by Dani Wyatt
After that first night, when I gave her my email address, I set up my phone to notify me of any emails coming to this account. And now, there on an otherwise black screen of my phone, I read the small banner notification twice before looking back at the monitor and confirming the email account agrees.
“INBOX (1)”
I’m up and out of my desk chair in a split second, and my hand comes up to flatten over where my heartbeat is pounding so hard I can feel it in my palm.
I count again, to twenty this time, then look at the monitor, and then down at my phone, my body still bent in half trying to recover from the shock. I haven’t received an email on this account in two months. I made sure everyone knew my new one. Everyone except her. I want this to be our place, as stupid as that might sound.
When I think I can stand, I stretch back up, spinning around once in the empty apartment; my head falls back on my neck and I say a little prayer to the sleek LED light fixture above my head.
I plop my ass back in the desk chair and quickly slip the cursor arrow to the inbox, desperately click on the waiting email, and my eyes fill with her magic.
Griffin,
Hi. I don’t know if you remember me or not. This is Talia. We met at Amanda’s house a few months ago.
Anyway, you really helped me out that night. And it was rude of me to never call or email to thank you, but my life is a little strange. But, you don’t need to know all of that. Things have changed. But just so you know, this is my first email account and you are my first email ever. Yay!
And who did I want to email first? My knight in shining armor that saved the damsel in distress. Well, that’s not completely honest. The truth is, I can’t quite stop thinking about the little dance you did for me. At that moment, I was feeling so low and you managed to make me laugh. It meant so much to me.
I know it’s been months but I thought about that night a lot and I just wanted to thank you. You were a true gentleman (and a great ballerina, or maybe man-erina? Not sure. Ha ha) and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to tell you that until now.
Okay, well, it’s late here and I’m ready for the sandman to take me. I don’t expect to hear back from you. No obligation to write back. You have no idea how long it has taken me to type all this. Let alone decide to actually hit send. Anyway, I’m sure you are very busy, but I just wanted to say thanks.
Take care,
Talia
Twenty minutes later I’ve read it so many times I can close my eyes and recite each word. My cock is hard as a lead pipe, and before I know it, I’ve got it out and in my hand. She’s been the only thing to make me hard in so long, but this is different. It’s her, right here, with me. I didn’t imagine words on a screen would be my own personal porn. I stare at my name, and just knowing she typed it makes me think of her calling my name when I thrust into her body.
I run my finger there, touching her, connected to her.
Thinking of how badly I want to see her cum. Taste it, feel it as it squeezes around my cock. Wondering what her noises will be like, will she quiver and shake? God, I hope she calls my name. The sound of her pleasure and my name on her lips has to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever imagined.
I want to fuck her in every position. I’ve thought of them all and even made some up that I want to try with her. Only with her. She is my fantasy. She will be more very soon, I feel it. The skin on my cock is pulled tight as I throw my head back, quickening my strokes, seeing her open mouth taking me inside as her eyes sparkle up at me. Soft words dripping from her lips just before she takes me in her mouth and worships my cock. I growl as my balls tighten, jerking up and down faster and faster as the last part of my fantasy unfolds in my brain.
“I love you.” Her hand drifts up to grip the base of my shaft, a smile curves her lips as her mouth engulfs my cock in sweet warmth.
My balls are tight and a moment later I’ve cum all over myself, the words on the screen and my fantasy enough to give me the hardest orgasm of my life.
I may be completely crazy, but I’ve never been so fucking excited in my life. No football win nor award can compare to this simple email. When I can tear my eyes away from the screen, I jump up and hop in the shower. For some reason I want to be clear headed and clean when I write her back.
I’m out in record time. I gulp down another cup of coffee then get a refill as I settle back in my desk chair, rubbing both my hands over the damp of my hair, my head spinning with what to say. The perfect words to type. I feel like I’m about to give the most important presentation of my life. If I fuck this up, all is lost.
