introvert wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a mystery,” as she’d so often tell me. I don’t think a single weekend went by when she didn’t wage a mighty struggle to get me to go out on the town to mix and mingle instead of shutting myself up in the house with the menagerie and a book. When things started up with David, she was as excited as I was – that is, till I found out he was in a relationship. Then she became a lioness whose only cub had just been attacked. Worst of all, she was crazy about David, and was even more crushed than I when he slipped off his pedestal. For hi
s part, he thought she was pretty swell too and was saddened she had cut off all contact. She just couldn’t forgive him, and was none too pleased that I not only forgave him, but even resumed communications with him.
All of these thoughts meander through my mind during my phone call with David. He tells me how sorry he is for my loss, and goes on to extol Danielle’s many virtues.
“How are you holding up, Cece?” he asks kindly.
“I’m fine, D. Mostly sad that I have not stayed in touch with her as I should,” I lament.
“Yeh, I know what you mean. But don’t let that get to you. She knows you love her.”
Just then my phone alerts me to an incoming call from Alex, and I gasp.
“Do you need to take that, Cece?”
“Umm...”
“I’ll let you go, but real quick, is there going to be a service for her?”
“Yes, next Tuesday at the National Cemetery in the Presidio.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be next Tuesday too! See you then, Cece. Ciao, bella.” And with that he hangs up.
Wait, see me? What? I click over to answer Alex’s call and instantly forget my conversation with what’s-his-name. It’s only been a couple of days since our cyber-sex on the first date messages, but I am already completely under this man’s spell. I would be constantly shaking my head in disbelief like a bobble-head doll, if it were not that things seem so easy and natural with Alex. This is the most organic relationship I’ve ever had with someone, at least with someone I lust after.
Alex and I only talk for a few moments while he drives to a kiddy restaurant to attend a fifth birthday party for one of his many nephews. Minutes later, he is already texting me. I’m convinced he will be thrown out of the place and branded a sex offender if anyone glances at his phone’s text display. I inquire about the food and he bemoans the cardboard, ketchup and imitation cheese version of a pizza that is served. He says he’s craving sushi and I can’t resist tempting his palate: