I was getting too hot in my clothes. I wanted to be horizontal, and the wine was going to my head.
He undressed. I watched, amused, as he folded each article of clothing and placed them neatly on the dresser. His body wasn’t bad for an engineer with a desk job. I could tell he works out. The body he revealed was well groomed and manscaped.
He walked a step towards me, his cock was stiff and led the way. “Are you just going to watch? Or will you join me?” he said. His smile displayed perfect teeth.
All of a sudden my image of him as an engineer kinda went out the window.
I smiled back and dropped my shit on the floor.
He pushed me to the bed and drove his cock right into my pussy like a passenger getting onto a crowded New York City subway.
Ryan Mitchell, the engineer, fucked me like the world was going to end that night.
I was pounded, pumped, and rammed. His muscle worked in-and-out of into me like it was a part of a fucking fuck machine. I I lifted my knees and spread my legs. I opened my flower as much as I could and squeezed his rapidly moving cock.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouted. “That’s amazing.”
He picked up the pace, which surprised me even more. I didn’t think it was possible. I grabbed his ass cheeks and squeezed them hard. He increased his stroke length, nearly taking his wood out of me at the top of the stroke.
I felt his tip at the entrance of my pussy for a fraction of a second before it was rammed deep and hard back into my love cave. Hard. Fast. Hard. Fast. He was a human sex-machine, and I lost track of time being fucked silly.
He eventually moved his body slightly. He rocked his cock so that instead of driving me like a piston in a cylinder, he was like a hinge, his body connected to my clit. I felt the pressure on my pleasure button, and I slapped his ass.
“Are you ready to come?” he gasped.
I moaned, too close to climaxing to form any coherent words.
“Come on baby, get there, you’re so fucking hot,” he whispered.
“Talk to me…” I slapped his ass again.
“Jess your pussy is heaven. Amazing! Fuck, oh god, you’re so fucking hot, oh fuck, my cock is so hard, I’m going crazy, slap me again…”
He rocked his hips so the contact to my clit was constant and I began the free fall into pleasure and bliss.
“Ooooh, I’m coming, I’m coming, ooooh, Jesus…” I bit my lip, rolled my head back and gasped.
Ryan followed me to the finish line; he changed his gyration into a slow motion rock and took a nipple into his mouth. I felt him come, heard him call out as he released my nipple, and then he kissed me. He worked his tongue slowly, gently and soft. I felt his hands on my face, and he guided me onto my side.
He rolled me on top of him.
I moved onto his stomach, kneeling around his body, leaning down to kiss him while he alternated between holding my face and caressing my tits.
We kissed, rubbed, and stroked each other for a good fifteen minutes. Maybe it was half an hour, I lost track of time, and I could still feel the wine making me light-headed. I slid my body down his body and found a stiff member waiting for me.
“Ready to go again I feel,” I said.
“I am,” he said. “I wasn’t taking any chances tonight, so I took a little pill before dinner.”
“Shit, what if I’d turned you down?”
“I’d have gone home and relieved my blue balls with five minutes of porn.”
“Five minutes? You’d last that long after a long drive home in frustration?”
“Probably not…” He laughed and rolled me off. “I’m going to use—I’ll be right back.”
When I heard the shower running, I decided to join him. We washed each other, kissed more, and then went back to the bed still wet.
He positioned himself on top of me, with his face planted on my pussy, and he slid his tongue around each of my lips, then brought the tip to my button, lightly and softly he worked my clit. His hands were under my ass cheeks, holding on like he’d fall off a cliff if he let go.
I did my part, too. I tugged his balls together with my right hand and slapped his ass as hard as I could with my left. He moaned and shook his head like a puppy with a toy. My pussy was on fire. I pushed my hips up trying to get more pressure on my hot wet sex. I opened my mouth wide and took him deep. I controlled the depth and movement with my hand around his sack, pulling and tugging, and also by a slow but steady movement of my head. I felt the end of his cock inside the back of my throat and left it there, unable to breathe, for as long as I could. Time ceased to mean anything to me. When I needed a deep breath, I pulled his balls, and he pivoted his hips.
We reached a rhythm that was unworldly, his mouth cupped my clit, and my mouth enveloped his shaft, and we, or at least I, lost any sense of where I was, how much time was passing, or even what my name was.
I began to peak, I took my hand from his balls, and with both hands, I slapped his ass.
After spitting out his cock, I shouted, “Make me come, fuck!”
He didn’t disappoint, taking his cue from my ass slapping, he squeezed my cheeks with an iron grip and moved his tongue and lips on my swollen love spot with violence and intention.
“Holy Christ!” I came in waves, peaking three times before the final orgasm sent me nearly into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FOUR
The difference between sex and love is that sex relieves tension and love causes it.
~ Woody Allen
I LIKE COMING HOME.
By home, I don’t really mean my neighborhood or my house. I don’t mean Rancho Palos Verdes, or even Los Angeles or California.
