by Penny Wylder
“Good,” she says, “because there’s nothing worse on a first date than hanging out with a sick person.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say. “It’s been really nice to meet you.”
“Thanks.” She takes a sip of smoothie. “I hope that you’ll be able to see me in a better state sometime. Now go out on an actual date before I have to kick Philip’s ass.”
He leans towards me, his voice a stage whisper. “I don’t remember a time that she hasn’t threatened to kick my ass.”
“Someone has to keep you in line,” I stage whisper back, and his laugh fills up the room. It’s a great sound, and I’m smiling now. “So is there anything good around here?”
Christa nods. “There’s an amazing Thai place a few blocks away.”
“That sounds good to me,” I say.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asks her.
She waves him off. “Yes. I’ve got a full slate of Lifetime movies to watch.”
“If you say so.” He takes my hand. “Ready?”
I like the feeling of our linked hands. “Yeah. I hope you feel better.”
“You and me both,” she says, winking at me.
“Bye, Christa,” Philip calls over his shoulder.
“I’ll check on her again tomorrow,” he says, as we turn the corner in the hall.
“I heard that!” Christa calls, and he and I both laugh.
Philip locks the door behind us, putting back the key into its hidden brick. “So,” he says, “would you like to go to dinner with me?”
“I would love to.”
12
Philip
Christa didn’t lie, this Thai place is really good. We keep the conversation through dinner light, and it feels very much like an actual first date—though I don’t think most people on a first date have had the kind of sex that we’ve had. Neither Mayra or I had realized how hungry we were, so this has been amazing. Thai food is something I love but rarely have. I’ll have to thank Christa when I see her.
“Can I ask you something?” Mayra says when we’re looking over the dessert menu.
A small bubble of anxiety appears in my chest. “Sure.”
“While you were in the bathroom, Christa told me I could ask her whatever I wanted about you.”
“Great,” I say, laughing nervously.
“I asked if you were a good guy.”
I place my hands out in surrender. “If she said I’m not I can provide character witnesses.”
She smiles. “No, she said you were. But she also said that you’d gone through some stuff. Stuff that wasn’t hers to share, and that you were a good guy anyway.”
The anxiety is replaced by what feels like a rock in my gut. “Oh.”
“I was just wondering what it was, if you want to tell me,” she says, “Right now I feel like you know more about me than I do you.”
I nod, and our waiter appears. Mayra orders a chocolate cake with green tea ice cream and I order a crème brûlée. Once the waiter has disappeared again, I clear my throat. “I told everyone yesterday that I was in the military.”
She nods. “Army right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sean got out before I did. I was on a tour overseas—the middle east, up until two years ago. It’s rough over there.” I pause, mulling over my words, trying to figure out how to say the truth without saying too much. “I saw a lot of things, lost people.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“What Christa is talking about is when I came back. I struggled a lot with post-traumatic stress. Nightmares. Depression. I was in a dark place for a long time. I got better, but it hasn’t been easy. The nightmares have started to come back recently which is why she’s being a bit of a mother hen towards me right now.”
There’s a sadness and compassion in her eyes, but no pity. I’m grateful for that. I’ve gotten used to pity being the automatic response from people who hear I struggle with PTSD. It’s not something people like to hear about, and when they do, all they can think about is how bad they feel for you.
“Will you be okay?” she asks.
It takes me by surprise, that’s not usually the first thing people ask. They usually say they’re sorry first, and ask for more details about either my nightmares or depression second. Sometimes they launch into stories about their own struggles. Mayra’s response is refreshing.
“Yeah,” I say. “I will be. Even if it’s not right away. I work hard so that I can get there, so I can be okay. After everything, I owe it to those people I lost not to let this break me, so I do the work. The one thing I know now is if you put in the work, it gets better.”
In her eyes I see total confidence and belief. I’ve seen that look before from my friends, and that kind of support from anyone is enough to humble you. That kind of support from her after such a short time both brings me to my knees and gives me enough energy to climb a mountain. Then she smiles, and I feel like a ray of sunshine hits me. “Good,” she says.
We stare at each other, and that warmth spreads through me to other places. My dick—which has been half-hard ever since we left her house—decides that now is a good time to go fully hard. I want to be inside her again—I wasn’t joking when I told her that her pussy was the best thing to ever happen to my cock. The waiter brings dessert, and I know I’m going give him a good tip. He has perfect timing. Nothing like a little sweetness to get a woman in the mood.
She bites into her chocolate cake, and the sound she makes—if I hadn’t been hard already I would be now. It’s positively sexual. My own dessert is good, but I’m so distracted watching Mayra eat hers that I barely taste it. I want to taste the chocolate that’s on her lips and tongue, and I get even harder because that line of thought leads me to imagine what she’d look like with chocolate all over her. God, that would be hot.
She looks up to find me staring at her, and she smiles nervously. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“No…” I say, “I was just…imagining.”
She takes another bite. “Imagining what?”
I lean forward and lower my voice. “You. Covered in chocolate.”
