by S. R. Grey
Nevertheless, I am undeterred. I’m going to make this good no matter what. Damn Brent Oliver and his accusations of sexual repression.
As I fire up my new toy, I remind myself, “Don’t forget about the pulsating vibrating action.”
And, whoa, there it is!
Within seconds of turning on that feature, I’m all like, “Hey there, hold up.”
It’s quite a struggle to control Area 51. He sure is a wiggly little bugger once he gets going. At one point, he almost flies out of my hands.
I quickly turn him down a notch, murmuring, “Okay, settle down, big boy.”
Once I have control of the bending and twisting alien cock, I touch him lightly to my clit. “Oh, wow!”
That pulsating vibrating action is gooood. Kudos to whoever thought to add that.
I’m suddenly glad he moves so much. It makes Mr. 51 seem as exuberant as I. He also starts to glow a funky shade of florescent green the harder I press and the faster I go. Who cares, though? I’m starting to think this thing may be all I ever need for the rest of my life. Maybe I won’t leave this room for a week. That’ll show Brent. Sexually repressed, my ass.
“Mmm, Imma marry you, Mr. 51,” I murmur after another minute of the pulsating vibrating action.
All the pulsating and vibrating is really intense, but so is the glow. No worries. I close my eyes and start fantasizing that my toy is really Brent. I pretend it’s him sliding his big pulsing dick over my clit, and that it’s his real cock that’s parting my wet folds.
My fantasy works, and I start having to use both hands to keep Mr. 51—no wait, I’m renaming him Brent 51—from slipping around too much. “Yes, Brent fifty-one, right there. I like that.”
I’m mainly concentrating on my clit, but when the toy dips inside me I let out a gasp. Tentatively, since it is kind of big, I push Brent 51 in farther and farther.
My whole hooha vibrates in response.
No, wait, that’s my whole body vibrating.
Oh my God, now I see why this thing is so popular. I open my eyes and look down.
Brent 51 is halfway inside me and glowing like an alien ship has just docked in my vagina. Even, er, enclosed like that, the thing is still mega-bright. So bright, in fact, that my whole bedroom is glowing an odd shade of green.
I don’t give a shit. I’m way too close to what I can tell is about to be an amazing orgasm. I resume my fantasy and pump my way to a release E.T. would definitely phone home about.
“God, yes, Brent fifty-one, give it to me hard. Fifty-one, fifty-one, my new favorite num—”
Just when I’m about to explode, there’s a freaking knock on my bedroom door.
What the hell?
“Aubrey, are you okay?”
Fuck. It’s Brent! The real Brent!
“Your room is glowing,” he goes on. “Like, there’s a really weird shade of green coming from under your door.”
Something else was about to be coming, till you showed up.
Brent won’t shut up. “It’s lighting up the whole hall. I even saw it from my room. What the hell are you doing in there, anyway? Is it some kind of crazy experiment?”
If he only knew!
“Does it have something to do with life coaching?”
Pfft, he wishes!
“Ah, hold on a minute,” I yell out. “Don’t come in, okay?”
Of course, he doesn’t listen to a word I say. The doorknob starts to turn.
Fuck me. How could I have forgotten to lock the damn door? I’m failing Masturbation 101 miserably.
I quickly pull Brent 51 from his vagina-space mission of getting me off. Not going to happen, seeing as I’m now in full Defcon-Five panic mode.
Unfortunately, out in the open Brent 51 is brighter than ever.
And the door is slowly opening…
“Aubrey?”
“Hold on,” I yell to Brent.
“Turn off, you bastard!” I grind out to Brent 51.
Giving up, I fling the wiggly alien dick at the door, hoping to achieve the two-fold mission of powering the damn thing down and keeping Brent from coming in.
I fail on both counts.
Brent 51 does quit buzzing, but, damn, he’s glowing brighter than ever.
Oh, and Brent the man?
