She shook her head.
“Then why not?”
Ginny laughed at that one. “Gee, let me think. Well, for one, it would be a little awkward.”
“How so?”
“You’ve seen me finger myself, fuck myself with a toy and my finger, and lick my own tits, Justin. I think that’s a bit more pressure than there usually is on a first date.”
“I don’t care about all that. I like you, for real. Let me take you out for dinner. You’ve mentioned before that we only live across the city from one another.”
“So you want to buy the cow, when you’ve already had the milk?”
“You’re not a cow.”
His face was stony, serious. She frowned. He knew her better than any of her other clients. Hell, some of the other clients could not even remember her name. She was just the woman on the other end of the screen, doing dirty stuff for them for cash. But Justin had talked to her, had asked her about things—real, personal things. And he knew how she felt about her body. Never mind that it raked in cash in the thousands per week from people who liked to see a little meat on a girl’s bones. She still had moments when she felt like an overstuffed . . . well, cow.
“You know what I meant,” she whispered, unable to get her response out any higher.
“You’re smart. You have a degree, for the love of God. You’re funny. You’re nice. And, to me, you’re beautiful. All I’m asking for is dinner, maybe a movie. Is that so horrible? I mean, really. No strings attached.”
“No. You’re a client, Justin.”
“I’m more than that.”
“Honey, I’m still charging you by the minute here. No, you’re not.”
She regretted the words. They were much harsher than she had intended, but Justin just shrugged.
“I care about you. None of the others do.”
“Whatever.”
Ginny was almost constantly shaking her head now. This was all ludicrous. He was deluded, that was all. A girl did things for him, and all he had to do was ask. He definitely had that mixed up with “love” and “caring.”
“I bet you that none of your other clients know about that one time, in high school, when those jocks filled your purse to the brim with tater tots and laughed at you, calling you names, when you opened it.”
She pursed her lips. Ginny had no idea why she had told him what was probably her most horrible memory, and now that he was throwing it back at her, her body shook with rage and regret. Justin chuckled, continuing.
“And I bet that none of them know about how you used your first paycheck from that fast-food job to buy all the gay porn and personal lubricant you could, and then filled their backpacks with it for revenge.”
She laughed, feeling her anger subside. That was one of her better memories. “You know, one of those jocks came out two years later,” she said, and laughed again. Justin joined in.
“See? Do you do this with any other client? Honestly?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Dinner. Tomorrow night. I know this Italian place that’s right between where we live. What have you got to lose?”
“A client.”
“You’ll lose me anyway if you say no.”
“What?” Ginny said, leaning toward the screen. “Are you blackmailing me into dating you?”
“No, no!” he answered, waving his hands hurriedly. “I just mean . . . I do really care for you. I can’t stop thinking about you. And it’s hurting me to only see you like this. I want more, but if you won’t give me that chance . . . I just can’t go on hurting myself like this.”
Ginny’s heart thudded against her chest. He was going to stop it all? No more chats? Nothing? She had lost clients before, to simple things like steady girlfriends and marriage, but . . . “All right,” she said. “What time do you want me to meet you there?”
Justin did nothing to hide his triumphant grin. “Seven, if that’s alright?”
That was a prime time for her work. She was going to be out hundreds of dollars just by missing one night. She nodded anyway. “I’ll be there.”
From the start of their date, Justin had been nothing short of a gentleman from the start. When she arrived at the table, he stood and pulled out her chair. And when she ordered the salad, he scoffed and urged her to order what she wanted to eat, not what she thought she should eat. He complimented her appearance, saying that she looked good in the plum dress she had chosen for the evening. Despite the obvious change of atmosphere and clothing—and despite the involvement of food other than their usual sensual fruits and chocolate—it felt just like another one of their “conversation” nights.
And he was funny. Ginny could not remember the last time she had laughed so hard, or so frequently. By the end of dinner, her nose was still hurting from the water she had snorted out of it half an hour earlier.
“So,” she said, trying to catch her breath while the waiter fetched the check, “you played chess in high school, and you were in the math club?”
He laughed, nodded. “Guilty as charged. I also had some hellish acne.”
“I don’t believe you.” And she didn’t. He was not muscular —no sculpted abs to be seen—but he was thin and seemed well built anyway, with his strong-looking, squared shoulders and shapely legs. Ginny had spent some of the night sucking her gut in, feeling a little exposed sitting with him. But he was kind to her, and he even dared to rest a hand on top of hers—and she felt no desire to pull hers away.
When he took her home that evening, she had not meant for anything to happen. When she invited him up, her sole intention was only to continue their pleasant conversation.
But they were only in her apartment ten minutes before they were in the bedroom, desperately clawing at each other’s clothes.
“I don’t do this, normally,” she said as he made short work of her dress, letting it fall to the floor.
“I believe you,” he moaned, pressing his mouth to hers as she pulled off his shirt and undid his jeans. His tongue made a tingling path up and down the left side of her neck as his fingers undid the clasp of her bra. He moved his hands down to the small of her back, gently laying her down on the bed. “Oh god, how I’ve wanted this,” he moaned as he flicked his tongue down onto her right nipple.