She freezes, and I see her chest heave a deeper breath. Interesting. I guess she likes that image too. She shakes herself a little, and looks at me again. She sees my grin and raises an eyebrow. “If I’m going to have chocolate all over me, there better be chocolate I can lick off your cock.”
All the blood in my body rushes to my dick, and I feel lightheaded. The image of Mayra sucking dripping chocolate off my cock dominates my brain, and I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything so badly. Mayra laughs. “I thought that might get your attention.”
“Something to put on my bucket list,” I say.
“Oh? What else is on there?”
I take another bite of brûlée. “It’s pretty boring actually. A lot of climbing related goals. I’d like to a buy a real house at some point, stop renting.”
“Very adult of you,” she smirks.
“I try.”
We finish our dessert, and I pay for dinner. Mayra tries to protest, but I insist. When she gives in, she has a small smile, and I wonder if Bryan ever made her pay for them both. The very thought makes me angry. I’m tempted to ask her his last name just so I can go give him a piece of my mind. But then Mayra slips her hand into mine as we exit the restaurant, and I forget all about Bryan.
Sudden and irrational anger…another sign of PTSD that I’m very aware of.
Mayra pulls me out into the warm evening, the sun is still pretty high in the sky. At this time of year the days are insanely long. A perk of living on the western coast.
“What do you want to do?” she asks me.
I know exactly what I want to do, though I’m not sure if she’ll agree with me. “Maybe we should find some chocolate,” I say in her ear as we walk to my car.
To my surprise, she doesn’t laugh. She looks up at me. “I’m not sure I’m ready for chocolate.”
“But?”
I ask, and she doesn’t answer. Instead she leans back against my car, grabbing my shirt and pulling me to her. She kisses me, and my arousal soars. This isn’t a kiss you give someone if you don’t want to fuck them. He tits are pressed against my chest, and I love the feel of them. I slide my hands down to her ass, squeezing it, dragging her hips against me and my cock.
She pulls away, breathing heavily. “Get in the car.”
I unlock the door, and I pull her inside the car with me. I’ve never been so grateful that the back seat of my car has a lot of room. “I haven’t done this in a long time,” I say.
She’s grinning. “Me either.”
She kisses me again, and I manage to ask her between kisses, “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to my place?”
“I don’t want to wait for that,” she says, and her voice is breathy.
She climbs on top of me, and I pull her hips down onto my cock, so she can feel exactly how hard I am. Just how badly I want her. “You are so fucking hot,” I tell her. Her lips on mine is the only response I get. I laugh against her lips. “This position feels familiar.”
“It’s going to have a different ending,” she says.
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She reaches between us, undoing my pants, and freeing my cock. She grips me, stroking me, taking the condom from my hand and rolling it on. We struggle in our position to get her pants down, and her frustration is hot. I’m overwhelmed by how much she wants this, and when she lowers herself onto me, it’s fucking amazing. I groan, and I thrust up into her. She squeezes down on my cock, and I think I might come far more quickly than I want to. I don’t want this to end.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, Mayra rolls her hips on me. It feels so good, and if she continues that way I’m going to burst. I put my hands on her hips, holding her still. “Not so fast,” I say. She tries to move again but I don’t let her. “I want to test my theory.”
She pulls back, glaring at me, “You want to talk about a theory? Now?” She thrusts her hips again, and struggling against my hands, and I keep her pinned on my cock. The way she’s writhing makes my eyes want to roll back in my head.
“My theory that you can definitely have more than four orgasms in one day,” I say.
“Fuck me and we’ll find out.” Her voice is rough, desperate.
I let go of one hand, and reach it down between us, wetting myself with her juices before finding her clit. The little bundle of nerves is so swollen that I barely have to touch it for her to respond. Her head falls back and she gasps. I press my thumb hard against her clit, circling and grinding.
“Look at me, Mayra,” I say. She doesn’t, too lost in the feeling, and I work my other hand into her hair. I pull her face to mine, make sure we’re eye to eye. I don’t stop working her clit, and her mouth is open in a silent cry. She’s looking at me, but I know that she’s not seeing me, blind on the edge of her orgasm. Her breath is coming in shirt grasps, and I don’t let her clit breathe. She’s close. “Come for me,” I say, and I feel her muscles lock down. Her pussy spasms around me, and I grit my teeth to keep myself from coming right then and there.
She falls forward onto my shoulder, limp in the aftermath. “That’s five,” I say.
“You’re going to kill me,” she says into my shirt.
I smile as I move my hands back to her hips. “I don’t think anyone has ever died from too many orgasms.”
“Anything is possible.”
“Including you coming again,” I say, and I pull out of her to slam back in. She cries out into my shoulder, and whatever self-control I thought I had left disappears. Holding her hips steady, I start a furious rhythm, pounding up into her. Her fingers dig into my arms as I fuck her, and I can feel her breath on my neck.
“Philip,” she says. It sounds like half a moan, half a prayer, and my name on her lips is the best thing I’ve heard all day.
I can feel her start to shake as she starts to come. Her body forced over the edge so close on the heels of her last orgasm. I thrust into her once, and again, letting myself go. She bites into my shoulder as she goes over the edge with me, her moaning pulling even more pleasure out of me. My orgasm is bright lightning shooting through my cock, spreading through my spine and making me dizzy.