Talia,
Your email has me a bit star-struck, to tell you the truth. I’m going to just be completely honest here. You may delete this and immediately think I am nuts, but I guess in a way I am. So I’m going to take that chance.
Not only do I remember you, I think about you every day. I even went by your house the day after the party, but your neighbor told me you were gone. You moved. It was all so crazy but I wanted to find you.
I was more than disappointed. I almost considered not leaving for my new job here in Berlin. I wanted to see you again, more than anything, but I have a contract here and I am a man of my word. Fulfilling my obligations is part of being honorable, so here I am.
But, dang, when I opened up my email and saw your message just now, I nearly fell out of my chair. I’ll be completely honest, I almost passed out. I practically had to do the head between the knees thing I learned in first aid class.
I hope you are doing well. If you feel comfortable, I’d really like to know what happened that night. Why your dad picked you up and moved you during the night (I managed to get your next door neighbor to spill some info. Don’t be mad, I had to beg). I’m so sorry about what happened with Amanda and her friends. I wish I could have stopped it. I remember seeing you downstairs before they dragged you off. Even then, I just caught a glimpse of you, but I wanted to follow. That’s how I ended up finding you in the library. Something made me go looking and I am so glad I did.
I hope we can keep writing. I’d love to know more about you. Everything in fact. LOL Sorry, I know, I may be crossing the creepy-guy line there again. But you have to understand something... for three months I’ve wanted to talk to you.
Where are you living now? What made you finally decide to get an email account? It’s odd that you’ve never had one before, and I wonder why and hope you will tell me about that too.
I’ll tell you a bit about me and what I’m doing. I’m in Berlin, on a five-year contract with the Department of Defense. They hired me right out of college. Graduate school, actually. I completed my four-year undergrad and my two-year MBA in just under five years. Seems they were impressed with something in my transcripts, so here I am. If I hadn’t already signed the contract and been obligated to come, trust me, I’d still be there looking for you.
And, don’t get any ideas, I work for the D.O.D. but my job is very far from glamorous. I’m a forensic accountant. So, think nerd on crack. I can’t say much about what I work on, it’s classified, but just trust me when I say, it’s not sexy to most people. I personally love it. I find it fascinating trying to piece together the puzzle, finding the tiny hidden clues in all the numbers and data. Sometimes I get so lost in my work, I forget to eat or even get up from my desk for hours and hours. So, anyway, sorry, I know it’s far from glamorous.
It does get a bit lonely here. I speak German, not fluently, but enough to get by. I don’t socialize much, I’m too engrossed in my work most of the time. But having you to write to seems like I’ve just won the lottery.
Okay, I’ve gone on long enough. You’re probably thinking I’m crazy by now, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I hope you write me back. I may sit here until you do, so unless you want me to lose my job and wither away from lack of food or water, please write back.
Take care. I’ll be sitting here waiting.
Griffin
I click send and throw my arm
s up in the air with a hoot. My face is red hot and my heart is throwing itself around inside my chest as if it’s trying to break loose. I’m out of breath and the only thing I can think of is what if she never writes me back? I was half joking about sitting here until she does.
Half joking.
I look down to see the time is 9:02 a.m. here in Berlin. Which means it’s four o’clock in the morning back in Michigan, assuming that’s where she is. I heave a sigh of frustration that it’s so early, realizing that there’s no way I’ll get a response for hours.
Thoughts of beating Derrick bloody still itch in my brain. Or hug him. I’m not sure. All’s well that ends well, I guess, but I still owe him at least a good choke hold.
I have a colleague I’m supposed to meet in an hour at the office. It’s Saturday but he and I seem to have no other life but work, and cracking this project we are working on has become our mutual obsession. There’s something screwy, both of us can feel it, but so far we haven’t been able to find out what. Could just be an anomaly, they happen, but we’re both hell bent on finding out.