Of course, he walks right into my personal masturbation den. “What the—” I hear him say as he shades his eyes from the bright glow Brent 51 is giving off.
His temporary blindness allows me to pull the comforter up to cover my nakedness.
“Oh hey, Brent, what’s up?” I give a little wave and feign nonchalance, which doesn’t really fly when there’s a florescent-green vibrator lying on the floor, lighting up your whole damn bedroom.
Brent takes one look at me naked in the bed, and then focuses back on my glowing friend. Let’s just say it doesn’t take him long to figure out what’s going on. If only I’d been assigned to a dumb hockey player. But noooo, I get one who’s too smart for his own good. And also too snarky, meaning he’ll no doubt torture me about this forever.
“Well, well, well, Aubrey. What do we have here?”
Real Brent bends down to pick up Brent 51. “I thought I heard you calling out my name. I even thought I heard mention of my number.” He quirks a brow. “And then I saw the weird green glow.” He nods to the vibrator and smirks over at me. “This explains the glow, but I have to wonder why you‘d be calling out my name and my number?”
His smug grin tells me he knows exactly why.
“Just go ahead and kill me now,” I say as I flop back on the bed.
I expect the worst, more teasing and taunting. But to my surprise, Brent mercifully says nothing more. He simply places Brent 51 on a table by the door. But not before pausing long enough to read the number stamped on the side.
With the hint of a smirk, he leaves.
The door closing behind him should fill me with relief, but what it actually does is scare the hell out of me. Brent knows I was getting off while thinking of him. And he’s now fully aware I own a big-ass vibrator that shares a freaking number with him. He couldn’t have missed the big 51 emblazoned on the side, like a goddamn tattoo.
Could it get any worse?
I cover my head with a pillow and scream. So much for professionalism. I have a feeling my life is about to become pure torture at the hands of Brent Oliver.
Blame It on the Weird Green Glow
“Fuck me sideways.” I laugh as I tiptoe back to my bedroom. “Did I really just see what I think I saw?”
Yeah, it would appear so. If I had any doubt the past five minutes were a dream, it’s dispelled every time I blink. There seems to be a glowy green burned on the back of my lids.
Well, on the bright side of things—no pun intended—one thing is clear. If I wasn’t 100 percent sure before that Aubrey Shelburne is attracted to me, after what I just witnessed, I am now absolutely certain.
Holy shit, she was getting herself off while thinking of me. I heard her calling out my name…and my number. I had no idea I had a starring role in her fantasies. Too bad I missed the main event. Instead, I was left dodging that fake green dick when I ventured into her room.
What the hell was that thing, anyway?
The shape was normal enough, so, yeah, I knew what it was. But what was with the bright glow… and the color… and the 51 on the side?
Mysteries, all of them, except for maybe the 51. I think I have that one figured out. Not only is it the same number I wear, but Aubrey was chanting it like a Benedictine monk. Wow, I wonder if she bought the sex toy because of the number on the side.
“Nah, that’s just wishful thinking,” I mutter as I crawl back into bed. “But she was definitely fantasizing about you.”
I feel kind of bad for walking in on her while she was engaged in such a personal act. If I had suspected that was going on, I would’ve heeded her warning to not come in.
You’re just disappointed she covered up before we could see her completely naked
, my dick, coming to life, chimes in.
I ignore him. I’ve given him enough attention for the night.
Anyway, I never would’ve ventured from my room in the first place had I not noticed the strange green glow out in the hall. It was so bright it was shining in from under the door. I was almost asleep, but that shit woke me the hell up.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled. “Is there some kind of chemical spill in my house?”
You never know living out here in Nevada. There are military installations all around, and I’m sure they test all sorts of crazy things. Something could seep into the ground, or emit into the air. Hell, Area 51 is less than a hundred miles from my house.
That’s when it hits me that Aubrey’s toy is Area 51-themed.
Oh my God. You bet your ass I am going to have all kinds of fun with this.
Turns out, my fun with Aubrey has to be put on hold.