I mean Midori, Olive, and Haiku. To me, coming home is having Midori take my bags and ask me about my trip.
Olive jumps on me and wags her tail.
Haiku usually ignores me for a few hours. Or a day.
“Good puppy,” I said. “I love you.” I petted her sufficiently and looked around for the cat. He was hiding, so I joined Midori.
“I can get this,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said back to her while reaching for a clothes hanger. I put one of my blouses to my nose. “Send this to the cleaners.”
“I have a pile going,” Midori said pointing to a small assortment of clothes on the other side of the bed. “I’ll take them in tomorrow. Will you be leaving again anytime soon?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I miss this place.”
“Traveling so much is hard on you,” she said. “You should settle down.”
“I know. It’s hard settling down.” I sat on the edge of the bed and frowned into a framed mirror that sat on one of my dressers. “I think I need to stop all the long distant dating. It’s impossible to really get to know someone…”
“I could have told you this,” she said.
“I think you did.” I laughed at myself in the mirror. It was true, she had, so had my sister, but I’m not about to admit that she’d imparted any wisdom to me. It’s not like there weren’t millions of men in the Los Angeles area, certainly I could find a good one.
“Will you be staying home tonight?”
“Yes, let’s eat together?”
“Of course, dear,” she said. “How was your trip?”
“Good. I won some money. Met a guy, the usual.”
“You’re going to keep seeing another long distance guy—you think?”
“I don’t know. Probably not,” I said. “It’s hard. You’d think I could find someone close to home.”
“I think you’re trying too hard.”
“I wonder how women found guys before—you know—before online dating and the internet…”
“Friends, family, work,” she said matter-of-factly. “When I was a child, many of these relationships were arranged by families.”
“God, that would be horrible,” I said. “I can’t imagine, Jesus.”
“It’s not all bad. Men are, after all, men.”
“That seems so
cynical. I thought I was the cynical one?”
“You’re just too much of a planner, dear,” she said. Her smile conveyed warmth, but also a wisdom that I knew I’d generally ignore to my own peril.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“You think you can control things that you cannot control. When you play cards, you know strange things happen, right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“But nothing, life is random, too. You’ll see. Love isn’t so difficult—”
“You think I make it harder than—”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to start dinner, love.”
Maybe she was right I thought to myself, wondering about my decision to start man-shopping closer to home. No more long-distant relationships sounded like a great policy. I did have a trip in mind, however, to Europe. Sometime later in the year, on the tour. Maybe. What if I met a great guy from France? Or from the UK? What would I do? Maybe I was making my life vastly more complicated than it needed to be…
RIGHT AFTER DINNER my cell phone rang. My sister, Eve. She usually text messaged me, so I was worried before I answered the phone. I hate that moment of dread I feel right before I find out whether my fear was unjustified. It always seems like I’m going to be told that someone has died or something. I guess it’s post-traumatic stress from my mom’s cancer. Ninety-nine percent or more of phone calls are not bad news. Maybe more…
“Hello,” I said answering the phone.
“Jess, how was your trip?” She seemed agitated.
“Fine.”
“I was wondering if you could babysit tomorrow evening,” she said. “I’m going out with some friends, a church thing, you know… I’d invite you but…”
“Yeah, you know I’d say no,” I said. “But, sure, I can come over. I’d like to see the kids. Can I bring Olive?”
“Of course. Spend the night if you want,” she said. “I’m wondering…”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“What?”
“When you say ‘never mind’ when you really want to discuss something,” I said. It was a bad habit of hers, I think it went back to when we were kids. “What’s Ray doing?”
“If you don’t want to babysit—”
“No, I do. I’m just asking about—”
“He’s on a trip. Out of town. Business…”
“I see,” I said. “He’s been doing that more lately, I’ve noticed.” Her issue, perhaps?
“It’s just work,” she said. Her tone was too defensive.
“So, you’re not feeling—”
“No, it’s not that. I mean—maybe—he’s just been working a lot lately and Bethany just got her permit and she’s kind of…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, she’s been acting kind of strange, and there’s a boy she’s got a crush on. It’s so many things at once.”
“A boy?”
“Don’t start giving her advice.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“She’s a good girl,” she said, her tone condescending, motherly, overly critical. She always knew how to push my buttons.
“Of course she’s a good girl,” I said. “You’re implying, however, that only people that act a certain way are good—”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay, I just don’t want her…”
“What?”
“I don’t want her thinking that—you know—she is old enough to…”
“Have sex?”
“No!” My sister’s embarrassment translates even through a cell phone conversation. I could picture her face right now, her eyes scrunched in judgment and a slight tinge of reddish as she blushed. “I’m not the prude you think I am, but I don’t think—look, I know you don’t agree with my lifestyle…”
“And you don’t agree with mine,” I said.
“But…”
“But what?”
“She’s my daughter,” she said adamantly.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve never undermined you.”
“I didn’t say you had,” she said. “It’s just…”
“What? You think I’m a bad influence. I know you do. I’m sorry, but I’m not—”
“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Jessica.”