Although, I have to say, my obsession with Talia has multiplied by a thousand and is trumping anything else right now for me.
My dick is still hard. I trace my fingers over the line in my inbox that shows her email address and the subject line of her email.
[email protected] Hi. Not sure you remember me. :-) But I wanted to say Thank You.
She’s so sweet. So perfect. And ‘ukuleleprincess?’ I need to know all about that. My eyes read and re-read that simple line as I lose myself stroking out another orgasm with her words filling my eyes.
C H A P T E R E I G H T
TALIA
I can’t stay.
You won’t let me be.
I tried to be.
The person you wished for me.
I can’t stay.
Katie’s grinning watching and listening to me sing and play my ukulele as we sit at the dining room table. “I think you should go play down at The Pickled Peach in Ann Arbor. They have that open stage—do they call it amateur night?—whatever, they have that on Thursdays. You are so good. You need to let the world hear you.”
It’s Saturday morning and we’ve just devoured a package of Oreo Thins and about a gallon of coffee. Coffee was another taboo with my father when I was growing up, so I’m making up for lost time. Not to mention Oreos.
When we went to The Highland House, the restaurant Katie’s dad owns and runs, I did my paperwork and he slipped me an envelope. I knew right away what it was and tried to give it back, he wouldn’t hear of it. Inside was a thousand dollars, just to get on my feet he said. The generosity of some people amazes me. I’ve never had my own money in my life.
The house is overly warm; one thing my father did right was keep the furnace and mechanical systems working. The old furnace runs on oil, so I have to watch the gauge and have it filled up less it runs out and I’m left in the cold. There’s a lot to keep track of. All this adulting—that’s what Katie calls it—is a lot of work.
The temperature dropped about twenty degrees last night and there is snow on the way. Shoveling the walkway here has been my job since I was probably ten, so I’m skilled at the operation of the snow shovel, besides, it’s good exercise. All those Oreos need an outlet lest my already snug clothes become last year’s size.
“No one wants to hear a chubby girl playing the ukulele, unless it’s sideshow night. Besides, I’m not good. I just do it for me. It got pretty boring growing up with no electronics, and my father’s limited, approved book selection was the worst. The Pilgrim’s Regress? He gave me that when I was twelve. For my birthday.” I nod and roll my eyes, remembering all the days and nights cooped up in that house listening to him preach or lecture me on the evils of the ‘outside.’ “Thank God my mom found this ukulele in a thrift shop that same year.”
“I have no idea what ‘The Pilgrim’s Regret’ is, but if you put yourself down one more time, I’m going to rub meat sauce all over you.”
“Stop.” I scrunch up my face, picking at the strings on the ukulele and humming out the melody of the song I’ve been writing. “And it’s ‘Regress.’”
She shrugs. “Whatever. I’m not joking about the meat sauce. Now that you’re a vegan, it’s a threat you will consider.” She reaches over and picks up the empty pack of Oreo Thins. “And what about these? They must have something naughty in them.” She squints, flipping the package over, and begins reading the ingredients.
“Nope. They are one of the many accidentally vegan foods out there. Now that I have a computer, I can look that sort of thing up.”
I strum and hum, tapping my food and imagining Griffin’s face. The kiss. Like I’ve done thousands of times in the last few months.
“Whatever. Fine.” Katie tosses the empty Oreo package across the cherry table top with a disgusted release of air, then puts her hands behind her head. I’ve cleaned the place up, taken down the tattered curtains and generally tried to let some life back into the old place.
Katie’s faded red t-shirt stretches across her chest. I used to envy her small breasts. Mine are always in the way. I chuckle under my breath as I re-read the words splashed across her boobs. ‘Fight for Ghandi.’ Even in my isolated life, the irony of it is not lost on me. I wonder where she gets all her t-shirts. They always make me laugh and they are so her.