Claiming she’s not feeling well, she holes up in her room the entire next day. I go about my usual business, which includes diligently following the new team-approved routine she has me on.
First, I eat a nice, healthy Aubrey-approved breakfast, consisting of an egg white omelet with fresh peppers, fruit and whole grain toast. I then go down to the arena to skate for a while. I’m back in time for dinner, but there’s still no sign of my life coach.
I actually kind of miss her being around and giving me a hard time. I consider running out and buying some alcohol just so I can lure her out of her room to yell at me. But that’d probably be a bad idea.
I decide instead to make her some dinner, something I can take up to her. I’m not really good with anything fancy, but spaghetti is within my repertoire. After I boil some water and toss in a handful of noodles, I heat up a jar of marinara. I even grate some fresh parmesan into a little bowl. After I plate the pasta, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and place everything on a serving tray.
“Nah, that doesn’t look right.”
I pour the water into a pretty crystal goblet and run outside to snip one of the more colorful desert flowers that grow in my yard. Once I have the purple bloom placed in a bud vase, I add it to the tray, satisfied that the whole presentation looks really nice.
Upstairs, and while balancing the tray in one hand, I knock on Aubrey’s bedroom door. “Hey, it’s me. Are you awake?”
No answer.
“I brought you some dinner.”
That gets a response, but not the one I’m hoping for. “I’m not hungry, Brent. Just go away.”
Not a chance. “Aw, come on,” I press. “I made it myself.”
Silence.
I lean my forehead against the door and try to make a joke. “I promise I didn’t poison any of it.”
Nothing.
“Aubrey? You have to be hungry. You’ve been in that room since last night when you went to bed.”
I hear her groan. “Ugh, please. Can we forget last night ever happened?”
Sighing, I say quietly, but still loud enough for her to hear, “Look, I’m sorry I walked in on you. I was just worried about that…glow.”
“Stop, pleeeeease!”
I try another tactic. “For the record, there’s no reason to be embarrassed. Hell, I beat off all the time and—”
Wait, that’s probably making things worse.
But then I hear Aubrey let out an amused snort, and I can’t help but smile. Maybe I am getting through to her?
“Come on,” I say. “Let me at least bring in your dinner. I’ll leave right away if that’s what you want.”
When she mutters a barely audible, “Okay,” I hurry in before she changes her mind.
First thing I notice is her “51” toy is no longer lying on the floor. I guess Aubrey put the freaky, glowing dick away. Which is good, seeing as the last thing I’d want to do is step on the thing and crush his green shaft. That would be like adding insult to injury.
“Just leave whatever you brought on the dresser,” she mumbles from where she’s buried under a pile of blankets.
I do as she asks, but instead of leaving I walk over to her cocoon.
“You seriously cannot be this embarrassed,” I say. “Really, what happened is not that big of a deal.”
“It is when I’m supposed to be here in a professional capacity,” she says very loudly from under the covers, which kind of negates the whole “professional” aspect, more so than that sex toy.
“Yes, speaking to me while buried in blankets really gets that professionalism point across.”
Oh shit. That gets the blankets off her.
Aubrey pops out from under the covers like one of those fake critters in the Whack-A-Mole arcade game. And wouldn’t you know it; she’s dressed in squirrel-themed pajamas. Mole, squirrel, whatever, this chick is still hot.
I resist the urge to laugh as she narrows her turquoise eyes at me from behind her glasses. It reminds me of that morning, and I chuckle a little.
“You know you’re just making things worse, right?” she says.
Her long dark hair is a mess, in a sexy, tousled kind of way. And even though she has on no makeup and glasses—and the squirrel pj’s are kind of silly—she looks really pretty.
I decide fired-up Aubrey is a good look for her.
But I better not fire her up any more. “I’m sorry,” I say.
She puts her face in her hands, which I take as a cue to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“Listen, Brent,” she begins, looking up and straightening her now-askew glasses. “I’m thinking of calling my firm this evening.”