We sit settled together, both our chests fighting for air. The windows of the car have fogged up because as hot as it is outside, we’re even hotter. If anyone walks by, there won’t be a question about what we’re doing. I pull her back gently so I can look at her. Her face is red, glistening with sweat. “Six,” I say, giving her a smirk.
“Fine,” she says, still breathless. “You win.”
“I think we both won there.”
Mayra starts to laugh, and I love the freedom in the sound. She pulls herself off me and rearranges her clothes while I clean myself up. We squeeze ourselves into the front seats, and I drive her home. I can’t seem to keep my hands off her, even while driving. I touch her hand, her thigh, I even try for higher near her pussy and she playfully slaps my hand away. Finally, I settle for just her hand. Lacing our fingers together feels natural. Her hands are so much smaller than mine, but it works.
We don’t say much on the drive back, the atmosphere still charged with our sex and all the things we said. When we reach her house, I get out with her. I walk her to the stairs, where she perches one step up. It brings us closer to the same height.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” I ask.
“At the class?”
“Yeah.”
She makes an exaggerated face like she’s thinking about it. “I don’t know. You said I didn’t really need the classes.”
“That’s true, I did say that.” I take a step closer. “But who knows, you might meet someone interesting.”
“Well, in that case—”
I cut her off by kissing her, and she leans into me. I could spend a long time kissing her and be perfectly content. I pull away, feeling a pang of satisfaction as her body drifts after mine, like it’s night quite ready for me to leave. “In that case,” I say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I watch her go all the way into her house before I leave.
13
Mayra
I make sure to take the dildo with me to the class. I know I can’t give it back, given how many time it’s been inside of me, but at least I can pay for it. Luckily for me, the same handsome Asian man is working the front of the store. I figure I can’t embarrass myself any more than I already did.
He looks up when I reach the counter. “You came back. Good. The first time is always the hardest.”
“That’s definitely true,” I say, grinning at the innuendo. “I need to pay for something…I accidentally walked out of the store with one of the test toys after the class on Friday.”
“Which one?”
I look down at my hands, avoiding looking him in the face. “The Vixen Mustang.”
“Good choice, girl,” he says. “Not a problem, I’ll ring it up for you. Just promise me you enjoyed it.”
I look up to him flashing me a blinding smile, and I figure there’s no harm in it. “You could definitely say that.”
“Then it’s all good.”
He rings me up for the sale, and I thank him. I didn’t even have to take the dildo out of my bag to prove it, which was nice.
People are already gathering in the curtained area for the class, and I’m heading over to find my seat when Philip intercepts me. He pulls me quickly around the curtains and back into the stockroom. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I had an idea on Friday, that if you hadn’t left we might have ended up back here. I thought about exactly what I would do to you between these shelves.”
He presses me against the wall, kissing me in that insane way that makes me want to rip his clothes off. I reluctantly pull my lips away from his, “Aren’t you about to teach the class that all those people out there are waiting for?”
“I’d skip it for this,” he says, voic
e low and rough.
I let him press me against the wall, and I get carried away in the sensation of his body against mine. It hasn’t even been a day since I last tasted him, and somehow it seems like I’ve missed the taste. I run my hands down his chest, and I can feel the strength hidden beneath his clothes. I want him naked again, but not here. Not now. Even though his kisses are like a drug I never want to come off of, I manage to separate us. “There are even more people here then on Friday. You have to go out there.”
“And this?” he asks, moving his hips against mine so I can feel the rigid line of his cock.
I try to stop the grin on my face and I can’t. “Later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, planting a final kiss on me.
I head for the door before he can pull me back and convince me to stay in this room forever, naked and fucking. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I say as I get to the door. I don’t stay to see his reaction. Instead I head into the class area and take my seat, this time further towards the back. I wasn’t lying, there are far more women here this time, and I have no doubt that it’s because the women from the first class—who are all here—told their friends about the smoking hot substitute teacher.
The brunette sits in the front row again, with a shirt that’s noticeably more revealing than what she wore last time. I feel a pang of nervousness. She’s gorgeous, and right there in the front row. I just made out with him and turned him on. What if he sees what she’s wearing and decides he likes it? Should I move up there?
I don’t have a chance to decide, because Philip walks into the class, and there’s a collective gasp from all the women in the room—especially the new ones. There’s practically cheers as he turns around to work on flipping through the easel and illustrations. He knows what he’s doing too, because when he turns he looks straight at me and winks. The women around me sigh, thinking he might be winking at them, but I know it’s for me.
I can hear the whispers around me now, and I’m regretting sitting in the back of the class. There are comments on everything, from how hot he is to how great his ass looks. How they want to practice this class on him and let him lick every inch of their bodies. As Philip teaches, their words sink under my skin. Christa said he’d been with his fair share of women. I’m not stupid, I know what that means, and I know that having some fun for the last couple of days doesn’t make us exclusive. And there is a room full of willing women here ready to fuck him the second he even hints at yes.