“But you wish I was different.”
“I wish you were more like mom wanted you to be,” she said. That stung.
“I don’t want to go there. I promise to not undermine your authority with the kids, but I’m not going to pretend I’m something you want me to be.”
“Okay, I get it,” she said. “I’m not saying you’re wrong…I just…I want Bethany to have our standards and morals. I want her to wait until she’s married, and I guess I feel like I don’t have control, and with Ray gone so much. It’s over whelming sometimes.”
“You can’t control other people,” I said. “Even your kids. She’s nearly an adult.”
“She’s not even sixteen.”
“In some cultures—”
“I don’t care about some cultures,” she said.
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “Look, I’ll talk to her, but I won’t undermine you.”
“Fine. Be here at five?”
“I will,” I said. “One more thing?”
“Yeah?”
“You think Ray is doing anything—”
“Jessica!” She sounded angry and embarrassed. “He’s a good husband and father.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” I said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Five, okay?”
“Sure.”
“You can come at four if you want to hang out for a bit?”
“Of course.”
We hung up.
Or should I say, I pushed ‘end’ on my smart phone. Honestly, I can’t say that I’ve ‘hung up’ a phone since I was a kid. It’s strange how language works, the phrases we keep, even after they are obsolete. And the euphemisms, especially for sex. God…
I do care about my sister, but she can also drive me crazy. It’ll be good to see the children, however, I miss them when I’m gone for too long and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have any of my own. Maybe I’ll just borrow my sister’s kids…
CHAPTER FIVE
In life, more than in anything else, it isn’t easy to end up alive.
~ Roman Payne
WE ATE DINNER in front of the big flat screen watching Frozen. I think Abby and Ruthie have seen it two hundred times. They sure had the dialogue and the songs memorized. Peter looked bored, but I believe he was pretending. He stayed for the whole movie. Bethany and Zack, on the other hand, ate dinner in five minutes and went to their rooms. Such beautiful kids… I wish my sister would lighten up…
“I’m gonna be the Snow Queen at Ho-low-weeen!” Abby stated empathically.
“You have to be Anna,” Ruth said. “I’m older.”
“It’s okay, Ruthie,” I said. “Besides, Halloween is nearly a year away. We just barely finished with Christmas and New Years—”
“Auntie Jess?” Abby said.
“Yes, honey?” I looked into her little face, and for a moment I imagined the whole rest of my life: Perfect Husband, Big Wedding, Bliss, Love, Kids…well, I already had the perfect house and dog. In spite of the Disney movie playing, I reminded myself that happily-ever-after endings were rare in this world. God, Abby was so damn cute, looking at her outstretched hands, I felt like melting.
“I’m not tired,” she said. My cue that it was time to tuck her in bed. I picked her up, carried her up the stairs—being the good pre-mom—I made sure she had brushed her teeth before I kissed her goodnight.
“I love you, sweetie,” I said.
“Can you leave the door open a little bit?” she asked.
“Sure, darling,” I said. “I’ll be just downstairs, love. Sweet dreams.”
Sometimes I wish life could
be so simple for me: chicken nuggets without gaining weight, a Disney movie about finding true love, and someone to carry me up the stairs and tuck me into bed.
“Jessica,” Bethany said from down the hall. Something was up, she sounded formal, like a teenaged used-car salesman trying to explain to me why I needed an extended warranty.
“Yes?” I said cautiously.
“Can my friend come over?” she asked.
“Um,” I said. “What would your mom say?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
That probably meant no, which meant…
“Is this a guy you’re talking about?” I asked.
She nodded.
“You have a boyfriend?” I asked using comforting body language and a soft tone. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her.
“He’s kind of—like—sort of…”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “You know things between your mom and I are not always—”
“She doesn’t have to know,” Bethany said.
“I think that makes it worse,” I said. “Look, how about I say yes, but you guys stay downstairs and he leaves by midnight?”
“Thank you,” she said, her face breaking into a smile. She was text messaging before she’d taken a step back towards her bedroom. I went back downstairs and watched another half an hour of TV with Ruth.
“I think you’d better get ready for bed, Ruthie,” I said. “You can read in your room for a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure, Auntie Jess,” she said. Eight-years-old going on thirty. “Bethany has a boyfriend," she stated.
“Really?”
“Yes,” she said. “I saw—”
I raised my hand up. “Don’t tattle on your sister,” I said. “I mean unless she’s doing meth or something very dangerous…”
“Mom says boys are dangerous,” she said.
“That’s true…off to bed, little girl. I’ll come tuck you in,” I said.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER BETHANY sprinted to the front door. Her friend was cute, tall, polite, and seemed a bit older than her. I reminded her to stay downstairs—the last thing I needed was her mother firing me as a babysitter—and I went to find something on Netflix or HBO Go…
Fifty-Two Pickup: Threes (Jessica Rogers Book 3) Page 3