“Why?”
“So they can send someone out to take my place.”
“Wait.” I’m confused and panicked. I don’t want her to go. “Why would you want to do something like that?”
She shakes her head. “How can you ever take me seriously now? You walked in on me basically fucking a sex toy. And not just any toy, but one that’s florescent green, and that freaking glows.”
“The glowing part is an interesting feature,” I note, all nonchalant as I try to view the incident in a practical manner and hopefully put her at ease. “I have to say one thing, though. That sucker sure is bright. I bet it’d make a great flashlight if you were ever stranded somewhere.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yes, Brent, I can see where that feature would come in handy.” Her tone is pure sarcasm. “Next time I’m out on some lonely road at night, and I just have to get myself off—because women do that on desolate roads oh-so-often—I’ll be sure to thank my lucky stars that I happened to have on hand the only sex toy that doubles as a freaking flashlight.”
I decide then and there to share something I’ve never told anyone. Maybe it’ll quell her irritation with me.
“Hey, that needing to get-off-while-driving thing isn’t all that farfetched. I can’t speak for women, but men can get horny anywhere. There was this one time I was so hot and bothered that I had to pull off the road to take care of business.”
She seems equal part horrified and intrigued. Intrigued wins out.
“Really?” she says. “What’d you do?”
Sheepishly, I admit, “Uh, I jacked off in some weeds.” After a thoughtful pause, I add, “Come to think of it, good thing it was late at night. And really good thing there wasn’t any poison ivy in those weeds.”
She nods in agreement. “Definitely. That would’ve really sucked if there’d been any type of poisonous plant and you’d gotten too close.”
“Like itch weed?” I say, going with it.
“Ooh, itch weed would’ve been bad, very bad. You know,”—she waves her hand at my junk—“especially down there.”
I wince at the thought. And then we share a smile. “I can’t believe we’re seriously discussing me masturbating on the side of a road.”
“Right?” she says, smiling. “Guess we can pretty much talk about anything after last night.”
“It would seem so,” I reply, chuckling. “So do you feel better?�
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“Yes, actually I do. Thanks, Brent.”
Softly, I ask, “Does this mean you won’t be calling your firm? You’ll stay here with me?”
After a long pause, she says, “Yes, I’ll stay.”
“And”—I jerk my thumb over to remind her of the tray on the dresser—“you’ll eat your dinner like a good girl?”
“Hey, who’s life-coaching who here?” she says with a laugh.
In a more serious tone, I say, “Sometimes all of us could use a little help, even life coaches.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
I retrieve the tray and as I place it on her lap, I say, “How about, just for today, you let me take care of you?”
Surprisingly, she agrees. “All right. But only for today.”
Aubrey begins to eat her dinner, and we talk about mundane things, like how my day went, in between bites.
At one point, she holds out a forkful of pasta for me. “This is really good,” she says around a mouthful. “You should try it.”
“I know what it tastes like. I made it, remember?”
“That’s even more reason for you to have some.” She wiggles the fork in front of my face, encouraging me to bite.
I’m planning to decline since it is the only meal she’s had all day, but when a noodle comes dangerously close to hitting me in the face, I have no choice but to let her feed me the forkful of spaghetti.
After I’m done and as she’s pulling away, I grab her hand. Slipping the fork from her grasp, I say softly, “It’s my turn now.”
I proceed to twirl spaghetti, and holding it out to her, I urge, “Be a good girl, Aubrey, and open your mouth.”
With a smile she can’t hide, and a bit of a blush, she lets me feed her, just like she did for me.
We take turns feeding each other, but finally I have to say, “This is supposed to be your dinner, you know.”
“It doesn’t matter. I like sharing it with you.”
“Yeah, I kind of like you sharing it with me too.”
After we’re done eating, I figure it’s probably time for me to leave. But when I start to stand she asks me to stay.
“You sure you’re not too sleepy?” I say, cognizant that it’s getting late.