“Trust me,” I pause my strumming and sit up straight, crossing my feet at the ankles with a long sigh. “When I was little, before you moved in, my only friends were the chickens, goats and pigs my father kept out back. Then he would make me come with him when he slaughtered them. I tried to not eat meat from when I was five years old, after he made me watch while he tore my friend Lucy’s head off. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He forced the food down my throat until I gave in. Now, I’m finally able to decide for myself and I’ve decided.”
“I get it. I’m just saying. I need to threaten you with something, so that’s it. Now, did you check your email today?” Her eyes light up and she does this little half jump in her chair like a little kid tapping her toes on the wood floor. “You want to do some Tumblr surfing? I liked some of those gifs from last night. You learned a thing or two didn’t ye?”
The reminder makes me flush with heat. I’ve only thought about it a million times since I woke up, but I couldn’t decide if I was more frightened of seeing a return message or seeing that he didn’t reply.
So I took the passive route and didn’t bother turning on my laptop at all.
We did have some fun on that site. I never dreamed so many people would be willing to have themselves videotaped doing those things. I would die. The tingle between my legs reminds me I surprisingly found no shame in what I saw, just would never want anyone to see me like that, displayed for the world. “Yes, I did learn more than a thing or two. And, no I haven’t.”
“What? You haven’t checked?” Katie is on her feet with a squeal, running over to flip open my laptop, which is sitting at the opposite end of the table. Before I can get a word in she’s already logging me on.
“As soon as I figure out how, I’m going to change that password so you can’t just do that!” I set the ukulele down on the table and rush behind her. Unfortunately, she’d set it up for me and knows all my information, so stopping her will result in a girl fight and I’m not quite up for that but I do give her behind a good smack when I get close enough.
“Whoa, okay.” She steps away. “You just log into your email then. I’ll stand over here.” She takes a step back, but close enough so she can still see everything on the screen. All I have to do is open up Google and click on my email. Why does it suddenly seem so difficult?
I narrow my eyes and scowl her way, pressing my hip into the end of the table before settling down into the chair with a huff.
My head is spinning. What if there’s a reply? I won’t want to read it; I can’t read it. It’s too difficult.
“For Christ’s sa
ke, just do it!” She yells and I jump, my fingers shaking as they hover over the keys.
Deep breath, I enter my email information and nearly pass out. I squeeze my eyes closed. Then open one just enough to see.
INBOX (1)
[email protected] Subject: It took you long enough. And yes, oh yes, I remember you.
Twenty minutes later, I’m still staring at the screen, re-reading the email until I’ve got it nearly memorized. Katie’s retreated to the kitchen. We’ve traded Oreos and coffee for tea and scones. She has a batch baking in the oven making the house smell heavenly. It reminds me again how lucky I am to have her and her dad on my side.
The scones’ aroma and Katie’s chirping chatter from the kitchen give me a warm, comforting feeling. I can’t cook or bake at all, which was a source of constant disappointment for my father. In his eyes, a woman that can’t cook is about as useless as an umbrella in a hurricane. There are things I can do though, and that’s where the music comes in. The melody just seems to come to me like a dream, visual and three-dimensional, then the words just fill in.
I’m also good with plants and I can play a wicked hand of bridge. One of the few forms of entertainment in my household growing up was cards, because my mom insisted and my father grudgingly allowed it. Never on a Sunday, obviously, and only between my mom and me—he would never join in. But I’m a shark. Katie showed me how to play online poker last night, and I’ll admit, I think I’ve found my first addiction; my father would be horrified.
I think I’m pretty good too. I have six hundred and forty-two virtual dollars in my account already just from an hour last night and another one early this morning. Seems I may have found my calling.
Katie prances in, setting down a cup of tea next to my elbow. I’m leaning my chin on the heel of my palm. My face is warm and I have to keep pressing my legs together to stem the flutter that keeps settling there.
“Dear Griffin,” she mocks in a playful tone, tapping on an invisible air keyboard. “You are so dreamy. I want to have a thousand of your babies.”