Her back arched, and she reached for his swollen member. She gripped it tightly, jerking him as his mouth moved back to hers. He moaned, moving a hand down to her nether regions. He grinned at her.
“You’re so wet.”
He rubbed his thumb across her clit, which sent her legs into shaking. She clawed at his back, pushing her pelvis toward his groin.
“Please,” she pleaded. “I want you in me.”
He pulled himself free of her grip, and she groaned as he kissed his way down her stomach. His mouth hovered over warm parts, and she fought the urge to bolt right out of the bed.
“Don’t,” she said, leaning up.
He arched a brow at her. “Why not?”
“I’m not . . . I don’t feel right when someone does that to me. I feel . . . I feel like it’s just someone playing with my fat.”
He chuckled, gently pushing her back against the pillows. “Then you’ve never had it done right.”
And boy, was he right about that. As soon as his tongue connected with her, she felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. Her hands dug into the bed sheet, and her legs wrapped about his head involuntarily. She could feel him sucking at her now, and she longed to be doing the same to him. Finally, she exploded, feeling a new surge of wetness gush into his mouth. He moaned as he pulled himself over her.
“Let me do it,” she begged. “Let me suck your dick.”
“We’ll save that for next time,” he said, and Ginny felt his hard dick slide smoothly inside her.
She moaned and cried out with every thrust. She leaned upward into him, pressing her sweat-soaked breasts into his chest. It was not long before another orgasm rocked her body, followed shortly by his. Satisfied, the two collaps
ed next to one another.
It had been a long, long time since someone else had given her this kind of pleasure, and the sheer amount of it left her exhausted. Blinking sleepily, her eyes finally closed for the night.
Ginny felt immediately stupid when she awoke in the morning. Justin was nowhere to be seen. She knew she should have known better. He had been a client after all, and her boss had warned her about the occasional client who would fake feelings just to get his for free.
But no one had warned her about how much it would hurt. She sniffled . . . and stopped. Eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Ginny slowly raised up in bed, careful to hold the sheet against herself. She sniffed again and found the smells of breakfast unmistakable. She dove for her dresser drawer, pulling free the first T-shirt and pair of sweats she could find and putting them on. She made short work of the small hall between the bedroom and the kitchen and was greeted with a smile when she arrived.
Justin, dressed only in his jeans, was grinning at her, gesturing to the round dining table where he had arranged two place settings. He walked over to the table.
“Hungry?” he asked, as he scooped scrambled eggs onto one of the plates.
Ginny nodded, sliding into a chair as he did the same for the other plate. The bacon and hash browns followed, and then he sat down with her.
“I had a great night,” he said, lifting a fork.
Ginny blinked, unable to do anything but sit there. “Um. Me too.”
He lifted a brow. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought . . . I mean, you weren’t there when I woke up.”
“Did you think I just ditched you?”
She nodded, feeling her cheeks redden. Justin rolled his eyes. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.
“Now you listen to me, Ginny, and listen good. Sure, I met you as a call girl that caters to men who like bigger girls. And yeah, about half of our previous meetings had you doing just that, getting me off for a price. But I’m not the kind of guy to treat someone like that. And I meant what I said. I really care about you. And I would like to continue seeing you on a nonclient basis. Is that too much to ask?”
Ginny glanced down at herself. The T-shirt was way oversized—which meant it would be a tent on Justin—and the sweats she was wearing were stained with various foodstuffs. She was frowning deeply when she looked back at him.
“Are you sure you want this?” she said, gesturing to herself.
He rolled his eyes again. “Just shut up,” he said, leaning across to kiss her.
When he went back to his food, Ginny grinned. She began to reach for her fork and stopped. Looking up, Justin arched a brow at her.
“What is it? Doesn’t it look good?”
“It does, but . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Can I get a double helping of these hash browns?”
He laughed, standing and reaching for the pan. “Sure thing, baby.”
At Last
BY JESSICA LENNOX
Nan and I have been friends for as long as I can remember—and for just as long, I’ve had an enormous crush on her. I don’t know where I fit exactly in her head, but there is no mistaking the undeniable sexual tension between us. Even so, we have remained “just friends,” despite all my flirting and innuendo.
I give Nan all the credit for keeping our friendship intact. If it were up to me, we’d have crossed that boundary long ago, but Nan is a serial monogamist and is currently involved with a Barbie-doll type named Megan. Apparently it doesn’t make any difference to her that Megan lives five states away—the relationship is still worthy of “monogamy” status. I guess I should be happy about it, since doing the long-distance thing gives Nan plenty of free time to spend with me.
For more than ten years, Nan and I have spent hours, sometimes days, together, doing normal, everyday stuff—shopping, movies, lunch, dinner, whatever—and for just as many years, I have lusted after her. Aesthetically, I don’t think we make a great couple—she’s big and tall, and I’m short and round, with curves in all the right places. She’s a good ten inches taller than me; I’m sure we look funny walking together side by side. But my lust for her trumps all that. I want to grab handfuls of her big body and pull her into me as I rub my body all over hers. She looks like she’s built for hours of hard labor, and I’d love nothing more than to put her stamina to the test.
Alas, it remains a fantasy. Nan has set the boundaries firmly in place, and I try to respect that while I continuously torment myself with fantasy after fantasy.
I try to be content with what we have. In some respects, we’ve built a life together, and I take great comfort in that—in knowing she’s there for me. I have a better relationship with Nan than I’ve ever had with anyone I’ve ever dated, but there are days when I feel such longing for her that I have to stop myself from begging her to break up with Megan and live her life with me. But eventually I talk myself down from the ledge and again resign myself to the fact that Nan and I are going to grow old together, as “just friends.”
But last weekend things took quite a turn. It started out as just another Saturday. Nan and I were hopping around town. Spring was in full bloom, and everything looked happy and radiant. I was feeling particularly giddy, probably due to too much caffeine and sugar at breakfast. I made a point of touching her arm whenever I could, making plenty of sexual references, and flirting shamelessly with her. She kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and whenever she did, I made sure to play with my hair, or touch my lips, or caress my skin—anything to keep her attention on me.
As the minutes ticked on, I could feel the tension between us building. I paused momentarily to ponder why I was still torturing myself this way. I should have known by then that she wasn’t ever going to give in. She’d said as much, hadn’t she? And hadn’t her iron will for the last ten years proven it?
I decided to give us both a reprieve and asked her about Megan.
“I don’t know, she just seems so . . . I don’t know,” Nan answered.
“What do you mean? She just seems so what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Nan said, showing frustration, her voice going up an octave.
Although I’d been flirting up a storm only moments before, my mood quickly shifted to “concerned friend.” No matter how much I wanted to get naked with Nan, I considered her to be my dearest and truest friend, and if she was distressed, I wanted to know what was going on.
I tried coaxing her into talking more about Megan, but she just shook her head and said she didn’t want to talk about it, so I eventually just left it alone.
The rest of the ride home was quiet, but finally we arrived back at her house and decided to make dinner and watch a movie. We cooked together, making small talk while moving around the small kitchen effortlessly.
I set the table while Nan put the finishing touches on our meal. We ate mostly in silence. Nan was brooding, and while I was tempted to lighten the mood, I wanted to let her feel whatever she was feeling. I wanted to ask more about Megan, but her mood made it pretty clear that Megan was an off-limits topic, at least for the time being.
When dinner was over, I cleared the dishes, and Nan grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, motioning for me to follow her into the living room. She poured the wine while I set up the movie to play. I got comfortable on the sofa as she settled into a chair across from me.
As the previews started, I sipped my wine and looked at her—studied her, really. She had flawless, smooth skin, and her short hair had a touch of salt and pepper. I wanted to run my hands through that hair. I let my gaze drift down her tattooed arms to her hands, which were strong and tan and made me wet just thinking about what they could do to me. By now, I’d forgotten all about the movie and instead continued to think about those hands on my body. I don’t know how long I’d been indulging in my fantasy, but when my eyes traveled back up to her face, she was staring at me with a fierce intensity. All I could do was stare back at her. As
I felt a hot flash radiate throughout my entire body, I broke into a smile and said, out of sheer nervousness, “What?” Then I swallowed hard.
She looked at me for another moment, then lowered herself to the floor and crawled the short distance that separated us. I raised one eyebrow, as if to silently ask what she was doing. She answered by placing her hands on my knees and slowly spreading my legs apart. As she moved her hands underneath my skirt and up my thighs, I was so surprised that I just sat there and let her. Not that I would want to protest anyway.
“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice quiet and unsure.
I wasn’t sure what she was asking—or rather, in what context she was asking it—but I didn’t think now was the time for a semantics debate, so I had to think for a moment, choosing my response. “I don’t know. Is it?”
“I’m sick of overthinking it,” she whispered, moving her hands farther upward until her fingertips were resting on the outside of my panties.
I had to admit, with her doing that, I wasn’t thinking at all about whether or not it was okay. I just knew it felt good. I could feel the warmth of her fingertips through the fabric of my panties, and I swear it felt like my lips were purposefully engorging themselves with blood so that they could become fuller and therefore press up against her fingertips.
I spread my legs a little farther, dizzy with the realization that this was finally happening. I’d waited for it for so long, yearned for it, and finally, it was happening. Despite my joy, some part of me screamed You shouldn’t be doing this! But the rest of me was saying a silent prayer of thanks as I let my eyes sweep over her broad shoulders, her muscular arms, her solidness.
I arched my hips a little and looked straight into Nan’s eyes. As her fingers teased me, I had no doubt she could feel my wetness seeping through the fabric. All the attention to my pussy was making my nipples ache and stand at attention, and I found myself wishing she had more than two hands.
I reached forward and grabbed Nan’s hair, tugging on it and pulling her toward me. As she leaned forward, she traced a line with her tongue from my neck down to my cleavage, then reached up with one hand to unbutton my blouse while the other continued to play with the edge of my panties. As I ran my fingernails down the back of her neck, she circled my nipples through my bra, then pulled on them, finally pulling my bra up and over my breasts so she could have full access to them.
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